VOLUME ONE
CIGGER ORIN AND THE MIRROR OF SOULS
The night sky over Twilight Valley stretched endlessly, adorned with stars that twinkled like the watchful eyes of distant spirits. A gentle breeze swept through, rustling dry leaves and carrying the soothing scent of damp earth. In a small wooden house at the edge of the village, a teenage boy named Cigger Orin sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing at the sky through a torn curtain. His eyes were calm, yet filled with an unquenchable curiosity.
Cigger was a nobody. He was raised by Mak Timah, an elderly woman who sold herbs at the morning market and preferred talking to plants over people. His life was simple, quiet, untouched by anything extraordinary. But that night, something extraordinary came looking for him.
A white owl perched on the wooden fence outside. Its eyes gleamed like crystal, and in its beak, it held a letter that shimmered softly in the moonlight. The owl neither hooted nor moved, simply staring at Cigger with a gaze that seemed to know everything.
With cautious steps, Cigger opened the door. The owl flew in, placed the letter on the table, and vanished into the night without a trace. The letter glowed faintly, his name etched upon it in pulsating blue light—like a living heartbeat.
His head throbbed. His hands trembled as he unfolded the letter.
To Cigger Orin,
You are hereby invited to the Wikker School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The Echoing Soul Ceremony will commence in three days.
Prepare yourself for a journey that will change your destiny.
— Professor Witongart
He read it over and over, trying to make sense of the words. Wikker School? Witchcraft? Professor Witongart? None of it made sense. Yet deep within, something resonated—as if the letter wasn't just an invitation, but a call from a soul long awaiting its awakening.
Three days later, at the stroke of midnight, Cigger stood in an open field, just as the second letter had instructed. The sky was dark, and the wind began to swirl around him. The ground beneath his feet glowed, forming a circle of symbols he had never seen before. The symbols rotated, shining brighter and brighter until a halo of light enveloped him.
"Cigger Orin," whispered the wind, "you have been chosen."
A brilliant light consumed him—and in an instant, he vanished from the ordinary world.
He reappeared before a magnificent building floating above a crystalline lake. Towering spires reached into the heavens, and bridges of light connected the school's wings. It didn't look like something built by human hands—it looked like a dream given form through magic.
Other students were lining up at the entrance, their faces a mixture of hope and fear. A young woman in silver-blue robes greeted each of them. Her hair was neatly pinned, and a badge bearing the crest of Aetherhold gleamed on her chest.
"Name?" she asked, her tone gentle but firm.
"Cigger Orin," he replied softly.
The woman smiled. "Welcome to Wikker."
Inside the Astralis Hall, the ceiling mirrored the real sky—sometimes cloudy, sometimes stormy, sometimes glittering with stars. That night, it was calm and starry. Long tables were divided by houses: Solarin, Nocturnis, Verdelune, and Aetherhold. Cigger sat at the Nocturnis table, though he didn't yet know which house he would be placed in.
Beside him, a curly-haired girl wearing glasses was absorbed in a thick book. Without looking up, she said in a flat tone, "Florence Garnia. You look new."
"Cigger," he replied. "I… don't know anything about magic."
Florence closed her book and finally looked at him. "Good. That means you'll learn with an open heart."
Across the table, another girl played with a small ball of fire at her fingertips. The flame danced wildly, lighting up her mischievous face.
"Amelia Metlock," she grinned. "If you want to learn about magic, stick with me. Just don't expect it to be safe."
For the first time that night, Cigger smiled. He didn't know what awaited him, but he knew—he wasn't alone.
The next morning, all first-year students were led to the Sanctum Aetherion, the spirit magic classroom atop the Tower of Souls. Its walls shimmered like living crystal, and the floor pulsed gently with spiritual energy. At the center stood Professor Witongart—a tall man in black robes, his long silver hair flowing, and eyes that seemed to peer straight into one's soul.
"The Echoing Soul Ceremony is more than just house selection," he said. "It is a mirror of who you truly are."
One by one, students stepped before the Mirror of Souls. Some received the emblem of Solarin, others resonated with Verdelune. Florence calmly received Verdelune's mark, while Amelia was greeted by Solarin's blazing fire.
When it was Cigger's turn, the room fell silent. He stepped forward, and the Mirror began to glow. The Nocturnis symbol appeared briefly, then vanished. The Aetherhold symbol tried to emerge, but faded away. Finally, a symbol no one recognized appeared—Aetherion, a branch of magic long forbidden.
Whispers spread among the students. Professor Witongart merely watched him, eyes unblinking.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."
That night, Cigger couldn't sleep. In the Nocturnis dormitory, he dreamt of a woman standing by the crystal lake, calling his name.
"Cigger… that power is not a curse. It is your inheritance."
He awoke drenched in cold sweat. Outside the window, a white owl flew across the sky. Below, shadows moved among the trees.
And deep within his heart—something began to echo.