Jack stepped through the towering 16-foot double stone doors of the Noxhollow Institute of Esoteric Arts, Emilia at his side. What greeted him on the other side stole his breath.
Michael's memories had shown him glimpses of the university—but nothing like this. Nothing like the raw, awe-striking beauty of it.
A long, vaulted hallway stretched forward, easily half a mile long, flanked on both sides by towering Corinthian columns carved from pale stone. The architecture radiated grandeur, as if he'd stepped into a national museum from Earth's 21st century.
The floor was pristine white marble—polished to such perfection that Jack could see his reflection in it, clearer than the mirror in his own bathroom. The ceiling arched 30 feet above them, even more impressive than the entrance doors. Its entire surface was a mural, hand-painted with divine precision: a sweeping celestial map of the Veilborne continents.
Noxhollow. Morpheus. Gaea. Uranus. Mazu. Nox/Nyk. Fantasia.
Why do they share names with deities from my world? Jack thought, Well besides the last one. Glancing up at the flowing lines and winged figures soaring among painted constellations. Coincidence? Parallel origin? Or something more?
Emilia didn't seem to notice his pause. She continued walking beside him as they made their way down the grand corridor, footsteps echoing softly against polished stone. At the far end, the hallway widened into a lobby so large it could rival a city plaza.
Jack's mouth parted slightly.
It looked like a palace—and functioned like a school.
A massive fountain dominated the center, sculpted from silver-veined marble. In its heart stood a statue of a winged horse mid-flight, wings arched, hooves poised as if galloping through the sky.
It wasn't Pegasus. Not here.
Krahupere.
Jack blinked at the name as it surfaced from Michael's memories. According to local myth, Krahupere was a mysterious winged stallion that descended from the heavens to aid a desperate king during a hopeless battle. Legend said that if one could gather the blood of a virgin Merrow, the roots of an Elvish Flake Tree, a Nosferatu's tooth, and tears formed from pure love, Krahupere could be summoned again.
Just a myth, Jack thought. But the sculpture is beautiful.
They passed the fountain and ascended the main staircase. The marble steps were wide enough to seat a dozen people across, each one buffed to a gleam. The ceilings here, too, were adorned with grand illustrations of gods and creatures from Veilborne myth.
His gaze lingered on one figure in particular: a goddess with flowing onyx hair, cloaked in shadow and stars.
Nyk. The goddess of night.
She resembled the figure from his dream. The voice that had whispered riddles and prophecy. Could it have been her? The one who gave him the sigil on his palm? The one who watched as he awoke in the forest beneath that start night?
The thought pressed quietly at the edge of his mind.
"Hey Emilia," Jack said, trying to refocus, "how've you been? Anything interesting happening lately?"
Emilia exhaled, rolling her eyes. "Not much—just stressing over the exam for Professor Constantine's class."
Jack paled slightly. "Oh… right."
He chuckled awkwardly.
Internally, though, his expression twisted into that of a tired anime character with comical tears streaming down his face.
Why'd you have to die before taking that test, Michael?
Emilia and I walked through the cavernous inner halls of the university, passing by countless students and hundreds of doors—each marked with brass placards etched in both script and symbol. The vaulted ceilings arched high above us, beams of morning light slicing through stained glass windows in rhythmic intervals. The polished stone beneath our shoes echoed with each step.
Eventually, we arrived at Room 133.
Alright, Jack, I thought, steeling myself. Let's get this show on the road.
We stepped through the open doorway—and I stopped, blinking.
Even the classroom was absurdly ornate.
The space fanned outward like a miniature theater, with tiered seating ascending in concentric curves, each row framed in dark mahogany and brass accents. Ornate arches lined the walls, and soft blue flames flickered inside recessed sconces. The ceiling—like everything else in this damned school—was a mural, this one a swirling fresco of clouds and fragmented clockwork, punctuated by falling feathers, moons, and what looked like stylized sigils caught in a windstorm.
But it was the far wall that truly stole my attention.
At the front of the room, above the professor's dais, stood three massive cathedral-style mirrors—each shaped like an elongated rhombus. They weren't just glass—they were gilded, etched, and bordered with white-gold filigree. Each held a painted figure rendered in such lifelike detail that I half expected them to blink.
On the far left: Astralaphia—a regal, silver-skinned woman cloaked in flowing star maps and comet trails. Known as the Goddess of Stars, Constellations, and Celestial Order. Her worship spans across astronomer guilds and navigators alike.
Far right: Tesla the Electric—depicted with storm-touched hair and a mechanical halo of rotating gears. The God of Invention, Energy, Logic, and Thunder. Patron of scholars, innovators, and those obsessed with answers.
And in the center: Ashen Violet Nox—the Goddess of Night, Moonlight, Love, and Forgotten Roads. Her eyes seemed to follow you, deep pools of silence beneath a violet-tinged moon. Painted with reverence, her presence was subtle yet heavy—as if the air bent gently around her.
My gaze drifted to the mirrored windows on the right side of the classroom, just above the student seating.
Three more divine portraits, just as elaborate:
First: Drama of the Ear—a calm-faced woman wrapped in robes stitched with unreadable script. The Goddess of Truth, Lies, Secrets, and Revelation. Her followers believe she can hear the weight of unspoken words.
Second: Soundwave Symphony—a vibrant figure in motion, surrounded by rings of harmonic glyphs. The God of Sound, Wind, Celebration, and Message. Called upon by musicians, heralds, and those who walk between crowds and whispers.
Third: Alchema of Understanding—depicted in mid-experiment, flasks and equations orbiting her hands. The Goddess of Alchemy, Strategy, and Transformation. She is invoked by generals and artisans alike, her shrines often found in laboratories and war rooms.
These six were just fragments of a greater whole—chosen depictions of the Collective Forty-Eight Signs, the pantheon of gods and goddesses revered throughout the known world of Veilborne. Each Sign was believed to embody a metaphysical concept: not simply a domain, but a pathway. Some were openly worshipped, others studied, and a few whispered about only behind closed doors.
According to Noxhollow tradition, every continent, city-state, and major guild aligned itself with one or more of the Signs. Some bore their mark openly. Others encoded their allegiance through symbols, architecture, or private rites.
Whether myth or reality, one thing was certain: the influence of the Forty-Eight was everywhere.
As I took it all in, a voice—dry, clipped, and confident—cut through the atmosphere.
"Alright, lads, to your seats! If you're late, you better have a resurrection scroll!"
I blinked and looked toward the source.
Professor Constantine.
A tall, lanky man with pale skin and light blond hair, dressed in a worn black trench coat thrown over his dark vest. He leaned on the podium with one hand while the other casually held a lit cigarette, smoke curling around his angular face. His eyes were sharp, restless, and faintly amused.
Michael's memories confirmed it: this man was no ordinary professor. He was known across NIEA as a genius in conceptual systems and field theory—brilliant, unpredictable, and ruthless when it came to wrong answers.
I hurried to a seat in the second-to-last row on the left, slipping into the end seat. Emilia slid in beside me with a practiced grace.
Alright, I thought, settling in. First class as Michael Vaelborne. Let's see how bad this gets...