The next morning at House Aetherwyn began with chaos—though most of it was self-inflicted.
Aaron's bedroom looked like a battlefield of books, robes, boots, and mismatched gloves. A dozen packing lists floated midair around him, written in frantic handwriting and constantly rewriting themselves as he made poor decisions.
"Okay," Aaron muttered, pacing in his socks, "I don't need twenty quills, right? Just ten. Or six. Seven's a cursed number, I think."
The floating list crossed out quills: 20 and replaced it with quills: ???
He paused at a bag full of folded robes—half of them were old, threadbare, and one had a stain shaped suspiciously like a dragon.
"Should I pack this one just in case I need to look poor to blend in?"
The magical list hovered behind him and updated to say: Disguise robe: 1 (tragically stained)
His steward, Garrin, stood nearby, trying not to visibly twitch. "Young master, the sky-carriage arrives in less than an hour. Might I—"
"No, no!" Aaron said, waving a sock in the air. "This is a sacred ritual. I must pack with my own hands or the omens will curse my first day."
"…That's not how omens work, sir."
"It's about the vibes, Garrin. If I forget something, I'll spiral into a cycle of self-doubt, regret, and identity confusion."
Garrin nodded politely while internally praying for a swift retirement.
After another fifteen minutes of chaotic shuffling, Aaron zipped the enchanted trunk shut. It whined softly—possibly in pain from being stuffed with too many books on beginner-level mana control (which he hadn't realized were too advanced for most professors).
He straightened, breathing hard. "Done. That wasn't so bad."
The wardrobe behind him exploded in a burst of smoke and displaced pants.
"Almost done," he amended.
---
The sky-carriage was waiting on the front terrace—a sleek vessel of silverwood and polished obsidian, levitating above the stone drive. Twin wing-shaped sigils shimmered on either side, fluttering like feathers made of starlight. The Aetherwyn crest was etched on its nose in glowing runes.
It looked like a royal chariot.
Aaron looked up at it in alarm. "Is this… necessary?"
Lord Thalion Aetherwyn, regal and composed as ever, stood beside the carriage with arms crossed.
"You are a noble heir and a professor now. You will not ride a common mule cart."
"But this is like… declaring war on humility."
Thalion raised an eyebrow. "You tried to pack a robe with a dragon-shaped wine stain."
"Exactly! I need to look unremarkable!"
"You glow when you sleep."
Aaron groaned and hauled his enchanted trunk into the sky-carriage. The moment he stepped inside, the door closed with a chime of soft bells and the entire vessel lifted.
From the terrace, Thalion watched it ascend with folded arms.
"Garrin," he said quietly, "contact the Academy. Double their security."
---
The interior of the sky-carriage was absurdly luxurious. Velvet seats, floating snack trays, enchanted windows that adjusted to light levels. Aaron sat stiffly in the center seat like he was holding in a sneeze.
"I feel like I'm smuggling myself in a noble coffin," he muttered. "Why is there a chandelier in here? Why do I need pastries that refill themselves?"
The pastries glowed faintly.
He resisted touching anything for the first half-hour. Eventually, boredom won.
He picked up a floating book titled How to Survive First Days: A Student's Guide. It wasn't even his.
"Maybe I'm overthinking this," he said to himself, flipping through. "How bad can it be?"
The book's first page read:
Tip 1: Don't insult the Headmistress's hairstyle. Even in jest.
"Noted."
He turned to the next page:
Tip 2: If you hear screaming from the forbidden east wing, ignore it. It's probably the illusions professor testing something. Probably.
Aaron closed the book slowly.
"I should've packed garlic."
The sky-carriage shifted gently as it entered new altitude layers, the air shimmering with enchanted currents. Outside the window, entire cloud cities drifted by—hidden enclaves and aerial gardens suspended on magic alone. Winged beasts wheeled overhead like silent shadows.
Aaron leaned back and closed his eyes. "Okay. I'm fine. I've read enough. I'm prepared. Probably."
---
Meanwhile, far below, in a hidden grove cloaked by celestial trees, a robed figure watched the sky-carriage pass overhead.
A voice crackled in their crystal.
"He's moving. Alone."
The figure's lips curled into a thoughtful smile. "Then perhaps the balance truly is shifting. And they've sent a lamb thinking it's a squirrel."
Another voice answered, darker and amused. "We'll see if he survives the forest next."
---
Back inside the sky-carriage, Aaron jolted awake.
Had he nodded off? The carriage was slowing.
Out the window, the forest below grew denser and darker—tall trees with twisted bark, silver-leaved canopies, and glowing blue moss lining the floor. He saw no roads, no towers, no signs of civilization.
Then the carriage dipped lower.
"Is this… the right path?"
The door unlocked with a quiet click.
Aaron peeked outside and spotted a glowing gate between two stone pillars. Floating sigils spun around it like orbiting runes. Beyond it, a winding path stretched toward distant towers rising out of the forest canopy.
The Academy.
He stepped out slowly, trunk floating behind him. The air smelled of starlight and rain-soaked parchment. The forest buzzed with subtle magic—almost like a heartbeat under the ground.
From somewhere deep within the trees, a bell rang.
---
And so, Aaron Aetherwyn, with his overstuffed bag, stained robe buried at the bottom, and a mind full of fake panic, arrived at the most mysterious institution in the world.
Unaware that half the continent now considered him a terrifying anomaly.
Unaware that secret factions had already begun to watch him.
And completely unaware that the pastry in his hand was actually a magically compressed contract scroll someone had slipped in as a prank.
He chewed happily, oblivious. "Huh. Tastes like blueberry."
---