Nathan stood outside the Faculty Hall, staring at the heavy oak doors carved with spiraling runes. Sunlight streamed gently through the stained glass windows, dappling the corridor floor in shifting patterns of gold and amber. It felt warm, reassuring—but Nathan’s stomach twisted into knots that refused to loosen.

  “You’ll be fine,” Lissandre whispered, her voice gently confident. “They’re just professors. You faced down a magical dragon made of stars yesterday. You’ve already won.”

  He turned to look at her, grateful yet unconvinced. “It doesn’t feel like winning.”

  “Yeah, well, victories don’t always come wrapped up nicely,” she said, nudging him softly with her shoulder. “Go in there, own whatever they tell you, and walk out with your head high. You summoned something legendary. Whatever they say, you’re already ahead.”

  Krit stood a bit further back, quiet as ever, their expression inscrutable. “Just remember, Nathan. Even they don’t have all the answers. Not always.”

  Nathan took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck,” Lissandre grinned warmly. “But I’m giving it anyway.”

  As Nathan turned, squaring his shoulders, and pushed open the great doors, he heard Lissandre murmur behind him, “Kick some scholarly ass.”

  Inside, the Faculty Hall seemed impossibly vast. The domed ceiling stretched upward, painted in delicate frescoes of historical spellcasters, mythical beasts, and ancient elemental symbols. His footsteps echoed softly across the polished marble, sounding too loud to his own ears.

  The professors awaited him at the far end, arranged around an imposing crescent-shaped table crafted from ancient stone etched with glowing runes. Professor Caelinn sat at the center, expression carefully neutral. Varis was beside her, curiosity shimmering behind calm eyes. Brannock, predictably, wore an impatient scowl. Others Nathan didn’t recognize shifted quietly in their seats, their eyes trained on him like silent judgments.

  “Nathan Quinn,” Caelinn began, her voice smooth but carefully measured. “Thank you for joining us.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “You know why you're here,” she continued. “The events of yesterday’s survival trial were... extraordinary. A creature appeared, bound itself to you, and refused any attempt to disperse it. We’ve confirmed your affinity officially as the Sun element—a power unseen in over a millennium.”

  Nathan felt the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I… don’t fully understand what that means. What does Sun affinity really entail?”

  Professor Varis leaned forward, his keen eyes suddenly more animated. “The Sun element is rare, powerful, and deeply misunderstood. Historically, Sun affinities have demonstrated control over three interconnected elemental threads: Water, Air, and Wood. They represent creation, growth, and illusions—opposites unified by balance and vitality. But, as you can imagine, commanding multiple elements without proper discipline can be... hazardous.”

  Professor Brannock’s deep voice cut in bluntly, laced with skepticism. “Your magic exploded the test room. You summoned a dragon out of nowhere. To put it plainly, your magic is dangerous.”

  Nathan shifted uncomfortably, feeling defensive heat rising to his face. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  Caelinn raised her hand gently, silencing Brannock with a pointed glance. “Nathan, we understand. Affinities don’t come by choice, especially not ones like yours. Our task today isn’t punishment, but understanding. We’re here to ensure your safety—and the safety of your fellow students.”

  Varis’s lips curved into a faint, encouraging smile. “We see potential in you, Nathan. Potential that’s thrilling, but admittedly unpredictable. Which is why we've decided that specialized training will be necessary. Extra rune classes, supervised casting exercises—everything required to help you grasp control over your abilities.”

  Nathan felt relief creeping into his chest. Training meant acceptance, at least partially. “So, I’m staying?”

  “Indeed,” Caelinn said with gentle certainty. “But it will not be easy. You’ll be closely monitored, and you'll be expected to demonstrate careful progress. We will not allow unchecked power to endanger you or anyone else.”

  Nathan nodded, swallowing nervously. “I understand.”

  Brannock, still frowning, added curtly, “Just don’t mistake your power for invulnerability. Keep that creature in check.”

  Nathan tensed slightly. “It’s not a monster. It protected me. It hasn’t done anything harmful.”

  Varis interjected smoothly, voice soothing yet firm. “We don’t doubt its intentions, but we cannot afford ignorance. Creatures like yours are unknown to modern magic. Approach it with caution.”

  Nathan sighed softly. “I'll be careful.”

  “Good,” Caelinn said, satisfied. “Then it’s settled. Professor Varis will oversee your mentorship. We’ll arrange your new schedule starting tomorrow. You may leave.”

  Nathan bowed his head slightly in gratitude, turned, and walked away feeling their gazes heavy on his back. He pushed open the doors, stepping into the bright hallway, heart pounding.

  Lissandre stood instantly, searching his face. Krit waited silently, their eyes calm yet intense. Nathan smiled weakly.

  “Sun affinity,” he said softly, barely believing his own words. “They're letting me stay, but I have to do special training. Professor Varis will mentor me personally.”

  Lissandre’s expression burst into a wide grin, and she punched the air triumphantly. “I knew it! You’re special, Quinn—you’re going to blow their rune-marked socks off!”

  But Nathan glanced toward Krit. Their expression was unreadable—caught somewhere between admiration and something deeper, almost wary.

  Roremand’s voice drifted from the shadows of the hallway, calm and thoughtful. He stepped forward quietly, regarding Nathan carefully. “Sun affinity. Now it makes sense.”

  Nathan braced instinctively, expecting scorn. But Roremand’s gaze was steady and serious. “You’ve never lacked power, Quinn. Your problem is you have no control. And power without shape is nothing but chaos.”

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  Nathan felt something tighten in his chest. Roremand was right—brutal, but honest. “I know.”

  “Then don’t fight their attempts to help you,” Roremand said softly. “Learn discipline. Master this before it masters you.”

  He turned and walked away without another word.

  Lissandre nudged Nathan’s shoulder gently. “Ignore Mr. Perfectionist. You’ve got this.”

  Nathan smiled weakly, but Roremand’s words lingered.

  That night, alone in his dorm room, Nathan lay awake.

  Moonlight filtered softly through the windows, mingling with a faint, ethereal glow from his palm—a subtle pulse of golden light. He closed his eyes, and almost immediately, the music returned: faint harp-like notes, distant and delicate. This time, he didn’t resist. He let himself sink gently into the sound, drifting into a dream filled with gentle sunlight, soft strings, and something else—a feeling of presence, of waiting, of belonging. He awoke before dawn, breathless and unsure why tears dampened his face. He didn’t tell Lissandre. He didn’t tell anyone. But the music remained, lingering softly at the edge of his hearing—waiting, patiently, for him to listen more closely.

  The next morning arrived too soon. Nathan dragged himself out of bed with reluctance, eyes heavy and limbs feeling drained despite the long sleep. The dream had left him restless, the memory of soft, distant music threading persistently through his thoughts.

  Sunlight poured through the window, pooling warmly across the polished floorboards. Nathan stared at the dancing patterns, wondering if they'd always seemed so alive—so filled with quiet secrets.

  Across the room, Lissandre was already awake, braiding her dark curls with deft fingers and humming softly to herself. Her companion, the small ember salamander, slept peacefully on her pillow, emitting occasional sparks that glowed dimly against the sheets.

  Nathan dressed quietly, pulling on the academy robes with a mixture of pride and unease. When he turned around, Lissandre watched him curiously, eyebrows lifted.

  "Couldn't sleep?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but probing.

  Nathan hesitated. "Not exactly."

  She tilted her head, studying him closely. "Nightmares?"

  "No," he said quickly. Too quickly. He forced himself to sound lighter, more casual. "Just... a weird dream. I don't remember much."

  She didn’t press further, but he knew she'd caught the lie. Lissandre always seemed to know when he wasn’t telling the whole truth, yet she rarely pushed. Instead, she shrugged with a soft, knowing smile.

  “Well, whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. Breakfast first—world-changing magic later.”

  They walked together down the sunlit halls of the academy, the day bright and clear, students whispering quietly as Nathan passed. Eyes followed him, some cautious, some admiring, others openly suspicious. Nathan felt the stares keenly—like whispers against his skin.

  When they reached the dining hall, Krit joined them silently, slipping into their seat beside Nathan without a word. Nathan offered a quiet greeting, but Krit just nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful, lingering on him just a bit longer than comfortable.

  Across the room, Roremand sat at his usual table—calm, detached, seemingly oblivious to Nathan’s arrival. But Nathan caught a brief flicker of movement—a slight tightening of his posture—and knew Roremand was keenly aware of him.

  A nervous flutter twisted in his stomach. He quickly looked away, focusing instead on his food—sweet breads dusted with sugar, steaming fruit tea, and tiny cups of delicate honeyed yogurt. But his appetite had faded beneath the weight of uncertainty.

  “So, how does your new ‘special training’ start?” Lissandre asked, leaning in closer and grinning conspiratorially.

  Nathan shrugged uneasily. “Today, actually. Professor Varis wants me in the casting chamber after breakfast. Alone.”

  She whistled softly. “Private lessons with the rune-master himself. Impressive.”

  Nathan sighed. “Intimidating, more like.”

  Krit spoke quietly for the first time, eyes steady on Nathan. “Intimidation is the intent. Professor Varis wants to understand you, yes—but more importantly, he wants to shape

  you.”

  Nathan’s breath caught slightly. “You sound worried.”

  Krit’s expression didn’t change, but their eyes darkened slightly. “Perhaps I am.”

  The quiet seriousness in Krit’s voice sent a chill down Nathan’s spine. He turned away, gripping his teacup tighter.

  After breakfast, Nathan walked alone through the silent corridors toward the casting chambers, his footsteps echoing softly against marble floors. The chamber doors stood tall before him, etched with powerful runes that seemed to pulse gently in greeting. Gathering himself, Nathan placed his palm against the door, feeling warmth flow out from his touch—an answering pulse, subtle yet resonant.

  The doors swung open soundlessly, revealing the expansive casting chamber, empty except for Professor Varis, who stood quietly near the center. Nathan stepped inside, and the doors sealed behind him with a soft hiss.

  Varis didn’t look up immediately, absorbed in studying a hovering runic pattern suspended before him—complex, layered, intricate. When he finally spoke, his voice was even, controlled, but curious.

  “Sun magic is fundamentally unlike anything taught in this academy, Nathan. Its true nature has always eluded us. My hope is that together, we can change that.”

  Nathan stepped forward cautiously. “How do we even begin?”

  Varis lifted his hand, the runes dispersing gently into shimmering air. “We start with understanding. Sun magic isn’t merely a combination of elements—it is a synergy. It’s rhythm, balance, resonance. Tell me, have you ever heard or felt anything… unusual?”

  Nathan’s chest tightened sharply. Varis had struck too close, too fast. He hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “No, not really.”

  Varis eyed him carefully, clearly sensing the hesitation. “You’re certain?”

  Nathan swallowed hard. “I don’t think so.”

  Varis studied him for a long, quiet moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. Then we’ll start simpler. Watch closely.”

  He drew a slow circle in the air, then carefully traced an elegant rune within it—a three-pointed glyph that shimmered softly with shifting golden hues. Nathan’s heart fluttered oddly; he knew this symbol instinctively, though he’d never seen it before.

  “This,” Varis explained gently, “is the Sun Glyph. It represents perfect balance—the interconnection of Water, Air, and Wood. It’s delicate, nuanced. Your goal today is not to cast it, but simply to draw it accurately. Begin.”

  Nathan lifted his stylus, feeling an odd calm settle over him as he began to trace the glyph. His hands moved smoothly, naturally—he didn’t think, didn’t question, just drew.

  As the rune took shape, warmth spread gently through him, familiar and soothing. But halfway through, the line trembled slightly, wobbling from his intended path. The warmth intensified rapidly—too quickly—and suddenly, the rune flared brightly, golden light erupting outward violently.

  Varis stepped forward quickly, sweeping his hand through the air, instantly dissolving the rune. His voice was calm yet firm. “Control, Nathan. Your affinity reacts strongly to your emotions. Balance requires discipline.”

  Nathan lowered his hand, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology needed,” Varis reassured, voice gentler now. “Mistakes are expected. What’s important is you felt the resonance. Your affinity responded instinctively—too strongly, but promisingly.”

  He regarded Nathan thoughtfully. “Sun affinity thrives on balance within yourself. Any imbalance—fear, hesitation, or doubt—can spiral quickly. Remember this.”

  Nathan nodded solemnly. “I’ll try harder.”

  Varis’s expression softened slightly, eyes kind but serious. “Trying harder isn’t the answer. Understanding yourself is. Know your heart clearly, Nathan. Only then will your magic truly align.”

  Nathan took a slow breath, absorbing the professor’s words. “I’ll do my best.”

  Varis smiled faintly. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

  Hours later, alone in his dorm, Nathan sat by the window, sunlight filtering gently through the glass and spilling over his skin in warm, quiet streams.

  He reached out absently, tracing his fingers through the shafts of sunlight—and froze when he felt it: a faint pulse beneath his fingertips, gentle vibrations resonating softly.

  Hesitantly, Nathan hummed a soft note, matching the vibration. Immediately, he felt a response—the sunlight rippled, shimmered, harmonizing with his voice.

  Nathan withdrew quickly, heart pounding.

  He looked around—no one had seen. But the echo lingered quietly, refusing to fade.

  He curled his hands together tightly, taking a deep, shaking breath. The music he’d heard wasn’t imaginary. It was real. It lived within him, within his magic, whispering softly beneath the surface.

  Nathan didn’t know yet what it meant.

  But deep down, he knew one thing with utter certainty:

  He couldn’t tell anyone—not Lissandre, not Krit, and certainly not Varis.

  Not yet.