The passenger boat cut through the lake's surface with steady precision, its engine humming beneath the deck. Mai gripped the metal railing, salt spray misting his face as they approached the city's outer walls. The fog had lifted, revealing Arcury in sharp detail—every tower, every bridge, every building that clung to the water's edge.

But it was the Silent Spire that commanded his attention.

The massive sword rose from the city's heart like a monument to something beyond human understanding. Its blade caught the dying light, reflecting in sheets of silver and gold. Even from here, miles across the water, its presence pressed down on him—a weight that settled into his bones.

"Look at the size of that thing," Jori whispered from somewhere behind him, her voice tinged with awe.

Mai had grown up under that blade. Had walked its shadow every day for the first ten years of his life. Yet it hadn't diminished its power—if anything, seeing it after all this time made it more imposing. The Spire didn't just stand in Arcury; it was Arcury, the foundation around which everything else had been built.

The boat lurched slightly as they hit a crosscurrent, and Mai tightened his grip on the rail. Iruminai shifted beside him, still favoring his injured shoulder but standing steadier than he had at the harbor.

"You alright?" Mai asked, glancing at his friend.

Iruminai nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the approaching city.

Mai couldn't blame him. The Spire had always felt alive to him—not in any literal sense, but in the way it seemed to observe everything that happened beneath it. Even now, approaching from the water, he could feel its silent regard.

The outer ring of the city grew larger with each passing minute. What had been vague shapes from the harbor now resolved into distinct buildings—tall structures with gleaming windows, markets bustling with evening activity, bridges thick with foot traffic connecting the circular districts.

Mai's chest tightened. Somewhere in that maze of streets and waterways was the neighborhood where he'd spent his childhood. The house where his family had lived.

"Five more minutes to port!" the captain called from the wheelhouse.

The pressure from the Spire seemed to intensify as they drew closer, as if the ancient blade was testing his resolve—asking if he was truly ready to return.

The passenger port emerged ahead—a broad, tiered structure of stone and iron rising straight from the water, its walls streaked with moss where the lake lapped at its base. Lanterns lined the edges in steady rows, their reflections shimmering across the deep blue surface. High above, the terraces of the city caught the last, thinnest threads of daylight, fading into the oncoming night.

The boat slowed, its engine dropping to a low, steady hum as they approached a channel cut into the building’s base. The air cooled sharply here, carrying the scent of wet stone and the faint tang of oil from unseen machinery.

Mai’s gaze lingered on the massive lift chamber ahead. Passenger ships never docked at the lower docks—those belonged to freights and fishing boats. Travelers were brought here instead, where the water could be raised to meet the upper canals that wound directly into the city’s heart.

The vessel slid into the chamber, the stone walls closing them off from the lake. A deep clang echoed as heavy doors sealed behind them, and almost immediately the sound of rushing water filled the space. From hidden inlets along the walls, the lake poured in, swirling around the hull. The boat began to rise—slow, steady—stone sliding past on either side.

Barnacle scars gave way to smooth, rain-darkened brick, the walls gleaming in lamplight. Overhead, iron fixtures burned with a dim orange glow, their light rippling over the water. Somewhere above, gears turned with a low, rhythmic groan.

When the chamber reached its height, the far doors opened, spilling the city’s light inside. Arcury unfurled before them—lantern-lit bridges arched over darkening water, market terraces still alive with evening chatter, and the sky above fading into indigo.

They disembarked into a space that felt far too large for the handful of passengers it held. The upper canal dock was quiet—just the lap of water against stone and the muted echo of boots on the wet walkway. Lanterns hung in neat rows overhead, their light thin against the wide span of the arrival hall.

Mai followed the others along the platform, the air cool and damp from the lake. A porter in a gray uniform offered a curt nod as they passed, then returned to securing the next ship with practiced efficiency.

They passed beneath an arched passage of pale brick, the sound of their steps folding into a deeper murmur ahead. The corridor opened into the grand transit hall.

Crowds swelled around them in overlapping currents. Travelers queued for canal ferries, their voices clipped; dockhands shouted orders as crates were wheeled past on iron carts; the rich scent of frying batter drifted from a food stall tucked beneath the stairs. Light spilled down from high windows, catching on the thin mist rising from the water channels that cut through the floor.

Mai’s eyes flicked to the far side of the hall, where narrow arches led into the city streets. For a moment, his chest tightened. Somewhere beyond those arches was the neighborhood where he’d grown up—if it was still there at all.

Iruminai kept to his shoulder, quiet but watchful, his gaze tracking the shifting weave of the crowd.

The adventuring party pushed onward, threading between merchants, guards, and travelers until the press of bodies began to thin.

The streets curled upward in uneven climbs, their cobblestones worn smooth under years of foot traffic. Buildings rose on either side—tall, timbered structures with crooked eaves that leaned toward one another, blotting out much of the sky. Light spilled from their windows in fractured gold, pooling on the stones below. Signs swung lazily in the evening breeze, their painted letters faded, some carved in scripts Mai recognized from school, others in ones he didn’t.

They crossed bridges where the canals ran dark and still, the water carrying lantern light in long, trembling lines. Farther along, balconies sagged under the weight of flowering plants, their vines curling down toward the street. The air shifted with every turn—warm bread and roasted nuts near a baker’s stall, the sharp tang of tanned leather outside a cobbler’s, the faint metallic bite of forge-work drifting from an open smithy.

The climb was gradual, but the change in the city was not. Lantern-lit market chatter faded to the steady rhythm of boots on stone. The cramped warmth of the lower streets opened into broader lanes lined with tall, uniform facades of pale stone. Banners of blue and silver hung from high windows, snapping in the wind, their colors caught in the light of iron streetlamps.

The water below churned softly in the current. The air was cooler and cleaner, touched with the scent of grass and blooming trees. Open spaces spread between the buildings—small gardens, fountains ringed with benches. Houses and halls stood among the greenery, their pale stone walls wrapped in ivy.

It was quieter here. The noise of the outer ring was replaced by the distant toll of bells and muted splash of water against the raised shore.

And then, as the streets curled to their highest point, Edgewater revealed itself.

The Academy did not sit quietly within the city, it ruled from its center. A vast wall enclosed the district, its gates carved with sigils that gleamed faintly in lamplight. Inside, Edgewater was its own town, breathing with the steady pulse of students and scholars. Paths branched in every direction, cutting through gardens and courtyards alive with flowering trees and ivy-wrapped arches.

At the heart of it all rose the Silent Spire. From here, its impossible scale became undeniable—the ancient blade speared straight into the heavens, its steel surface etched with faint patterns that seemed to shift when caught by light. It loomed above every roof and tower, binding the Academy together beneath its shadow.

Around its base spread a city within a city: castle-like structures of pale stone where classes would be held, their walls softened by ivy and banners; rows of dormitories with warm-lit windows and pitched roofs, built humbler but no less proud; libraries, halls, training grounds, and marketplaces stitched together in a cohesive whole. Greenery spilled through it all—hedges carved into winding shapes, fountains alive with water-mist, groves of trees planted with such care they seemed older than the walls themselves.

The Academy was not merely a place of study. It was a living citadel, a sanctuary, and a crucible, all built beneath the watch of the Spire.

By the time the streets opened into the plaza, dusk had deepened into indigo. The sight pressed on Mai with a strange weight—something faintly familiar, though he couldn’t place why. He knew he had no memory of standing here, not really, yet the air still carried an echo that pulled at him. Beside him, Iruminai’s shoulders squared, his silence sharpening into something closer to resolve. The Academy loomed before them not just as stone and spire, but as a threshold, waiting to see what they would bring through its gates.

The adventuring party slowed. Jori unshouldered her pack, found a small cloth bundle, and pressed it into Mai’s hands.

“For you two,” she said. “Better use with you than with us.”

Mai frowned. “That’s—no. We wouldn’t have it without all of you.”

“Maybe,” Jori said, “but you’re the ones who nearly got eaten for it.”

He didn’t take it. “It’s not—”

“Mai.” Her voice flattened. “You put up the most fight, you take the Core. Simple.”

He started to shake his head, but she shot a look past him. “Deru?”

Deru sighed like he’d been waiting for his cue. “She’s right. You two earned it. We’d just end up selling it off to someone who’d use it for paperweight bragging rights.”

“That’s not—”

“Take it.” Deru’s tone left no room for argument.

Mai hesitated, then finally closed his hand around the bundle. The cloth was cool, but the weight inside carried its own strange chill—clean and biting.

He loosened the wrap just enough to glimpse the glow spilling through. A smooth crystal sat within, white and pearlescent, its light shifting like moonlit water.

A Lunox Core.

They’d studied them in school—powerful remnants from a Lunox Beast’s death, still holding traces of what it once was. Some chose to have them forged into relics, the creature’s abilities bound inside. Others used them raw, letting those abilities flow into a person for a short time. But knowing that from a textbook was different than feeling one hum faintly in his hand.

Beside him, Iruminai leaned in, voice low. “Didn’t think I’d ever see one up close.”

Mai wrapped it again, the glow vanishing beneath the cloth. The weight seemed heavier now.

“Thank you,” Mai said quietly.

Jori gave a short shrug, as if the words didn’t matter—but her eyes softened. Her mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of feeling bad about keeping it.”

Then her gaze shifted, settling on Iruminai. “Be careful, Irumi,” she said lightly, though the words carried more weight than her tone suggested. “Would be a shame if I didn’t get the chance to run into you again.”

His smirk curved, wry but touched with something warmer. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure.”

Something unreadable flickered across her expression before she looked away, tightening the strap on her pack. "Cya."

Deru stepped forward next, clasping Iruminai’s forearm in a firm grip. “You fight well. Keep at it, and you’ll make a name for yourself.”

Iruminai smirked faintly. “Not sure that’s the plan, but… thanks.”

Jayce offered Mai a nod and a faint grin. “Not bad for rookies. You’ll do fine in there.” His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes—respect, maybe—that hadn’t been there when they first met.

Kael was next, a surprisingly soft expression on his face. "Keep ya guard up in there. 'Else we saved ya for nothin'."

Mai blinked at him, deadpan. "…Thanks?"

Kael's grin widened just slightly as he begun walking off.

Myla tilted her head at them, a sly smiling forming. "Try not to cause too much trouble in there. Or do—just make sure I get to hear about it."

Iruminai let out a stifled laugh. "No promises."

Then Lira stepped forward. Her gaze lingered on Iruminai’s bandaged shoulder before meeting his eyes. “You still owe me,” she said, her voice quieter than the others.

His smirk faltered, and for a moment. “Right… thank you. I mean it.”

Lira’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. She gave a slight motion toward the distant towers of Edgewater. “Just make it worth it.”

Mai glanced between them, then nodded to her. “We will.”

They clasped hands with each of them—brief, but solid. Enough to carry the weight of everything they didn’t say out loud.

The adventuring party turned back toward the city, their steps fading into the lamplight and noise of the streets. For a while, Mai and Iruminai stood watching until the last glimpse of the group disappeared into the crowd.

Neither spoke as they started walking again. The streets ahead were quiet, lined with lanterns casting thin gold over the cobbled road.

The gates of Edgewater stood open, ironwork stretching high between two watchtowers. A pair of guards flanked the entrance. One gave them a brief glance, then waved them through without a word.

Inside, the path led to a broad courtyard paved with patterned stone. Low hedges bordered flowerbeds bursting with color even in the dim light. Arched walkways stretched out in every direction, connecting tall buildings whose windows glowed with steady, warm light.

At the center stood a wide, circular building—the hub of the academy. Its high doors stood open, spilling lamplight onto the steps.

They crossed the threshold into a vaulted hall where polished floors reflected the glow of chandeliers above. A long desk stood at the far side, and behind it, a woman in a deep blue coat looked up from the tablet in front of her.

"Evening," she said, her voice carrying easily in the open space. "Can I help you?"

"We're here for the entrance exams," Mai replied.

Her expression warmed into a smile. "You're in the right place. We have guest dormitories set aside for applicants—you're welcome to stay there until testing begins."

She slid two brass keys across the desk, each inscribed with a room number, and tagged with a small strip of blue ribbon. "North Hall, second floor. You'll find your rooms easily enough."

Mai and Iruminai took their keys, the cool metal pressing against their palms. "Thank you," They said in unison.

"Welcome to Edgewater," she said.

They stepped back into the cool night air of the courtyard, the towers of the academy rising above them. Without a word, they started toward the North Hall, the soft echo of their footsteps marking the first of many within these walls.