The clouds tore open like a curtain someone was late to pull, and the world stopped being sensible.Celestara floated above us—rings of marble and crystal turning around a pillar of light that pierced the sky.Waterfalls of luminescence flowed upward into nothing.Mirrors drifted like birds, glinting in thought.
"Okay," I said softly. "That's illegal architecture."
Laura pressed her face to the porthole. "It's alive! The mirrors are part of the academy's mind! They read us through reflection feedback loops!"
"Great," Daniel said. "So we're being judged by furniture before orientation."
"Behave," Klaus ordered, which was his way of saying please don't embarrass the bloodline.
The airship docked. Runes under our boots flared, recognizing noble credentials and accident records simultaneously. Ghost attendants bowed; some passed through us when they forgot they were dead.
"Welcome to Celestara Academy," one intoned, voice echoing like glass being played by wind.
I tried to answer, coughed instead, and decided breathing could be optional.
The Hall of Reflections
Imagine a cathedral built by someone who loved mirrors more than gravity.That was the Hall.Thousands of silver panels floated in a slow spiral above a floor of translucent stone. Each mirror pulsed faintly, waiting.
Students filed in by the dozens—winged, tailed, horned, haloed. Every species had a seat at Celestara's dinner table, and I was the cutlery that might explode.
One by one, names echoed:
"House Veyra!"
Rose petals swirled around Laura. Spirits wove flowers into her braid. She squealed, hugged me, and left a faint smell of success and combustion.
"House Noxis."
Shadows gathered around Daniel until even his grin had edges. He bowed to his own reflection, which bowed back with a smirk and vanished.
"House Machiavelli."
Golden light poured over Klaus. The mirrors straightened, as though the room itself had decided to stand at attention. Of course they had.
Then it was my turn.
The mirror that drifted toward me looked ordinary—polished surface, quiet frame. Then it exhaled. The silver melted to ink. Symbols crawled like constellations across the glass.
The air grew heavy.The floor tilted.Someone whispered, "That's the Nihility signature—" before being shushed.
Please behave, I begged the flame sleeping in my veins. We're guests.
It purred. The mirror rippled.
"House Nihilum accepts the void."
The words weren't spoken; they occurred. The mirror folded inward, collapsing into a spiral of red-black shards that circled me like curious stars before dissolving into nothing.
When silence returned, I was still upright. This counted as victory.
"I… guess I passed?"
Nervous applause. A few students made the sign of warding. Laura clapped loud enough for all of them. Daniel gave a thumbs-up from the shadow gallery. Klaus just nodded once, which in Klaus-language meant Proud, concerned, will debrief later.
The Headmistress appeared then—tall, robed in night stitched with constellations. Her eyes were mirrors that remembered every face they had ever seen.
"Welcome, fledglings," she said. "Celestara does not teach you; she learns you. Every bridge, every reflection, every heartbeat you give this city becomes part of her memory. Learn well, or be forgotten."
The mirrors shivered in approval. My reflection stared back at me—and for a moment, it had wings made of flame.
Outside, bells rang. Orientation had begun.
Klaus folded his map, Laura bounced, Daniel vanished again, and I—I looked once more at the mirrors above, each spinning like a question.
I'll make this curse something worth remembering, I thought.Even if the world forgets everything else.
The mirrors hummed, as if they'd heard.