Three Days Later – White Phoenix Academy, Main Classroom
The obsidian-tiled corridor was silent save for the soft, confident rhythm of boots on stone.
Victoria Velastra walked alone.
The weight of her surname followed her like a ghost—Velastra: a name carved into the foundations of magical aristocracy, whispered with awe or envy in every corner of the realm. But as she paused before the arched wooden door of Classroom Aetheris, her thoughts were focused not on her heritage—but on her purpose.
The doors swung open without a touch, reacting to her mana signature.
Inside, morning light streamed through tall, cathedral-like windows, casting rainbow refractions through prismatic wards etched into the glass. The room was a harmony of classical elegance and magical engineering—stone, wood, and light bound together in subtle enchantments.
At first glance, the classroom resembled a theater of war, divided by invisible lines more ancient than textbooks.
The front rows sat the children of noble houses—perfect posture, tailored robes stitched with house sigils, their presence a quiet reminder of centuries of accumulated power. They turned as one when she entered, expressions flickering between curiosity, calculation… and caution.
Behind them, nestled in the shadows near the back, sat the so-called Commenters—Commoners, whose magic had earned them a seat at this academy, but whose blood had not. Their robes were simpler, but their eyes were sharper. These were not wide-eyed dreamers. These were survivors.
Twenty-three pairs of eyes turned toward her.
The room held its breath.
Victoria stepped forward, letting the silence grow. Letting the expectation swell.
And then she walked past the nobles without a word.
Their eyes tracked her, confused. A few lips curled in amusement—surely she would turn back. Surely she would take her seat among her "own."
But she didn't.
She moved to the very back row and stopped in front of the Commoners.
Some stared back with guarded suspicion.
Others with open defiance.
Victoria simply extended her hand, palm open and steady.
"I'm Victoria Velastra," she said. Her voice was calm, but it carried to every corner of the room. "I'm not here to stand above you. I'm here to stand with you."
The tension cracked.
For a second, no one moved.
Then a girl with cropped black hair and sharp amber eyes stood and grasped her hand.
"Alex," she said. Her grip was firm. "Forge Master. Battle Mage. Mage Knight."
She nodded toward her twin—identical, save for a silver braid pinned behind her ear.
"Stella. Forge Master. Healer. Alchemy."
A boy leaned forward, arms crossed over a worn spellbook.
"Arwin. War Mage. Mostly fire. Occasionally smart."
That broke the dam.
One by one, the others rose—some hesitant, some bold. They introduced themselves not with titles, but truths.
"Marra – Healer. Bones mend, hearts harder."
"Juno – Crystal Smith. I work clean."
"Breck – Battle Mage. I hit things until they stop moving."
"Fiora – Necromancer." She grinned. "Yes, really. Try not to die near me."
"Tallis – Warden. Shields before swords."
"Renn – Mage Knight. And I do dance. Just not well."
"Kita – Healer. Specializing in poisoncraft. And antidotes. Usually."
"Lorik – Forge Master. Iron sings louder than politics."
"Senna – Alchemy. Everything explodes eventually."
"Thorne – Battle Mage. I like loud magic."
"Ember – Necromancer. I'm not creepy. Just efficient."
"Hal – War Mage. Lightning's cleaner than fire. And prettier."
"Nira – Crystal Smith. Touch my tools and lose a finger."
"Davian – Warden. I don't talk much. I don't need to."
"Eline – Healer. I can't fix everything. But I'll try."
"Cass – Forge Master. Precision over power."
"Rowen – Mage Knight. Sword in one hand, spell in the other."
"Myka – War Mage. Fire and I have an understanding."
"Perrin – Crystal Smithing. Beauty is structure."
"Isha – Alchemy. Everything's a system. Solve the system."
As each name was spoken, Victoria committed it to memory—not as a leader memorizing soldiers, but as a mage acknowledging peers.
This was her true class.
She smiled.
"Now that we've met," she said, turning to the front of the room where the nobles sat frozen in disbelief, "how about we show them that magic doesn't care about bloodlines?"
Arwin barked a laugh. "Welcome to the back row."
Victoria looked toward the noble section again, then back to the others.
"For now."
From the front row…
Whispers began immediately among the nobles.
"She's mocking her own name."
"She shook hands with a necromancer."
"Was that… poisoncraft?"
A boy in violet-stitched robes leaned back with a sneer.
"We'll see how long she stays 'with them' once the dueling trials begin."
But in the back, Victoria sat with her hands folded, eyes calm and focused.
She didn't need to prove her blood.
She came to prove her craft.
And the first lesson of White Phoenix Academy was already clear:
Legacy can open doors. But only power walks through them.