The air outside the portal was colder than Amara expected. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the shimmering gateway disappeared behind her, leaving nothing but a faint hum in its wake. She took a step forward and froze.

Before her stood Zarathis Citadel.

It was more beautiful and terrifying than any description could have prepared her for. Platforms hovered impossibly in the air, suspended by threads of glowing magic that pulsed like veins through the sky. Each platform seemed alive, shifting and rearranging as though in response to some unseen will. Towering spires reached toward the heavens, their surfaces etched with runes that flickered and changed, casting a kaleidoscope of light over the pathways below. Floating gardens of luminescent plants wove between the structures, their petals trailing glittering dust that shimmered like stardust in the air.

Amara's breath caught. For a moment, she forgot the weight in her chest, the scroll in her pocket, the expectations she'd carried with her since dawn.

"Move it along!" a sharp voice barked from somewhere behind her.

She blinked, the spell of the Citadel's beauty broken. Around her, other students streamed out of their own portals, their robes swirling as they stepped onto the smooth, glowing pathways. Some walked with heads high, confidence radiating from their every step, their group insignias already pinned to their chests. Others, like Amara, lingered, hesitating on the threshold of something vast and unknown.

"First time?" a voice said beside her.

Amara turned to find a boy about her age, tall and wiry, with dark curls that framed his sharp features. His robes were plain, unmarked by any insignia, but his easy grin suggested he wasn't as lost as she felt.

"Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely audible over the hum of the Citadel.

He extended a hand. "Jaren. You?"

"Amara."

"Welcome to chaos," Jaren said, his grin widening. "Hope you're ready."

Before she could respond, a chime echoed through the air, deep and resonant, like a bell struck in the heart of the Citadel. The pathways beneath their feet shifted, glowing lines appearing to guide the students forward. Jaren gave her a quick nod before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Amara to follow the glowing path alone.

The group placement ceremony was held in the Great Hall, a cavernous space on the central platform. The hall was a marvel of architecture, with walls that shimmered like liquid gold and a ceiling that mirrored the stars, their constellations swirling and rearranging as if to observe the newcomers below. Seven towering banners hung from the rafters, each representing one of the Citadel's groups: Ignithral, Hydravian, Terros, Aetherion, Luminara, Mystara, and Eclipsion.

Amara's eyes lingered on the banners, her heart sinking slightly as her gaze landed on the seventh one—the Luminal Fringe. Unlike the other banners, which shimmered with vibrant magic, the Luminal Fringe banner was muted, its colors faded as if it had been forgotten by time.

"Students," a voice boomed, silencing the murmurs in the hall. A woman stood at the front, her robes pristine white, trimmed with silver. Her presence was commanding, her every movement precise and deliberate. "Welcome to Zarathis Citadel. Today, you take your first steps toward discovering your true potential."

Amara's stomach tightened. The woman's gaze swept over the crowd, lingering for a moment on her. Or maybe she imagined it. The locket at her throat pulsed faintly, a soft hum that only she could hear.

"As you know," the woman continued, "each of you will be placed within one of the seven groups. Your placement reflects the core of your abilities, the foundation upon which you will build your skills and your future."

One by one, names were called, each followed by the group placement. Applause broke out for the more prestigious groups: Ignithral, with its fiery warriors; Mystara, the masters of illusions and strategy; and Luminara, the healers and guides. Each name felt like a reminder of what Amara wasn't.

Finally, her name echoed through the hall.

"Amara Aurelian."

The silence that followed was deafening. She felt every eye in the room turn to her, the whispers already beginning. The Aurelian name carried weight, but it would mean nothing if...

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"Luminal Fringe."

The whispers grew louder. Amara's face burned, but she forced herself to stand tall as she stepped forward. She caught a glimpse of someone sneering from the Ignithral section, their insignia glowing like fire against their chest. Her hand brushed the locket as if seeking reassurance, but its hum was faint, distant.

She took her place among the Luminal Fringe students, their section noticeably smaller and quieter than the others. The banner above them flickered slightly, as though it might disappear altogether.

As the ceremony continued, Amara's mind raced. The Luminal Fringe. The weakest group. The outcasts. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. This wasn't where she belonged. She didn't know where she belonged, but it wasn't here.

The ceremony ended with a final chime, and the students began to disperse. A figure stepped into her path, blocking her way. Amara looked up to find herself face-to-face with the sneering Ignithral student from earlier.

"Aurelian," they said, their tone mocking. "Guess the family name doesn't mean much after all."

Amara's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The locket hummed again, faint but steady. She didn't need to respond. Not yet.

After the crowd dispersed, Amara followed a guide to the Luminal Fringe platform. It was tucked further away from the central hub of the Citadel, smaller and quieter than the others. The pathway leading to it was lined with faintly glowing runes, their light dimmer than those she had seen in the Great Hall. The platform itself was a mix of mismatched structures, less refined than the gleaming towers of the stronger groups. It felt forgotten, its edges shrouded in a faint mist that swirled and pulsed with a faint blue hue.

Her guide, a senior student named Lyric, greeted her with a half-hearted smile. "Welcome to the Fringe," he said, gesturing to the platform. "Not as grand as the others, but we've got our own charm."

Amara gave a small nod, her eyes scanning the area. A handful of students lingered nearby, some glancing her way with curiosity, others avoiding eye contact entirely. She caught snippets of whispered conversations but couldn't make out the words.

Lyric motioned for her to follow. "I'll show you your quarters. It's basic, but it'll do. Most of the time, you'll be out training or studying anyway."

As they walked, he pointed out various parts of the platform—a modest training arena, a small library glowing faintly with magic, and a communal hall that looked older than the rest. "The Fringe doesn't get much attention from the Citadel," Lyric admitted, his tone bitter. "But that's fine. We've learned to rely on ourselves."

Amara felt a flicker of something—sympathy, perhaps—but it was quickly swallowed by her own frustration. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not in the Fringe. Not like this.

They reached a modest room near the edge of the platform. "This is yours," Lyric said, pushing the door open. The room was simple, with a small bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the swirling mist. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins."

He left without another word, leaving Amara alone. She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. The locket at her throat pulsed faintly, its warmth a small comfort in the quiet room.

She stepped to the window, her eyes drawn to the mist beyond. It seemed to shift and dance, as though alive. Somewhere in the distance, the Citadel's great spires glowed brightly, a stark contrast to the dim light of the Fringe.

Amara clenched her fists. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be. She would prove herself, no matter what it took.

The knock on her door came just as the first light of dawn seeped through the misty window. Amara stirred, groggy from a night of restless dreams, the locket's faint hum still echoing in her mind. She sat up, brushing a hand through her honey-blonde microlocs, which had slipped from their braid during the night. Her glowing brown skin, dulled by exhaustion, began to regain its luster as she splashed cold water onto her face from the basin near the window.

Quickly, she slipped into the standard Luminal Fringe attire left at the foot of her bed—a fitted tunic and trousers in muted gray, lined with faint, glowing blue threads that pulsed like veins. The ensemble felt simple, almost too plain compared to the ornate robes she had seen in the other groups, but it was comfortable. She adjusted the locket at her throat, its faint hum steady against her chest, before pulling on her boots.

With a final glance at her reflection in the window's glass, Amara squared her shoulders and stepped toward the door, opening it.

Standing before her was a young woman with wild auburn curls and a mischievous grin. Her eyes, sharp and alert, sparkled with an energy that was almost contagious.

"Morning, roomie," the girl said, stepping inside before Amara could respond. "Name's Elira. Welcome to the Fringe."

Amara blinked, caught off guard by the girl's boldness. "Uh, hi," she managed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I didn't know I had a roommate."

Elira shrugged, plopping down on the small bed opposite Amara's. "You do now. They like to double us up here—keeps things...cozy."

Amara closed the door and leaned against it, studying the newcomer. Elira seemed entirely at ease, as though the cramped quarters and faded walls were the height of luxury.

"So," Elira said, stretching her legs out in front of her, "what's your story? You don't look like the usual Fringe crowd."

Amara hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "It's a long story."

Elira grinned, leaning forward. "Good. I love long stories. But first—breakfast. You're not going to survive your first day on an empty stomach."

Without waiting for a response, Elira stood and opened the door. "Come on, let's get moving. The others will eat everything if we're late."

Amara followed reluctantly, still trying to process the whirlwind that was Elira. Despite herself, she felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the Fringe wasn't as lonely as she'd feared.