Most people believed they knew which twin was dangerous the moment they looked at them. The crowd reacted just the way Ramien expected them to—by seeing his brother first and assuming everything else followed.
Damien did nothing to invite the attention. He didn't straighten his shoulders or lift his chin. Still, conversations paused as he passed, eyes following without meaning to. Ramien had learned long ago that his brother's presence wasn't something Damien carried—it was something the world placed on him.
His brother never tried to command a room. The room simply answered him.
As they crossed the stone path leading through the forest, demons—some of them seniors returning from break—shifted unconsciously, parting to make way.
Everyone's attention stayed fixed on Damien, and Ramien found himself breathing easier because of it. They were all wrong, but he had no interest in correcting them.
Correcting would invite questions. Questions would bring attention. And attention was the one thing Ramien had learned to avoid.
A short while later, tall spires emerged ahead of them, rising from the forest floor. A single sign hung between two of them, its lettering sharp and dark.
Blackspire Academy.
Despite the sign, there was no academy in sight—no walls, no towers, no hint of a school anywhere nearby. The crowd slowed, confusion spreading in quiet murmurs.
Damien stopped in front of one of the spires.
Ramien studied the stone, its surface cold and unnaturally smooth.
"Don't—"
Damien's warning came too late.
The moment Ramien's fingers brushed the spire, the stone flared with light. A blue force rippled outward, tearing open the space before them. The illusion collapsed, and behind it, the towering gates of the academy revealed themselves.
A ripple of startled movement passing through the crowd. Several students stepped back instinctively, eyes fixed on the spire Ramien had touched. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Some stared at Ramien's hand as if it had done something it wasn't meant to. Others glanced toward Damien, waiting for a reaction that never came.
The older students barely slowed. Some glanced toward the forming gates with mild interest, already understanding what the reaction meant. To them, it was confirmation—not surprise.
As the barrier fell away completely, attention shifted. Shock gave way to awe as Blackspire Academy revealed itself, its defenses layered and absolute. Whatever questions lingered were drowned beneath the sheer presence of the school.
The older students moved through the gates first. As they crossed the threshold, unseen magic brushed against them in quiet assessment, and an ancient voice rose from the stone itself, welcoming them to Blackspire Academy.
The new students, including Damien and Ramien, hesitated but none of the seniors slowed.
With the slightest nod from Damien, the twins stepped forward.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world seemed to stretch. Damien entered first—yet Ramien emerged on the other side seconds before him, the passage revealing itself to be far longer than it appeared.
Blackspire revealed itself without ceremony. Smooth stone buildings stood in calm rows, their dark surfaces absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Narrow towers rose overhead, elegant and severe, their heights difficult to judge from the ground. Simple fountains lined the courtyards, their waters never still, flowing with a steady, unbroken rhythm. The lawns were open and exposed, trimmed too evenly to feel natural.
Ramien barely registered any of it at first.
Crossing the gate had felt wrong—like stepping forward and being drawn sideways at the same time. Space stretched and folded around him, pulling gently but insistently, as though the path itself had decided where he should emerge. The sensation lingered even after his feet met solid ground.
Then came the weight.
Not pressure, not pain—something closer to attention. As if something unseen had brushed against him, paused, and looked deeper than skin or bone before moving on. Ramien couldn't tell whether it was the gate itself or something housed within it, but the feeling left him uncomfortably aware of everything he was and everything he wasn't.
By the time the presence faded, there was a flicker of awareness among the newcomers—then bags were adjusted, conversations resumed, and the academy reclaimed their attention. It stood silent and unmoved before the twins, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
A senior stood near the central path, posture relaxed in a way that only came from familiarity. He looked old enough to have learned where not to linger. Ramien approached first.
"Excuse me," he said gently his voice practiced and easy. "We're new."
The senior's attention settled on Ramien almost immediately—then flickered, brief and instinctive, toward Damien. His gaze lingered there a fraction longer than necessary before returning, expression smoothing back into neutrality.
"You'll want the eastern wing," he said. "First-years report there for assignment seals and orientation. Dorm placements follow after."
Ramien nodded. "Thank you."
The senior hesitated, eyes darting once more toward Damien. "Don't be late," he added, the words clearly meant for the taller twin.
Damien gave a short acknowledgment and stepped away without waiting, already moving in the direction indicated. The crowd seemed to part for him without realizing it.
Ramien watched his brother disappear into the flow of students, then turned back—and nearly collided with someone standing directly in his path.
The thin layer of milky white barrier separating them almost made Ramien stumble back. He blinked, then focused—and realized it wasn't empty space at all.
A young woman stood on the other side of it.
"You're in the way."
Her voice wasn't raised, nor was it sharp. It carried the quiet certainty of someone unaccustomed to repeating herself.
Ramien's gaze moved without thinking. The way she stood, the effortless poise, the faint but unmistakable weight of authority that clung to her presence—none of it belonged to an ordinary student.
Royalty, he realized.
And yet, the untouched crest pinned at her collar told him something else just as clearly.
She was new too.
For a moment, Ramien noted the irony.
There was more than enough space to pass. She could have stepped around him without a word.
So it wasn't the space she'd been referring to.
He let the thought fade without settling on it.
With an easy shift of his weight, Ramien stepped aside, one hand gesturing lightly as if clearing the way had always been his intention. His movements were unhurried, relaxed in a way that suggested he neither feared her title nor felt the need to acknowledge it.
"Sorry," he said simply.
It was the sort of apology that carried no tension—no stiffness, no awe. Just courtesy.
Her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary.
At first, Reinna thought it was simply because he hadn't reacted the way others did. No stiff bow. No hurried retreat. Just ease.
Then she felt it.
It was faint—buried deep beneath layers of restraint—but unmistakable to someone raised to recognize it. Ashen.
Her eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly. That bloodline had not walked openly in generations.
The Ashen royals were woven into every record of the Dragon Empire's rise and fall. Once rulers themselves, their reign had ended with King Renard—the horned tyrant whose presence alone had poisoned the land. His aura had been said to warp loyalty, twist intent, and bring ruin simply by existing too close to others.
History claimed his fall came at the claws of a golden dragon. A challenger whose blood burned clean and absolute. The Golden bloodline had taken the throne that day—and never relinquished it.
Her bloodline.
Reinna's gaze returned to Ramien's face. There was no arrogance there. No hunger for recognition. If anything, he looked… detached. As though the weight of what he carried had long since been set down.
Interesting, she thought.
Reinna held his gaze for another moment, as though committing something unseen to memory. Then, without a word, she turned. The barrier parted smoothly for her, sealing again the instant she passed through.
She was gone.
Ramien exhaled only after realizing he'd been holding his breath.
"Dorm twelve."
Damien's voice came from behind him, minutes after the lady disappeared, even and unhurried.
Ramien turned. His brother stood there as though he hadn't just been the center of half the academy's attention moments ago.
"Eastern wing," Damien added. "Corner tower."
Ramien gave a small nod. "Sounds crowded."
"It won't be," Damien replied, already moving.
Ramien followed.