The coach rattled to a stop, its wheels grinding against the cobblestone path. Dust swirled around Amara's ankles as she stepped out, a crisp and briny scent of Lake Superior mingled with damp earth, and blooming honeysuckle filling her senses. She squinted against the midday sun, taking in the sight before her.
Aethermoor Academy loomed like a magnificent familiar fortress, its stone walls etched with intricate carvings and crowned with silver turrets that seemed to pierce the sky. Vines, heavy with blossoms, cascaded down from the towering arches, weaving through windows like emerald curtains. The air shimmered with an invisible energy, a palpable hum of magic that tingled against her skin. This was it. This was the place where legends were born, where Mages honed their skills and destinies were forged.
Since childhood, Amara had heard the whispered tales of Aethermore Academy. The Ancient school where magic posts through the air like the heartbeat of the land itself. Every year, as she made her way back to its stone walls, she thought of those stories: of hidden corridors that led to forgotten realms, of Mages who had vanished without a trace, and of the powerful secrets buried deep within the academy’s foundations. The stories were more than mere legends, they were woven into the very fabric of Athermore, shaping the mystery of the place. Each return only deepened the sense that the academy was both home and a world apart, full of unanswered questions and untold dangers.
Amara Ashford felt a familiar mix of anticipation and weariness settle over her returning for her final thirteenth level at Aethermoor Academy. Most of her summer had been spent in the library at the Ashford estate, poring over ancient spell tomes and practicing her precision in elemental conjuration. While others spent their summers traveling or indulging in leisure, she had dedicated hers to rigorous study. It wasn't that she excelled in her courses, she thrived in them. She devoured knowledge as if it were the very air she breathed. The Arcane Relay at year’s end was more than a challenge; it was a calling. The Arcane Key’s treasure chest of gold meant little to her, but the apprenticeship to the Elemental Syndicate meant everything. It promised an unparalleled opportunity to expand her mastery of magic, far beyond what even Aethermoor could teach.
Amara was always one of the first to arrive at Aethermoor Academy, and this year was no exception. The grand oak doors creaked open as she stepped inside, the cool air of the castle brushing against her skin. The marble floors gleamed in the soft glow of enchanted sconces, and her footsteps echoed faintly in the empty halls. She took her time, savoring the quiet before the chaos of returning students filled the corridors. Passing the Arcane Library, her gaze lingered on its towering iron-bound doors, already imagining the hours she’d spend within its walls, surrounded by ancient texts and the scent of parchment. Her path led her up the spiraling staircase to the Tower of Falcrest, the highest point of the castle. As she ascended, the familiar blend of exhilaration and determination filled her chest. When she stepped into her common room, the space felt as regal as ever, its high ceilings adorned with red and silver banners for the returning year. The fire in the stone hearth crackled warmly, casting dancing shadows across the richly upholstered furniture. Amara smiled faintly, running her fingers over the supple leather of her favorite study chair. She felt, for the first time in months, truly at home.
After some time Amara had settled into her dorm, her belongings neatly unpacked and arranged with her characteristic precision. The dormitory was modest but familiar, with its two beds framed by tall, arched windows that overlooked the sprawling grounds of Athermore. Amara stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the crisp collar of her school issued knee length black dress. She fastened the silver clasp of her Falcrest badge, A proud emblem of red and silver bearing a hawk in flight, its wings spread above the words “ Soar Beyond the Skies.” She was pinning it in place when the door burst open, and Lyra Hightower bounded in, her golden hair slightly wind swept and her arms full of half open bags. “Amara!” Lyra exclaimed, dropping everything in a chaotic heap to pull her into an exuberant embrace. Amara barely had time to react before she was laughing, Lyra's energy as infectious as always. “I've missed you so much!” Lyra declared, spinning her around with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock them both off balance. Amara shook her head fondly, steadying herself and already bracing for the whirlwind her best friend would bring to the year ahead.
After settling into their dorm and helping Lyra unpack, Amara found herself laughing over Lyra’s exuberant tales of summer. She had received letter after letter about Etienne, the mysterious Parisian boy Lyra couldn’t stop writing about. Hearing it in person was another matter entirely.
“So let me get this straight,” Amara said, biting back a laugh as she perched on the edge of her bed, watching Lyra pace the room with wild gestures. “This is the same Etienne you wrote about in every single letter this summer? The one who ‘stole your heart’ and made you write poetry?”
“Yes!” And he was gorgeous Amara,” Lyra gushed, clutching her heart as if reliving the moment. “Tall, tan, with this smoldering accent. He only spoke to me in French the entire time! I only understood about half of it, but who cares? It was romantic.”
Amara couldn’t help but giggle, her friend’s love struck expression too much to bear. “You fell for him in, what, a week? Lyra, please tell me you at least asked for his full name.”
“Of course I did! It was Etienne something… something long and French.” Lyra waved her hand dismissively, her grin unapologetic. “But, Amara, it was a passionate summer, okay? And I don’t regret a single second.”
Shaking her head with an amused sigh, Amara stood and smoothed her dress. “You're hopeless,” she said, smiling as she looped her arm through Lyra’s. “Come on, let’s head down before you get us distracted again.”
The two of them made their way through the winding halls of Aethermoor, Lyra still chattering about her Parisian escapade as Amara listened with a mix of exasperation and fondness. When they entered the Elemental Hall, the vast room was already alive with activity. Long tables stretched beneath enchanted chandeliers that shimmered with flickering lights, and the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air. First level students gathered nervously at the front, awaiting the Order ceremony, while older students claimed their spots and greeted one another with excitement. Amara glanced at Lyra, whose eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well,” Lyra whispered, nudging her “Isn't this just grand.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Lyra was halfway through a second helping of roasted potatoes, animatedly recounting the Order ceremony highlights, when Amara’s attention drifted. The Elemental Hall buzzed with excitement, the first level students now seated at their new tables while upper-levels cheered for their respective Orders. Amara smiled faintly, raising her goblet of spiced cider as Lyra nudged her in triumph over a particularly dramatic first level speech. But the warmth in her chest cooled when her gaze locked with a pair of sharp green eyes from across the room. Theo Beaufort. He lounged at the Lunaris table with the effortless arrogance that had always grated on her, his wavy brown hair catching the flicker of enchanted light. He smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he’d caught her staring, an infuriating habit of his. Amara clenched her jaw, quickly looking away, but the familiar heat of irritation settled under her skin. For years, he’d made it his mission to challenge her at every turn, his cocky remarks and cutting wit always a step too far. The long standing rivalry between their families only added fuel to the fire. And yet, as she glanced back, against her better judgment, Theo raised an eyebrow, the kind of infuriating gesture that said game on. Amara huffed, turning her focus back to Lyra, but the irritation lingered like an unwelcome shadow.
The rivalry between the Ashfords and the Beauforts ran deep, so deep that it felt like the very foundation of Aethermoor Academy was built upon their bitter animosity. Generations of betrayal, manipulation, and power struggles had left their mark on both families, the wounds too old and too raw to ever fully heal. It was a feud that began with a murder long ago, a killing that neither family could ever truly prove or forget, and from that point, each side had vied for dominance in the magical world. The Ashfords, known for their quiet but formidable mastery of elemental fire magic, had long considered the Beauforts; wealthy, arrogant, and ruthless, as a threat to their legacy. But it was the Beauforts who had the upper hand now, with Theo’s mother, Elaria Beaufort, at the helm of the Elemental Syndicate, the most powerful and influential governing body for mages. Her rise to president had solidified their control over the magical community, cementing their wealth and influence. And Theo, with his charm and sharp intellect, was next in line, a figurehead who could make life at Aethermoor for the Ashfords unbearable. For Amara, the Beauforts weren’t just rivals, they were a constant reminder of the dark history her family could never escape, and she hated them with a passion that matched her bloodline’s legacy.
As Amara’s gaze lingered on Theo, her irritation slowly simmering beneath her skin, a small wave from across the room pulled her attention away. It was a subtle gesture, delicate and warm, but unmistakable, her younger sister, Aurelia Ashford, sitting quietly at the Noctis table. At 16, Aurelia was in Level Eleven, her soft, pale features framed by long, dark hair that cascaded gently over her shoulders. Unlike Amara, who carried the weight of their family’s legacy on her shoulders, Aurelia was gentle and reserved, her pale blue eyes reflecting a calmness that seemed at odds with the world around them. She caught Amara’s gaze and smiled, her expression so serene it almost felt like a reminder of everything Amara was fighting for. With a small wave, Aurelia’s quiet presence grounded her in the chaos of the evening, offering Amara a brief moment of peace amid the tension that hung thick in the air.
The ceremony finally concluded, the first-level students settling into their new Orders with nervous excitement. The room buzzed with chatter, and the flickering light of the enchanted chandeliers seemed to pulse in time with the energy in the air. As the students from the other tables stood to leave, Lyra tugged at Amara’s arm, eager to escape the pomp and circumstance. “Come on, I’m ready to get to bed,” she said, grinning and already half out of her seat. Amara followed, her mind still preoccupied with the sharp green eyes that had lingered on her from the Lunaris table. They filed out of the hall, making their way toward the large wooden doors, when a familiar voice rang out behind them.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite troublemakers,” Jace Astor said, his deep voice laced with playful sarcasm. Amara turned, a smile tugging at her lips as she saw him striding toward them, his dark hair a mess of curls and his grin as wide as ever. Jace was always a breath of fresh air, his teasing jokes and easy laughter a perfect counterbalance to the tension that often surrounded them. He was one of their closest friends, even if his talent for lighthearted mischief sometimes drove Amara mad. Jace was a rare Mage, born to two mortal parents with no magical history, and it was a miracle that he even had the ability to harness magic. But that didn’t stop him from excelling, or from making everyone laugh along the way.
“Don’t tell me you actually survived the Order ceremony,” Lyra said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you manage to sit still long enough, or did you start juggling the bread rolls again?”
Jace smirked. “Why settle for bread rolls when I could’ve conjured a roast duck? But no, I was on my best behavior. Mostly.”
Amara, rolling her eyes at Jace’s antics “Now let’s get some rest before you start throwing spells around.” As they made their way through the corridors of Aethermoor. The winding hallways were lit with the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, casting a warm, golden hue on the stone walls as the trio walked in comfortable silence. The night air felt cool against Amara’s skin as they made their way toward their respective common rooms, the hum of the academy’s magic still resonating around them. Jace, always eager to break off and get some sleep before his mischievous tendencies kicked in again, gave them a final grin before turning down a side hallway toward his own dorm.
“Sleep well, you two,” he called over his shoulder, his voice still carrying that playful edge.
Lyra waved to him, her cheeks flushed with laughter from the evening’s antics. “Don’t stay up too late, Jace! We know how you get when you’re bored!”
Amara chuckled softly, but her smile faded as the weight of the night’s events crept back into her mind. As she and Lyra continued their walk toward the Tower of Falcrest, Amara couldn’t shake the thoughts swirling around her head, the Arcane Relay, the Beauforts, and her family’s legacy. By the time they reached their dormitory, the familiar wooden door to their shared space seemed more like a barrier than a sanctuary. Amara pushed it open, her gaze drifting to the quiet space as Lyra moved to grab her things.
Amara slipped into her own thoughts as she undressed for bed, the echoes of the night playing on loop in her mind. She could already feel the pressure of the upcoming year, the burden of expectations settling heavily on her shoulders. The Arcane Relay was not just a competition, it was a chance to prove herself and to hold the Ashford name high. Her family’s future depended on it. Her thoughts, tangled with frustration over Theo, the looming rivalry, and the immense weight of the competition, wouldn’t allow her to sleep. The thought of failing, of losing her chance to rise above the Beauforts, gnawed at her. As the room grew quieter, Amara lay back, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with the stress of what was to come. She had to win. She couldn’t afford to fail.