Aric woke to chimes. Not the shrill buzz of his phone alarm or the clang of a city garbage truck — these were soft, clear tones that echoed like they were part of the air itself. He blinked at the ceiling, which now glowed with gentle morning light, the shifting patterns of yesterday still drifting lazily across the surface.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then it hit him all at once — the glowing runes, the robes, the relic.
He sat up fast, nearly toppling off the stone bed. The strange heaviness in his limbs had faded, replaced by a buzzing alertness. He wasn't sure if it was fear or adrenaline, but it kept him moving.
His robes from the night before were gone, replaced by simpler ones folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Pale grey with silver trim, still threaded with subtle, shifting symbols. A note rested on top:
"Initiate's Hall. Follow the orb."
As if on cue, a small sphere of soft light bobbed into the room through the open door. It pulsed twice — impatiently, he thought — then floated out.
"Okay, glowy ball," Aric muttered, dragging the robes on. "Lead the way."
The hallways of Radiant Hall were somehow even more surreal in daylight. Sunlight filtered through high, crystal-paneled windows, scattering rainbows across smooth stone walls. The floor gleamed beneath his feet. Murals of shifting gold and white traced scenes of stars, fire, and wings — though the figures moved subtly when he wasn't looking straight at them.
The orb zipped ahead, pausing at every turn. Aric followed in stunned silence, trying to soak it all in. Every few steps, a new detail caught his eye — a floating book shelving itself, a fountain pouring liquid light, a teacher whispering to a hovering glyph.
Eventually, they reached a massive archway carved with the same spiraling symbols he'd seen on his robe. Beyond it lay a vast open atrium that took his breath away.
The ceiling rose impossibly high, a dome of crystal and gold through which sunlight poured like liquid. Suspended bridges and platforms curved gently across the space, and below, students mingled in concentric tiers of white stone balconies. The air hummed softly with magic — not the oppressive kind, but a low, living energy that made his skin prickle.
"This place," Aric murmured. "No way this is just a school."
A voice beside him said, "First time seeing the Heartspire?"
He turned to find a girl around his age watching him, arms crossed. She wore the same gray-silver initiate robes, but hers were stained with ink. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and a dozen scribbled notes fluttered behind her, magically held in place.
"Yeah," Aric said. "Kind of hard to miss."
"Name's Keela," she said, offering a hand. "You look like you're still buffering."
He shook her hand. "Aric. And… yeah. This place is a lot."
Keela smirked. "Wait till you see the spells."
They joined a small group of initiates gathering in the center of the atrium. A tall woman in luminous robes — not Mirabel, but another elder — stood at the base of a rising platform.
"Welcome, new initiates," she said, voice echoing with no visible amplification. "Today, you begin your path through the Radiant Hall. You have been chosen, one way or another, by the Core Relic or its echoes. You come from many worlds, many lives, but your purpose here is unified: to awaken the light within."
A pulse of magic flared overhead, and an enormous glyph blossomed across the dome — lines of light curving and weaving like constellations. Gasps rippled through the crowd. The glyph shimmered, then dissolved into a rain of golden light that fell gently around them like snow.
Keela nudged him. "Okay, that part never gets old."
Aric didn't reply. He was too busy staring — not just at the magic, but at the students around him.
Some looked like him — confused, out of place. Others stood tall with confidence, clearly from magical backgrounds. One boy, maybe seventeen, was already conjuring a ring of light between his fingers, bored. A younger girl lifted a hand and accidentally made her sleeve vanish. She shrieked.
But one figure stood out. Cloaked, standing at the very edge of the atrium. Aric's eyes met theirs for only a second — but something shifted.
The student froze. Their face went pale. And then they turned and walked away.
"Hey," Aric said, nudging Keela. "Did you see—?"
"Yeah, that's Joren," she said, frowning. "Kind of a loner. Super weird vibes."
Aric stared after the cloaked student. "He looked at me like he knew me."
Keela raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
"No," Aric said. But even as he said it, something twisted in his gut.
---
Later, during the first training session, the initiates were split into groups. Their instructor, a stern man named Master Veylan, demonstrated how to channel light into simple shapes — a glowing orb, a line of glyphs, a pulse of illumination.
Aric watched carefully, imitating the stance. He focused, breathed, reached inward like they said — find the spark, draw it out.
Nothing.
Then something.
A flicker of warmth in his chest. A pressure, building fast.
His hand lit up — too much. Not a glow, but a burst. Glyphs spiraled out, breaking the pattern. The light fractured into dozens of swirling motes that scattered like startled fireflies.
"Whoa!" someone shouted.
"Back off!"
The other students ducked as the light scattered. But instead of fading, the motes clustered in midair — spinning together into a shape. A butterfly. Then another. A whole storm of luminous butterflies flitted upward before fading into sparks.
Silence.
Master Veylan stared. "Initiate Lumis. That… was not part of the exercise."
"Sorry," Aric said quickly. "I didn't mean to—"
"That wasn't wrong," Veylan said slowly. "Just… advanced."
Keela leaned over, whispering, "Okay, that was cool. Reckless, but cool."
Aric just nodded, heart racing. The warmth in his chest lingered.
And somewhere high above, from a window in a hidden tower, Elder Mirabel watched through a pane of enchanted glass. Her lips pressed together, unreadable.
"He remembers nothing," she murmured. "But the light remembers him."
---
That night, Aric couldn't sleep.
The room was quiet again. But something tugged at him. A hum beneath the floor. A whisper in the runes.
He rose and walked, robes whispering softly as he moved through empty corridors. Eventually, he found a wide balcony overlooking the sky.
But it wasn't the night sky he knew.
Overhead stretched a tapestry of stars — but they moved. Not like stars should. They pulsed gently, looping in patterns, slow and purposeful. Spirals within spirals. Like the heavens themselves were caught in some… cycle.
Aric stared for a long time. The stars weren't just beautiful.
They were wrong.