The dream began as it always did, with the hum of Aether filling the air—a low, almost imperceptible buzz that seemed to crawl beneath his skin. Damon stood at the heart of his home, the warm glow of aetheric light shimmering off the walls, but there was no comfort in its presence. The familiar sense of peace was shattered by a sudden, violent surge of energy.

The air turned cold.

In the center of the room, his mother, Aenor, was kneeling, her hands trembling as she tried to summon her own Aether. Her affinity for water had always been delicate, and graceful, but now it felt wrong, strained. She struggled to focus, the pressure from her unknown assailant was restricting her as if the Aether itself was afraid as well.

A flash of blue—an unnatural, violent crackle of energy—shot from the darkness of the doorway, slamming into her chest with the force of a thunderstrike. Damon saw her body stiffen, her eyes wide with shock, as her Aether spiraled out of control, wildly cracking through the room, but it was already too late. She couldn’t fight it.

The Aether... It was suffocating her.

The sound of her gasping breath filled the room, mingling with the frantic hum of energy. But it wasn’t just her. The Aether was alive, twisting, transforming into something far darker than any of them had known.

He turned to his father, Lysander, who was already rising from his seat, his hands glowing with faint earth magic, but it was too slow, too weak. The Aether had already turned against them. The pulse of energy exploded from the doorway again, and the surge wrapped around his father, suffocating him in the same cruel way. The earth beneath him cracked, as though the very foundation of their home was being torn apart by the power of the Aether itself.

Damon’s siblings—Lydia, Rose, and Aaron—were next. They screamed as the Aether seemed to reach for them, tendrils of light lashing out from nowhere, their own aether, inconsequential in the face of pure power. The energy wrapped around them, pulling them to the floor as their bodies jerked, a chorus of pain echoing in the silence.

Damon reached for them and tried to scream, but no sound left his lips. The Aether was everywhere, choking him, binding him, and there was nothing he could do. He tried to summon his aether, tried to fight, but the foreign Aether twisted, warped, and crushed everything in its path.

He watched in helpless horror as his family was torn apart, their cries fading into the hum of energy. His heart beat in his chest, desperate to move, desperate to save them. But it was too late. The Aether had already claimed them.

The figure appeared then, stepping through the smoke and mist of the ruined room—a silhouette in the flickering light of dying energy. A flash of dark eyes and a glinting, sharp smile. Gazing at him, Damon could make out an emblem, the sigil of a noble family adorned his robes. He was the one who had controlled the Aether, who had bound it to his will to tear apart Damon’s family.

The killer. The puppet master of this Aether storm.

And before Damon could move—before he could act—the final surge of energy erupted. The blast of pure power hit him like a physical blow, his body seizing as the Aether crushed him to his knees. Everything went black.

And then—

The nightmare shattered.

Damon jerked awake with a strangled breath, his skin cold and slick with sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, the phantom pain of the Aether still lingering in his veins, still burning his skin. The room around him was silent, but the echo of the nightmare lingered in the air—every pulse of energy, every scream, still vivid in his mind. 

Damon’s hand trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to push the images away. The anger surged in his chest, familiar and sharp, like a blade he carried within. It had been years since that night, but it never left him. Not for a single moment.

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Damon closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the images to fade, forcing the anger and grief back into the dark corner where they belonged. It wasn’t real. Not now. He was still alive.

He took a deep breath, pushed the lingering frustration away, and swung his legs off the bed. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. The Academy was just getting started, and there was no time for lingering in the past.

Damon glanced at the clock—his first day at The Academy had arrived. He quickly dressed in the standard robes issued to all students, neat but unremarkable. After a final check in his bathroom mirror, Damon quickly exited his bedroom, headed downstairs left his apartment, and headed into the city. 

The city center buzzed with life as Damon stepped off the Aether-driven carriage, his single bag slung over his shoulder. The Academy towered above him, its golden spires catching the morning sun and casting reflections that shimmered like a beacon. The walls, adorned with intricate carvings of ancient runes and patterns, seemed to hum faintly with Aether. To the masses bustling around him, it was awe-inspiring. To Damon, it was simply another step forward.

Around him, new students gathered in clusters, chattering excitedly about their arrival. Some pointed at the gilded doors towering at the main entrance, while others gawked at the pathways illuminated by a faint, golden glow. Damon moved past them, his gaze steady as he joined the flow of students being ushered through the gates.

The inside of The Academy was as grand as the exterior. Marble floors sparkled under soft aetheric lighting, and towering columns stretched upward, supporting a ceiling that seemed impossibly high. The air itself felt different here—thicker, charged with the unmistakable presence of raw Aether. Damon’s footsteps echoed faintly as he followed the crowd into the orientation hall.

The hall was massive, capable of holding thousands, with tiered seating rising high above the central stage. Damon took a seat near the middle, away from the chatter at the front but close enough to see the speakers. Around him, the excitement was palpable—students whispered about their affinities, speculated on their future classes, and traded stories of their journeys here. Damon remained silent, taking in the scene without engaging.

A loud chime echoed through the hall, silencing the room as a figure stepped onto the stage. She was an imposing woman dressed in silver and gold robes, her presence commanding. Her hair, stark white and flowing, framed a face lined with wisdom and strength. When she spoke, her voice carried effortlessly through the hall.

“Welcome to The Academy,” she began, her tone as sharp as the blade of a knife. “Each of you stands here because you have proven yourselves worthy. Your affinities place you among the elite, the strongest this continent has to offer. But make no mistake—being accepted is not enough. Survival here requires more than just talent. It demands discipline, intelligence, and unyielding resolve.”

The crowd sat in hushed silence, her words sinking in. Damon leaned back slightly, observing the reactions of those around him. Some looked nervous, others determined. He kept his own expression neutral, his thoughts turning to the challenges ahead.

The Archmage continued, explaining the structure of their education. “You will be divided into classes based on your affinities. Core courses are mandatory for all: Magical Theory, Shaping, Spell Casting, Magical and Physical Combat, Runes, and more. Those with specific affinities will also take advanced courses tailored to their strengths. The first year will test your foundations, so I suggest you take it seriously.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. “The Academy is not merely a school. It is a proving ground. Your ranks, both academically and in combat, will determine your privileges and your place here. Rankings are updated monthly. To the victors go the spoils.”

A murmur rippled through the room at the mention of rankings. Damon’s lips tightened imperceptibly. The Archmage raised a hand, and silence fell once more.

“Your journey begins now. You will be assigned dormitories and roommates. Use this time to familiarize yourselves with the grounds and prepare for the challenges ahead. Dismissed.”

With that, the students began filing out of the hall, a mix of excitement and apprehension in their steps. Damon’s eyes narrowed as he left the lecture hall, already calculating his next moves. It’s a game. And I’ll play it better than anyone else.

Damon followed, moving with the crowd as they were directed to collect their room assignments. He kept his head down, avoiding unnecessary conversation, his focus entirely on the slip of parchment handed to him by a stern-faced clerk. East Dormitory, Room 217.

The East Dormitory was a short walk from the main building, its structure less ornate but no less impressive. The walls gleamed with polished stone, and the corridors were lined with doors marked by glowing runes. Damon found his room easily, stepping inside to find it modest but well-furnished. Two beds, two desks, and a large window overlooking the academy grounds.

He had barely set his bag down when the door opened behind him. Damon turned, his gaze falling on the figure entering the room. The boy was taller than Damon, with pale golden hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and a relaxed, confident air about him. His electric blue eyes scanned the room before settling on Damon.

"Hello," the boy said casually, his bright blue eyes sweeping the room before landing on Damon. "Are you my roommate?"

Damon paused, watching as the tall student strode into the room and tossed his bag onto the other bed. “Guess so,” Damon replied eventually, his tone giving nothing away.

The boy dropped his bag onto the other bed, extending a hand. "Kyrin Blade. Nice to meet you."

Damon regarded the offered hand for a moment before shaking it briefly. "Damon Aekos."

Kyrin seemed unfazed by the lack of warmth. He plopped onto his bed, leaning back on his elbows. “Crazy place, huh? I’ve been waiting years to get here. This your first time in the city?”

Damon didn’t answer immediately, busy unpacking his belongings with practiced efficiency. 

“No.” 

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Kyrin asked, laughing lightly. “That’s fine. I’ll do enough talking for the both of us.”

Damon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead focusing on placing his books on the desk. Kyrin seemed harmless enough, but Damon wasn’t here to make friends. He had his priorities, and they didn’t include entertaining a chatty roommate.

As Kyrin continued to chatter about the academy, Damon allowed himself a small, fleeting thought: If Kyrin was a distraction, he’d handle it. For now, he’d let the boy talk.

After all, the Academy hadn’t even begun, and Damon’s focus was already razor-sharp.