The morning I left home felt like three lifetimes pressed into a single hour.
Mother fussed over every fold in my robes, tugging at my sleeves until I thought she might tear them. "You'll be meeting nobles, scholars, even royalty, Max. Stand straight, chin up. They'll judge you on appearances before they hear a single word you say."
I tried to wriggle free. "I'll be fine, Mother."
"You'll be more than fine," she corrected. "You'll be a Ward."
Her words carried the weight of centuries, though my shoulders were far too small to bear it.
Meanwhile, Grandmother waddled over with a basket so heavy it made my arms ache when she shoved it into them. "The Academy serves bland food," she whispered like a state secret. "So I packed pastries, dried meat, spiced nuts, and—don't tell your mother—a flask of elderberry wine."
I nearly dropped it. "I can't bring wine—"
She patted my cheek. "Of course you can. Every scholar drinks. Helps the brain."
Before I could argue, my little sister darted in, giggling, and tried to sneak a live frog into my trunk. I caught her just in time, holding it out at arm's length while she cackled like a villain.
"Don't look so serious, Max," Father said from the doorway, his presence cutting through the chaos like a calm tide. He didn't fuss, didn't scold, didn't even smile much. He just rested his hand on my shoulder. "Remember—don't only learn what they teach you. Observe how they teach. There's a difference."
I didn't understand then. But I would.
The docks were a storm of noise and magic when we arrived.
Hundreds of students swarmed toward the massive vessel tethered above the bay—the Skyship Aurelia, a leviathan of polished wood and gleaming runes. Its sails shimmered like moonlight woven into cloth, and its hull hummed with the resonance of bound crystals. Even the air around it buzzed, vibrating against my teeth.
The ship floated impossibly above the water, defying not just gravity but reason. Cables thicker than a man's torso held it moored to the dock, creaking under the strain. Dockhands shouted orders while merchants hawked last-minute supplies to frantic parents.
I craned my neck until it hurt, trying to take it all in.
"Impressive, isn't it?" a voice said beside me.
I turned to see a boy about my age, lanky with untamed brown hair and a grin too wide for his face.
"It's… enormous," I admitted.
"First time flying?"
"Obviously," I muttered. "I'm ten."
He laughed, and something about his carefree tone eased the knot in my stomach. "Fair point. Name's Roland. Future Order-something-or-other, depending on what shiny rock approves of me."
"Maxwell. Just Max is fine."
We shook hands like awkward businessmen, then shuffled into the boarding line together.
The moment my boots hit the deck, my breath caught.
Runes ran along every plank, glowing faintly with containment wards and stabilizing glyphs. Sailors in enchanted harnesses clambered up rigging that hung in open sky, tightening ropes that hummed with magical reinforcement. The smell of sea salt mixed with ozone, sharp and electric.
Roland whistled. "If it falls, do we just… splat?"
"Don't say that," I muttered, clutching the railing.
He grinned wider. "Relax. They wouldn't load up a bunch of noble brats if it wasn't safe."
That was small comfort.
The ship groaned as the moorings were released. Slowly, majestically, the Skyship Aurelia drifted upward, sails catching a wind that wasn't there. The city shrank beneath us—stone streets, tiled roofs, the Ward estate like a toy model. Then the ocean stretched out, endless and glittering, and the realization hit me: I wasn't going home.
By evening, we were herded into the Crystal Hall, a chamber at the heart of the ship.
The room glowed with light from dozens of massive crystals mounted in iron frames. Each pulsed faintly, humming like a living heartbeat. Benches circled them in rings, packed with nervous students.
The captain—a tall woman with silver hair braided tight—stepped forward. Her presence silenced the room instantly.
"Students," she said, voice cutting like a blade, "this voyage is more than transportation. It is your first step toward Aurelia. And your first test."
A ripple of whispers surged through the crowd.
The captain raised a hand, and silence fell again. "Each of you will approach the crystal assigned to your row. Place your palm upon it. The crystal will react to your will, your intent, your nature. This resonance will guide your sorting at the Academy."
She paused, scanning us with eyes like steel. "Do not fear failure. The only shame is dishonesty. Magic reflects truth."
One by one, students stepped forward.
A boy in embroidered robes pressed his hand to the crystal. It flared gold, humming like a trumpet. Nobles clapped politely.
A girl followed; her crystal shimmered silver, releasing a soft chiming sound.
Others went with varying results—some bright and strong, others weak, flickering like dying candles. A few barely reacted at all.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my robes as the line shortened. My heart thudded louder than the crystals' hum.
When my turn came, I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
The crystal loomed taller than me, facets catching the glow of lanterns. I placed my hand on its cold surface.
For a moment—nothing. Just stone.
Then—static. A faint buzz crawled up my arm, like the crackle of an old monitor flickering to life. The crystal pulsed once. Then again. Then again.
Not steady, not flowing. Binary. On. Off. On. Off.
My breath caught.
Around me, murmurs rose. The captain leaned closer, frowning. "Strange."
The crystal flickered one last time and dimmed, leaving goosebumps prickling my skin.
I stepped back, dazed. Roland clapped me on the back as I returned to the bench. "Weirdest reaction yet. At least it didn't explode, right?"
I managed a weak laugh. "Right."
But inside, my thoughts raced. Why did it pulse like that? Why binary?
That night, sleep refused to come.
I lay in my bunk listening to the ship creak and hum, the ocean wind whispering against the sails. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the crystal's flicker. On. Off. On. Off.
Finally, I couldn't take it. I slipped out of bed, padded barefoot through the dim corridors, and returned to the Crystal Hall.
The crystals still glowed faintly, dormant but alive. The hum pressed against my senses, low and constant.
I knelt before the one I had touched earlier. Slowly, I pressed my palm against it again.
"Talk to me," I whispered.
The buzz tickled at my nerves. My mind sparked—not words, but impressions. Patterns. Like… an instruction set waiting for input.
I pictured something simple: light. A lamp turning on.
The crystal flared weakly, glowing just enough to illuminate my hand. My heart leapt—then it fizzled with a faint pop, leaving only the smell of ozone.
I winced. "Progress, maybe?"
"Or trouble," a voice said.
I spun around.
A girl stood in the doorway. Tall, with sharp eyes and the kind of bearing that radiated authority. Her robes bore a crest I recognized instantly—the royal family's.
The princess.
My mouth went dry. "I—I was just—"
"Experimenting," she finished, stepping closer. Her gaze was unreadable. "Most first-years barely coax a flicker. You got a pattern. That's unusual."
I swallowed hard. "Is that… bad?"
Her lips quirked into a smirk. "Depends who's watching. Be careful, Maxwell Ward. Aurelia notices everything."
Before I could reply, she turned and disappeared into the corridor.
Two days later, as the Skyship glided over the endless ocean, three truths had settled in my bones:
Magic here was like an old operating system—functional, but clunky.
My brain couldn't stop trying to read spells as if they were code.
I was nowhere near ready to "hack" anything yet.
But someday, I would be.
As Aurelia Academy rose above the mist—towers piercing clouds, waterfalls hanging in the air, bridges of light arching across impossible heights—the other students pressed to the rails in awe.
I pressed too, but my mind wasn't only on the spires.
I kept seeing the crystal's flicker.