The bridge ended in light.
Not blinding—Not harsh—But warm and shifting, like stepping through water that remembered every soul that passed through it.
When Avdhoot opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was pressure.
Not gravity.
Something older.
He stood on a polished stone platform floating high in a clouded sky. Below him, a vast ring of mountains stretched endlessly, each crowned in snow and mystery. Above, suspended walkways, rotating stone disks, and glowing spires drifted through the air like fragments of a living puzzle.
At the center of it all—
The Academy.
Sankathya Mahavidyalaya of Acharan Vidya.
It was carved from starlight and stone, sprawling across the face of a colossal, flat-cut peak that pierced the sky itself. Towering domes shimmered with spells older than memory. Bridges curved through open air, etched with glowing Sanskrit sigils. A river of pure mana flowed beneath a crystal archway, slicing through a grand courtyard where statues of ancient warriors stood—each glowing with a different elemental hue.
Above the entrance gates, the Founders' Crests rotated slowly:
• The Lion of Valor
• The Owl of Wisdom
• The Serpent of Silence
• The Fangs of Flame and Stone
Beneath them, a golden inscription burned into the stone:
Acharan Vidya — That Which Is Lived, Not Learned.
Avdhoot forgot to breathe.
A voice spoke beside him.
"First time?"
He turned. A boy with copper-toned skin and glowing runes etched along his forearms grinned widely. His Hindi carried a strange, rolling accent.
"Same here," the boy continued. "I'm from Fiji. My grandfather was a lightning caller. You?"
"Nashik," Avdhoot replied.
The boy nodded with respect."Old land. Storm-blooded region. I respect that."
Before Avdhoot could answer, a golden horn blared across the sky.
New portals bloomed open across the arrival decks.
Students poured in—some stumbling, others floating, gliding, or riding constructs of magic. One girl arrived atop a living ribbon of wind, landing effortlessly, eyes sharp and calculating. Another boy burst into existence in a shower of sparks, arms flung wide as if expecting applause.
A girl in moon-colored robes simply phased into view, silent as a falling leaf.
More followed.
From Africa.From the temples of Kerala.From mystic cities in Iran, Nepal, the Nilgiris, and even one boy rumoured to have trained under a hermit in Kazakhstan.
The Academy did not see borders.
It saw potential.
A sharp gasp broke the awe.
"Wait—where's my trunk?" a nervous girl cried. "I had it when I stepped through!"
Around them, panic rippled.
"My bag!"
"It's gone!"
A third-year student wearing silver insignia stepped forward, calm and composed.
"First-years," he announced, voice cutting cleanly through the noise. "Your belongings have been transported via the Academy's Secure Transfer System. This is standard protocol."
"But how do we know we'll get them back?" someone asked.
Light gathered at the center spire.
A projection materialised—Administrator Irawen Solas, his form shimmering with authority.
"Initiates," his voice echoed, "your luggage arrives ahead of you through pathways older than the Vartalok Gates themselves. Your belongings are secure."
He gestured, and a luminous map appeared—veins of magic running beneath the Academy like arteries of light.
"Once your House is determined, your belongings will be transferred to your dormitory. Until then, emergency provisions await you in the Great Hall. Trust the Academy's protections."
Avdhoot felt it.
The way Solas's gaze swept the crowd—measured, cataloguing.
And the moment it lingered on him.
Not long enough to draw attention.
Long enough to matter.
Elsewhere on the platform, a fourth-year student clad in Serpent robes observed silently. He whispered into a small mirror hidden in his palm.
"The luggage system is active. Security intact."
A voice replied, low and distant."Good. When the time comes, we'll use it. The boy's belongings will be our key."
The student—Kael Vorstin—slipped the mirror away.
His eyes found Avdhoot in the crowd. Something flickered across his expression.
Recognition?Pity?Obligation?
Then he looked away, jaw tight.
High above, behind layers of enchanted glass, Headmaster Velarna Dhar stood in her observatory. Her pale, star-marked eyes scanned the arrivals.
She tapped a glyph-pad.
Avdhoot Autade
Mana Status: Fractured
Classification: Unstabilized
Admission: Approved
Her fingers paused.
"This signature feels wrong," she murmured. "Or too right."
She turned slightly."Administrator—enhance surveillance on the new Lions. Especially Autade."
"Already in progress," a voice replied. "Three observation points active in their dormitory sector."
"And Solas?"
"Standing by. The luggage encryption is keyed to alert us to any tampering."
"Good."
Velarna leaned forward, eyes glowing faintly.
"I felt something on the Vartalok Path when he crossed. A familiar darkness. Watching."
Silence stretched.
"You believe…?" the unseen voice asked.
"I believe time is against us," Velarna said quietly. "They're watching him specifically. Which means they know what he is. Or what he could become."
"Should we accelerate his training?"
"No."A pause."We protect him by making him seem ordinary. But we watch. And we prepare."
Below, Irawen Solas's projection expanded across the arrival decks.
"Welcome, Initiates! You will now be processed and assigned provisional dormitory circles. Until then, do not cast magic, duel, or access restricted zones. The Academy is alive."
Several students shifted uneasily.
Avdhoot stepped forward, eyes fixed on the four branching paths beneath the statues of the Founders.
Each pulsed faintly.
Waiting.
Behind him, a whisper:
"I heard the last fractured mage lasted two weeks."
"Watch this one crack in two days," another voice scoffed.
Avdhoot didn't turn.
He kept walking.
And the path beneath the Lion of Valor flared to life.
[End of Chapter 3]