Rikk stirred awake to the gentle chime of runes rippling through the Academy of Veils’ dorms, a soft signal that morning had crept over the violet-gold horizon. Light poured through the narrow window, bathing the stone walls in a warm, otherworldly glow. He stretched, his gray tunic shifting against his skin, and brushed a hand through his midnight-black hair—a sight that still caught him off guard in the small, plain mirror above the desk. His silver eyes glinted faintly, a quiet mark of the magic locked within him, tethered to the Spire of Reflections where he’d left the hand mirror under Lysara’s wards. Here, he was Rikk Veyn, a novice mage stepping into a new life—and today, that felt electric.


    This world pulsed with wonder—mana threading the air, runes humming with intent, a sky streaked with colors no rainy town could rival. The Duskveils lurked out there, a shadow over his past, but the Academy offered a chance to learn, to shape himself into something more. He rolled off the woven pallet, shaking off the stiffness, and glanced at Cal’s empty bed—his roommate was already up, likely in the dining hall. Rikk grabbed his leather satchel from the desk, the familiar heft of books and scry-pad grounding him, then tugged on his boots. The coarse uniform settled into place as he headed out, a spark of anticipation in his step.


    The dining hall buzzed with morning life—students tapped rune dispensers, their voices weaving a lively hum as trays clinked with food and drink. The air carried the scent of fresh bread and a sweet, spiced edge, familiar enough from the Morgans’ breakfasts but with a twist that marked this realm apart. Rikk spotted Cal waving from their usual table near the back, joined by the group he’d started to know. Lina’s braids swayed as she flicked a playful jab at Jor, who grinned over a plate of flatcakes drizzled with golden syrup. Kess cradled a steaming cup of amber liquid, her short black hair catching the light, while Vara picked at a bowl of vibrant purple fruit, her scry-pad glowing faintly beside her. Erilyn sat next to Lina, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears, laughing at something Cal said—her ease a bright note, untainted by the Duskveil shadow Rikk kept buried.


    “Morning, Rikk!” Cal called, sliding a cup of shimmering juice his way as Rikk approached. “Grab some flatcakes—they’re spiced today, worth the early wake-up.”


    Rikk dropped into a seat, snagging a flatcake. He bit in—warm, with a kick of cinnamon and a nutty sweetness. “Not bad,” he said, grinning. “Mom used to make stuff like this—well, minus the glowy juice.”


    Jor laughed, syrup on his fingers. “No magic back there, huh? What kept you busy?”


    “Woods mostly,” Rikk said, keeping it light. “Hiking, dodging chores. This place is a whole new level—still figuring it out.”


    Lina leaned in, her dark eyes keen. “Woods? Where’d you say you’re from?”


    “Outer provinces,” Rikk replied, sticking to Lysara’s cover. “Quiet spot, all fields and not much else. Woke up with these eyes and thought I’d better learn what’s up.” He tapped near his silver gaze, casual as he could.


    “Those stand out,” Kess said, glancing over her cup. “Bet they turned heads back home.”


    “Got some stares,” Rikk said, chuckling. “You get anything weird when you woke up?”


    Kess shrugged. “Just twitchy mana—keeps jumping out when I’m not ready.”


    “My hair darkened,” Vara offered softly, poking her fruit. “Family trait, nothing fancy.”


    “I’ve got purple sparks,” Erilyn said, raising a hand where faint flickers danced before fading. “Still guessing what they do.”


    Rikk nodded, keeping his reaction easy. Purple sparks—her own magic, not the Duskveils’ bloodline shadow tricks. It didn’t tie her to their crimes, just their name, and that was a thread he’d untangle later. “Sparks sound cool,” he said. “Beats my wobbly light attempts.”


    Cal smirked, tossing a flatcake onto Rikk’s plate. “You’ll get there. Took me days to stop tripping over it.”


    The chime rang, and they grabbed their satchels, heading for Professor Taryn’s class. The room felt familiar—tiered benches, wide windows framing the violet-gold sky—but today, Rikk settled in with a quiet thrill. Taryn stepped to the front, her hands glowing faintly as she tapped her scry-pad, projecting a simple light orb diagram.


    “Good morning,” she said, her warm smile quieting the room. “Let’s review yesterday’s light manifestation—open Mana’s First Steps to that section. You’ve practiced in class and, I assume, on your own. Pair up, show me a steady orb, and we’ll move forward.”


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Rikk slid in beside Cal, pulling up the text. “Ready to dazzle?” he teased, grinning.


    “Watch and learn,” Cal shot back, raising a hand. A solid green orb flared above his palm, bright and unwavering, holding steady before he let it fade. “Nailed it—hours of messing around paid off.”


    Rikk focused, letting his mana hum just enough to blend in. A silver orb bloomed above his hand, smooth and firm, brighter than yesterday but still dialed back. “Not too shabby, huh?” he said, keeping it light.


    Taryn paused by their bench, nodding. “Strong work, both of you—Veyn, that’s leaps from yesterday. You’ve got it down.” She moved on, and Rikk glanced around. Kess’s orange orb glowed steady, no flicker, and she flashed him a quick grin. Jor’s red orb shone crisp, while Lina’s breeze shifted into a firm blue light. Vara’s yellow orb held soft and sure, and Erilyn’s purple glow settled into a tight sphere, her smile bright.


    “Finally,” Kess called to Rikk, laughing. “No sparks this time.”


    “Looking good,” he replied, matching her grin.


    Taryn clapped her hands. “Perfect—everyone’s solid on this. Let’s push ahead. Open Mana Flow—today’s topic is channeling mana into motion. Start with your orb, then nudge it upward, like a current. Intent first, then will. Give it a go.”


    She raised her hand, a blue orb forming, then drifting up a foot before winking out. “Keep it simple—a few inches is fine for now.”


    Cal’s green orb rose shakily, dropping after a moment. “Tougher than it seems,” he muttered, trying again. Rikk shaped his silver orb, nudging it upward—it floated too easily, so he let it wobble a bit before snuffing it. “Yeah, takes some work,” he said, masking the ease.


    Jor’s red orb shot up fast, nearly brushing the ceiling before he reeled it back, smirking. “Close one.” Lina’s blue light lifted a steady inch, and Vara’s yellow orb rose smooth and slow, like a breath.


    Taryn nodded as the chime rang. “Good first tries—practice tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll tweak it.”


    Next was Professor Halden’s history class, and Rikk settled beside Cal, his scry-pad open to Realm and Rule. Halden tapped his pad, projecting a timeline marked with the Duskveil Ascension.


    “Let’s revisit sixteen years ago,” Halden said, his nasal voice cutting through. “The Aetherian line fell to illness, and the Duskveils claimed the throne. Today, we’ll cover their new order—laws, governance changes. Who can start?”


    Lina raised a hand. “They tightened trade—higher taxes on provinces, stronger borders. Pulled power to the capital, cut local councils down.”


    “Spot on,” Halden said, tapping the timeline. “The Duskveils centralized rule—shadow magic enforced it, and they reassigned noble titles to their allies. Stability came, but people lost voice. Notes, everyone.”


    Rikk scribbled, the illness lie biting at him, but he kept his expression blank. The Duskveils hadn’t just stepped in—they’d carved their rule with blood, his parents’ included. Lina’s quiet doubt from yesterday lingered, though—her gran’s stories might lean toward truth. One day, she might hear his.


    Cal leaned over, whispering, “All about keeping a grip, huh?”


    “Looks that way,” Rikk murmured, glancing at Erilyn. She jotted notes, unfazed—tied to the Duskveils by adoption, not blood, and blind to their real story, he hoped.


    The day flowed on—runes with Mirene, where Rikk carved a light rune that glowed a muted silver, crisper than before, and meditation with Soren, where he tamped down his mirror magic under steady breaths, its pull faint without the Spire’s mirror nearby. By evening, the group sprawled in the lounge, scry-pads and books scattered across rune-lit tables, the air rich with ink and warm drinks.


    “Study night,” Cal groaned, slumping onto a bench with Runes of Binding. “Mirene’s runes are brutal.”


    “Same with Taryn,” Kess said, flipping through Mana Flow. “This drifting thing’s a pain.”


    Rikk sat between them, his pad open to the same chapter. “What’s up for the weekend?” he asked, tossing it out easy.


    Jor perked up, leaning back. “Everhollow—village past the hills. We’re going tomorrow. Market’s buzzing, good eats, maybe some tunes if the traders feel like it.”


    “Nice,” Rikk said, flipping a page. A trip beyond the Academy—lively, real, a window into this world. “What’s it like there?”


    “Noisy,” Lina said, twisting a braid. “Vendors hawking stuff, mages showing off. Gran says it’s where the realm’s heartbeat is.”


    “Beats slogging through this,” Rikk replied, grinning. He liked them—Cal’s solid warmth, Lina’s quick mind, Jor’s bold spark, Kess’s dry edge, Vara’s steady calm. Erilyn, too, fit in, her Duskveil name a shadow he’d face later. He couldn’t share his truth yet, but these were threads he could weave, allies for when it mattered.


    Vara glanced up from her sketches. “It’s full of life—colors, voices. You’ll get it.”


    “Can’t wait,” Rikk said, tracing a line in Mana Flow. His mind flicked to Everhollow—a step out, a break from the grind. For now, he studied, the group’s chatter a soft hum—Cal grumbling about rune curves, Lina picking apart trade laws with Kess, Jor lobbing a mana bolt at a game on his pad.


    “Give it a shot,” Jor said, sliding the pad to Rikk. “Hit the marks.”


    Rikk missed a few, then tagged one, laughing. “Getting the hang of it.”


    Kess smirked. “Better than my rune today—almost torched my notes.”


    “Stay close,” Cal said, clapping Rikk’s shoulder. “You’ll fit right in.”


    They worked late, the lounge’s rune-lights softening as night deepened. Rikk leaned back, Everhollow glowing in his thoughts. Tomorrow, they’d go—him, Cal, Lina, Jor, Kess, Vara, Erilyn—a taste of the realm, a root to ground him here. The mirror stayed at the Spire, unneeded for now. He was building something—trust, a base—for when the reflections called again.