[EXT. SCHOOL OF LIGHT – SUNRISE]
The sun rose quietly over the School of Light, casting golden rays across the marble towers and dew-covered gardens.
The storm had passed.
The Goblin Commander was gone.
Peace had returned.
But the silence that followed the battle wasn't comforting —
it was thick, heavy... waiting.
---
[INT. SHARED HALL – EARLY MORNING]
Inside the dormitory hall, eight divine children still slept.
Lyrion and Veloria lay side by side on the center bed, their hands loosely intertwined.
Even in sleep, their bond glowed faintly — a thread of gold and violet no one else could see.
Kairo and Syleria had crashed side by side in matching exhausted sprawl.
Sylion and Aria slept under one large blanket, quiet and peaceful.
Auron and Cyra curled together near the doorway, breathing in sync.
The room was warm.
Still.
Safe.
For now.
---
[FLASHBACK – WEEKS EARLIER]
> Veloria (smirking):
"Let's just move into the school dorm, all of us. Easier to train. Easier to live."
> Kairo:
"You just want more time to flirt with Lyrion."
> Veloria (smiling sweetly):
"Guilty."
> Lyrion (smiling quietly):
"More time together… does sound nice."
They laughed.
And from that day on,
the dorm had become their home.
---
[INT. SCHOOL GROUNDS – MIDDAY]
By afternoon, the academy had resumed its schedule.
But something had changed.
The instructors now trained with a quiet wariness.
The guards at the school's borders had tripled.
And at every lesson, the teachers' eyes stayed longer on the eight chosen children.
They weren't just students anymore.
They were symbols.
---
[INT. HIGH TOWER – HEADMASTER'S OFFICE]
At the highest point of the School of Light,
the Headmaster stood facing the large round window — hands behind his back, gaze lost in thought.
A tall man cloaked in white-gold robes, with silver-gray eyes that held centuries of battle.
His name was Elarion —
once the First Commander under Alarion and Lyria,
the Light God and Goddess.
He had fought in the Divine Wars.
He had walked through fire with the gods.
Now, he watched over their children.
---
There was a knock.
A glowing-robed courier entered quietly and bowed.
---
> Courier:
"Sir. The letters… have arrived."
The Headmaster turned slowly.
---
Upon the desk, five sealed scrolls now lay —
each glowing faintly with divine wax.
One bore a clockwork sigil —
from the School of Time.
One shimmered with flickering colors —
from the School of Elements.
Another twisted space itself subtly —
from the School of Space.
The fourth glowed with green-gold warmth —
from the School of Living Creation.
And the last pulsed with a silent hum —
from the School of Nonliving Creation.
Each letter came from the highest Divine Schools of the realms.
---
These six institutions formed the backbone of divine military and magical instruction:
the School of Light, known as the strongest and most revered;
the School of Time, where warriors learned to bend moments and rewrite outcomes;
the School of Elements, home to the fiercest elemental combatants;
the School of Space, where dimensions were walked like corridors;
and the Schools of Living Creation and Nonliving Creation, which molded command over all living and nonliving matter, respectively.
Each school trained the elite forces of their divine realms —
but their gates were closed to all except those born to their own gods.
A soldier of Time could only walk the halls of the School of Time.
A stoneborn warrior of the Nonliving Realm would never be permitted into the halls of the School of Life.
That was the law.
---
Except... for eight.
Eight children born of eight divine pairs —
their potential unmatched.
They were meant to stand above every other child of heaven and earth.
And so, to preserve balance —
to protect dignity —
the gods had made a rare decision.
They sent all eight to the School of Light.
Only here could they grow together —
without one eclipsing the others in their native realm.
Only here could they be equals.
And only the School of Light, revered above the others, could receive students as young as five years old.
The other Divine Schools accepted no one below ten.
Thus, their story began in unity —
in the one place strong enough to hold them.
---
And now...
Those same Divine Schools had all written to Elarion.
---
> Elarion (thinking):
"The Divine Thrones speak…
What war is waking… that they would all write together?"
His fingers brushed the first scroll.
The seal pulsed under his touch.
---
And then—
---
[TO BE CONTINUED]