The grand doors of the Astralis Hall creaked open, spilling students into the stone-paved courtyard outside. The golden sun of Astralis gleamed through the pale crystal spires above, casting dappled light onto wide-eyed first-years.
Celeste stayed near the back of the crowd, head down, shoulders hunched—just another shadow among hundreds.
"Dormitory blocks are down that path," one instructor barked, pointing toward a long corridor flanked by floating lanterns. "Room assignments are marked by your armbands!"
Celeste glanced at the black band around her wrist. Room 73-B.
She slipped away before anyone could try to make conversation.
Stone walls lined with luminous moss curved like roots through the dormitory wing, each door marked with brass numbers. She passed murmuring girls and boys, some already laughing and boasting about their magic. A few looked nervous. Some stared too long. She avoided them all.
Finally, she reached Room 73-B.
The key responded to her armband, unlocking with a soft click. She pushed it open.
Inside, the dorm was modest. Two beds divided the space with a shared desk between them. A dresser. A wardrobe. A full-length mirror covered with cloth. A window that let in a sliver of twilight.
Celeste stepped in slowly. Her roommate hadn't arrived yet.
She let out a slow breath, walking toward the mirror.
The room was still. The kind of stillness that felt like home.
For a moment, she stood before the mirror.
And then, with a silent breath—she dropped the illusion.
Gone was the frizzy brown hair, the acne, the slouched shoulders and pale, sickly eyes.
What stared back was her.
Silver hair, cascading like moonlight. Eyes of starfire—deep violet with golden flecks. Skin soft as porcelain, touched by faint glimmers like constellations. A quiet kind of beauty, breathtaking, yet burdened.
She stared for a long time.
This face… this truth… it wasn't a gift. It was a curse.
Memories surfaced.
Whispers in the manor halls of House Viridion. Her mother's cold voice. The endless suitors. The empty praise. The weight of being a "miracle child"—the one born under a triple celestial convergence.
"She commands the stars," they said. "She is our legacy."
But Celeste never wanted to be a legacy. She only wanted to be left alone.
She clenched her fists. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She bit her lip hard, trying to stop them.
A soft click broke the silence.
The door opened.
"Hey! Room 73-B?" a cheerful voice called out. "Sorry I'm late, I took a wrong turn near the floating stairwell and—"
Celeste panicked.
In one blink, she snapped the illusion back on. Her entire appearance reverted—plain, drab, forgettable. She turned her back quickly, pretending to rummage in her bag.
Behind her, the new girl paused, mugs in both hands.
"You okay?" she asked, a little concerned.
"I'm fine," Celeste muttered, voice low and distant. "Just… tired."
"Fair." The girl plopped down on her bed with a huff. "Today was kind of intense. That headmaster guy has way too much energy for someone over a hundred."
Celeste said nothing.
After a moment, the girl spoke again, her voice lighter.
"I'm Lyra Ellenvale, by the way. From Nocthera. My family runs a tailor shop. I mostly came here because I got caught up in a magical incident that made half a town sleepwalk. Weird story. I'll tell you sometime."
Celeste turned slowly. Her illusion still held.
Lyra smiled at her—bright, genuine, lopsided.
She wasn't conventionally pretty. Her skin was lightly freckled, her nose a bit upturned. But her eyes were a vibrant green, full of curiosity and mischief, and her coppery-red curls bounced with every movement. She radiated warmth.
"And you?" Lyra asked. "You got a name?"
"…Celeste," she said softly. "Celeste Vira."
"Nice to meet you, Celeste." Lyra grinned and offered her a mug. "I stole tea from the senior dorms. Don't tell."
Celeste hesitated.
Then took the mug.
And for the first time since she'd entered Astralis, her guard dropped—just a little.