The transition through the portal was unlike anything Zavier had experienced.
No flash. No sudden jolt. Only weightlessness.
He drifted — as if submerged in a sea of stars. Countless fragments of light danced around him like snowflakes from forgotten galaxies. Some whispered ancient languages. Others pulsed with familiar memories.
For a moment, Zavier felt like he wasn't just being transported through space, but rewritten.
Then, with a deep chime like the toll of some cosmic bell, his feet met solid ground.
And he opened his eyes.
Grand Clinnore was not a place.It was a realm.
The sky was black velvet lit by an aurora of ever-shifting constellations — living, breathing celestial dragons that slithered across the firmament. Floating islands stretched across a bottomless expanse, connected by light-bridges, runic paths, or simply... willpower. Entire worlds hovered in suspension, orbiting a central colossus: a towering spire carved from myth — the Ivory Ziggurat — where the Headmasters resided.
Below him stretched the main arrival platform — a marble plain set within a levitating ring of sapphire crystal. A colossal gate stood ahead, open but guarded. On each side, statues of past legends — students who had ascended to the stars — stood frozen in time.
And at the edge of the platform, waiting like a star made flesh...
...was Headmistress Vaelara.
She was impossibly tall, wrapped in an ivory robe layered with threads of voidlight. Her skin was moon-pale, etched with sigils that shimmered faintly with each breath. A horned circlet hovered above her head, rotating slowly, matching the rhythm of her pulse.
Her eyes — white as snowfall — studied Zavier with neither warmth nor malice. Just calculation.
"So," she said, her voice like ice gliding across steel. "The Vel Drakaryn hatchling arrives."
Zavier straightened. "You know my name?"
"No. But I know your blood. And that is more telling."
Her gaze flicked toward his hands. "Still unstable. Your aura is fluctuating with each step."
Zavier said nothing.
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you think silence is strength?"
"I think it's safer than arrogance."
A pause. Then a small, approving nod.
"Wise. That will keep you alive — at least through orientation."
She turned, her robe fluttering behind her like torn galaxies. "Come."
As they walked across the glowing bridge that led into the inner sanctum of the academy, Zavier took in everything he could. Beings of all forms moved across the platforms — some walked, others levitated. Students ranged from humanoid to spectral to colossally beastlike. Energy shimmered in the air like fog. Everyone pulsed with power. Purpose.
Vaelara spoke as they approached a massive stairwell guarded by shimmering wards.
"You are one of three students this cycle with no formal rank. A wildcard."
Zavier frowned. "I'm not Rank 1?"
"You are… undefined," she said. "That makes you dangerous."
They passed under a vast archway as she continued.
"Grand Clinnore does not place students by age. Nor race. Nor planet. Only by potential and evolution type."
They arrived at a spiraling hall where glowing spheres hovered around plinths — each one showing scenes from distant worlds. One showed a thunderstorm raining mana instead of water. Another depicted a black sun surrounded by kneeling titans.
Zavier slowed to look. "What is this place?"
Vaelara turned to him. "The Echo Gallery. Memories of our most successful evolvers."
She tapped a plinth, and a vision emerged — of a human with molten skin standing alone against an army of voidbeasts.
Zavier leaned closer. "That… that's not a dragon."
"No," she said. "He was an Earthborn. Like you. From a different cycle. He evolved through pain — not bloodline."
"Did he survive?"
"No one truly survives this place, Zavier. We only evolve. Or we vanish."
By the time they reached the central registration tower, Zavier felt a dozen eyes on him.
Some curious.Some dismissive.One pair… was hostile.
He turned, catching a tall figure leaning against a distant railing.
A woman — skin like golden stone, eyes burning like miniature suns.
She was flanked by a serpent-headed being and a silver-haired elf with a burning halo.
The woman stepped forward, expression unreadable. "You're the dragon boy?"
Zavier didn't flinch. "Depends. You here to welcome me or threaten me?"
A low chuckle. "Both."
Vaelara sighed behind him. "Zavier Vel Drakaryn, meet Prime Disciple Caelari Sol'tar, first-year ascendant. Rank 3. Top of her cohort."
Caelari's eyes narrowed. "And you're the anomaly."
"I prefer 'late bloomer,'" Zavier said.
She smirked. "I'll be watching you."
"Most people do. But not for long."
Vaelara's voice interrupted like a blade. "Enough. He will be tested soon enough."
The tower's interior was impossibly large — a fractal maze of staircases that reconfigured with each footstep. The walls were made of dragonbone and celestial ore. Floating tomes and quills zipped through the air like birds.
A lesser instructor, a being with feathers and glass limbs, greeted them with a glowing sigil.
"Dorm sector: Unbound Wing, Hall 9," it announced. "He's to be observed. Record all instability spikes. Do not allow access to restricted tomes."
Zavier raised an eyebrow. "You always talk about students like experiments?"
"Only the volatile ones," the instructor chirped.
Vaelara handed Zavier a glowing medallion. "This marks your identity. It stores your progress, absorbs residual essence, and grants access based on evaluation."
He took it. It felt warm.
"And my first class?"
"In one hour. Room 313. Your first evaluator is not… forgiving."
"Perfect," Zavier muttered.
His dorm was better than expected.
The Unbound Wing was near the edge of the main spire, hanging over a chasm of swirling stars. His room had no door — only a ward that recognized his medallion. Inside, everything was minimal but strange: a hovering bed that shaped itself to his body, a mirror that scanned vitals, and a floating bookcase filled with blank tomes.
As he stepped inside, the walls shimmered — and a voice greeted him.
"Welcome, Zavier Vel Drakaryn. You are authorized to breathe."
He blinked. "...What?"
"Standard humor protocol. Apologies. You are one of five anomaly cases in this wing. Would you like to hear their names?"
"No. Just show me a map of the academy."
The walls shifted and displayed an interactive layout. Spires, vaults, combat arenas, study zones, and… something marked only as The Deep Archives.
Zavier tapped it.
Access denied.
Figures.
He sat on the bed, exhaling slowly.
He had made it.
Now came the hard part.
Not just surviving...
But proving he belonged.