“You must be Levon,” said Gustav. His voice was calm, steady, like a stone dropped in still water “I am Gustav, pleasure to meet you”

“I’ve received your information from Orchidia. Nahari sent me the details about the… unfortunate incident.” He closed his eyes, pressing three fingers against his forehead, a brief pulse of energy moving through the air. “We will make things better.”

When he opened his eyes again, he smiled faintly. “Now follow me. It’s time to begin the initiation for your first class. Welcome to the Academy, Levon.”

He turned without waiting for an answer, expecting Levon to follow. Levon hesitated a beat—then did.

The Academy loomed ahead like a mansion of impossible symmetry, framed by fountains that spilled water into crystalline pools. The air smelled faintly of minerals, like rain on stone, and the quiet sound of the water filled the courtyard. Gold shimmered everywhere—the setting sun caught on six towering statues, three on each side of the entrance path, casting long shadows that stretched toward Levon’s feet.

He slowed as he walked, unable to stop staring.

To his left:

A woman, arms extended outward, as though holding something unseen—maybe a globe, maybe a child. Her expression was softened, almost maternal, but the gold gave her an eternal, untouchable distance.

Beside her, a man held a brush in one hand and a palette in the other, his frozen pose caught mid-creation.

The last figure was a woman seated delicately, a golden harp resting on her lap, her fingers sculpted to pluck strings that would never sing.

To his right:

A man stood straight, both hands on a cane. His jaw was firm, one eye covered by a patch. He looked as though even blind, he could see more than others.

Next to him was a giant of a man, arms crossed, a cape sculpted as if caught in a gust of wind. Though motionless, it gave the eerie illusion that the fabric still breathed.

And finally, a woman with spectacles, her gaze tilted upward. Her hands faced one another, holding between them the delicate outline of a universe—a web of stars suspended in gold.

Levon squinted. Despite their size and detail, the features of the statues blurred in the shine, impossible to make out clearly. As if whoever made them wanted the Monarchs remembered as concepts, not as people.

“These are the Monarchs,” Gustav said without turning, his voice echoing in the fountain-lit air. He knew exactly what Levon was thinking.

“They reside in the six towering pillars visible from anywhere in Xacodia. Each governs one aspect of our nation. Founders of this Academy. Pioneers of Vitria. And—” his tone reverent now, almost hushed—“the children of the Mother.”

Levon’s lip twitched. The Mother again. I keep hearing that name like it’s supposed to mean something. Creator, goddess, ruler, whatever they call her—it’s starting to sound more like a cult.

Still, he asked out loud, “The Mother?” His voice carried a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Gustav only smiled, continuing toward the Academy doors. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Levon trailed after Gustav, past the courtyard of gold and fountains, through the wide double doors of the Academy.

Inside, the air shifted—cooler, sharper, carrying the faint scent of polished stone and incense. Chandeliers of crystal hung from high ceilings, scattering fractured light across marble floors veined with silver. The walls were etched with intricate designs, geometric patterns that almost seemed to pulse if you stared too long.

Directly ahead rose a grand staircase, curling upward into shadow, but Gustav did not climb it. Instead, he turned left, his steps measured and led Levon down a wide corridor toward a massive wooden door bound in bronze. With a gentle push, the door swung open.

The room beyond was a mid-sized auditorium, designed with intimate precision—large enough to hold perhaps fifty, but no more. Rows of seats stretched downward toward a modest stage. Only eight figures sat scattered among them, all quiet, their faces expectant.

On the stage stood three chairs. Two were already filled. One, at the center, remained empty.

“Take a seat,” Gustav said, gesturing toward the row beside the others.

Levon glanced once at the room, then at the eight strangers, before slipping into an open chair.

Gustav strode up the steps onto the stage. His presence settled the room like gravity. He turned to face them, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

“Sorry for being late, everyone,” he said, his voice calm but carrying to every corner. A faint smile touched his lips. “Welcome to the Academy—welcome to your first day in Xacodia.”

“I know we’re a bit behind schedule,” Gustav began, his voice calm and melodic, “but there was a… small incident that delayed our process. Let’s not waste any more time.”
He clasped his hands together and smiled faintly. “We’ll begin with introductions and one question each. After all, time is precious—even here.”

He stepped forward, the spotlight catching the silver trim of his uniform.
“My name is Gustav Garnier,” he said. “You may call me Gustav. I am the Custodian of Origin. My duty is to guide you through the chronicles of Xacodia—the truths buried beneath time, the purpose of this city, and the legacy you will all serve. Here, history isn’t something you study—it’s something you remember.”

He gestured toward the two seated figures beside him. “I’ll let my colleagues introduce themselves before we turn to you.”

Levon slouched slightly, expression neutral but thoughts restless. One question each? he thought. I’ve got at least ten about this academy alone—let alone the existence of the damn universe.

“Of course,” Gustav said lightly, smiling at the crowd and then locking eyes with Levon. “When we start fresh tomorrow, you can ask all your other questions. I’m sure you all have at least ten.”

Levon froze. What the hell…?
That same sensation crept through him again—the eerie, weightless feeling that someone had just stepped inside his head. It was identical to what he’d felt when the guard escorted him to the academy—her silent gaze piercing through his thoughts like she knew what he was thinking before he said it.
Why does everyone here feel like they can read my mind? he thought, uneasily straightening up.

“Now,” Gustav continued smoothly, “please welcome Xacodia’s first line of defense—Kenji.”

The man who rose from his seat looked carved from stone. He stood tall and broad-shouldered, his black coat fitting so precisely it seemed molded to him. His head was shaved clean, the smooth surface catching faint reflections from the ceiling lights. A faint scar cut across his right brow, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of command honed by battle.

“I am Kenji,” he said, each word deliberate, measured. “You will know me as the Warden of Resonance. I will teach you to channel your Vitria—to master the flow of it before it consumes you. Power without control is decay. Remember that.”

His eyes were sharp, metallic grey, unmoving as he scanned the audience. Then, without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and sat back down, crossing one leg over the other with soldier-like precision. His posture didn’t shift an inch, his gaze forward, unreadable.

“The contrast between Gustav and Kenji is hilariously terrifying”, Levon whispered.
A quiet voice behind him whispered back, “Right? This dude is like a walking panic attack.”
Levon turned slightly, spotting a guy with messy white hair under a hood.
“I guess,” Levon muttered.

“Good evening,” said a woman’s voice from the stage.
The final mentor stepped forward—a woman with sharp, poised features. Her hair was cropped short, and her black suit shimmered under the light. Long, silver earrings swayed against her neck as she spoke.
“I am Sofia Varn, Envoy of Order,” she said. “I serve within the Parliament of Xacodia, ensuring our city functions as one mind, one purpose. I will help you understand the laws that sustain us, and the balance between freedom and duty. Every district in Xacodia is a gear in a vast mechanism—and together, we make it turn.”

Her tone carried an edge of authority—composed, self-assured, a woman who expected the room to listen.
She returned to her seat. No applause followed. Just silence.

Levon wondered slightly. Do people not clap here? he thought. Who even started clapping anyway? Some prehistoric idiot decided slapping hands together meant “good job.” The thought made him smirk.

“Thank you, mentors,” Gustav said, stepping forward once more. “Now, we’ll take one question per person—for now. We’ll proceed in order of arrival.”

He looked down at the glowing slate hovering beside him. “Malinda, you first.”

“Yes,” a woman’s voice spoke from the far side of the room. “Could you explain how the hell we got here?”

Gustav nodded. “A fair question. When Xacodia first touched your home star systems, we constructed tunnels that link our worlds through folds in space. The chair you sat in wasn’t just a machine—it’s part of a network. In every fold, there’s another chair waiting on the other side. When you enter the portal, you aren’t traveling through it—you’re transferred from one chair to the next. That’s why the first chair rolls back empty in your home world. It already passed you on.

“Next, Zachery.”

“What exactly is Vitria?” asked a man seated near the front.

Before Gustav could respond, Kenji stood. “Allow me,” he said, voice cutting clean through the room.
“Vitria is the essence of all existence—the current that binds reality. It is not energy. It is not magic. It is truth, in its rawest form. You are made of it. You live because of it. And one day, it will reclaim you.”
Silence spread through the crowd. Levon frowned. That’s not an answer. That’s philosophy.

Before the next name was called, a girl two rows down from Levon stood abruptly. “I’m the third arrival,” she said, voice tense. “Some people left before me—and some were supposed to follow. What happened to them?”

Kenji since he was at the center of the stage after answering the previous question, his tone ice-cold. “They’re dead.”
His bluntness silenced the room. “If you never met anyone from your batch, it means their Vitria failed during transit. The pressure of the tunnels crushed their essence until they disintegrated into raw Vitria, scattered through space.”

Gasps rippled faintly through the crowd. Kenji returned to his seat, folding his arms again, face unreadable.

Gustav cleared his throat softly, restoring order. “Thank you, Kenji. Moving on—Warda?”
No response.

“Marziah?”

“Artorias?”
Still silence. Gustav sighed quietly, his composure unwavering.

“I believe I was seventh,” said the white-haired guy behind Levon. His tone was casual, almost lazy. “When do we eat? I’m starving.”

A quiet shift of mood spread through the room—some tension released, some shoulders relaxed. Even Gustav chuckled.

“Food will be in your quarters after this session,” he said.
“Perfect,” the guy grinned. “Then let’s wrap this up fast.”

Levon couldn’t tell if the guy was stupid or brilliant. Maybe both.

From the far left, a deep male voice spoke next. “Are we students here—or test subjects?”
It wasn’t a joke. His tone carried the weight of genuine unease.

Sofia stood again, hands clasped behind her back. “Neither,” she said firmly. “When your integration is complete, you’ll be assigned to the district that aligns with your skills. You won’t simply live in Xacodia—you’ll serve it. That is what belonging means here.”

Levon’s chest tightened. So many questions burned in his mind—the ambush, Johari’s warning, the mention of a civil war—but before he could open his mouth, the lights flickered.

All beams dimmed except one that centred on the stage.
The hum of the room vanished.
Then—a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t look back,” said a familiar voice.
Levon froze. He knew that voice. Gustav’s.

But Gustav was still on the stage—smiling faintly, illuminated under the single spotlight.
Levon’s breath caught. He turned his eyes slightly to the side and saw the edge of a shadow—someone standing directly behind him, tall, motionless. He could feel the weight of the fingers pressing through his jacket, cold and heavy.

“Change your question,” the voice whispered. “And don’t you dare mention it.”

Time seemed to collapse. The mentors on stage looked suspended mid-motion, Sofia’s blinking slowed to a crawl, the flicker of the lights stretched like liquid.
Levon’s heart hammered. His throat went dry.
He tried to speak, but his voice didn’t come.

Then, in an instant—
The lights snapped back.
Sound flooded the air again.
The hand was gone.

Levon turned sharply. Only the white-haired guy sat there, one cheek resting lazily on his palm.
“Sup?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Levon muttered, eyes darting between him and the stage.

“Looks like a glitch in the system,” Gustav joked lightly, his tone unchanged. “So, Levon—your question?”

Levon hesitated, pulse still racing. “No… no questions.”

“Excellent,” Gustav said, smiling. “Then that concludes our orientation. Please proceed upstairs—you’ll find your names on your doors. Rest well, initiates. Tomorrow, your real education begins.”