They say the threads of magic that bind the world are eternal—unchanging, unyielding. But threads fray. Threads snap.

Once, the continents thrummed with harmony, each home to one of the seven magical groups: the fiery Ignithral, the fluid Hydravian, the unshakable Terros, the soaring Aetherion, the radiant Luminara, the enigmatic Mystara, and the shadowed Eclipsion. Together, they wove the balance of power that kept the world in order.

But nothing lasts forever.

The Citadel of Zarathis was born out of chaos. A neutral ground, floating above the lands, it became a place to teach control, foster alliances, and maintain the delicate balance. Its shifting platforms and glowing spires were a symbol of unity—and a reminder of the cost of failure.

Legends tell of a locket, forged from the purest magic, said to hold a thread connected to all seven groups. The Bound Thread, they called it. A relic of immense power, it was entrusted to the first Keepers of the Ethereal Flame, sworn to protect it for all time. But the locket vanished, its story fading into myth.

Now, whispers stir. The Citadel shifts uneasily, its magic flickering in ways unseen for centuries. And in the heart of it all, a girl with a forgotten locket steps onto its ancient grounds.

Now, she stood at the edge of this world, her first steps into its mysteries just beginning.

The air shimmered as dawn stretched its golden fingers across the horizon, painting the Aurelian estate in a soft glow. The towers of the Keepers of the Ethereal Flame rose majestically, their golden spires catching the first light of day and refracting it into a thousand hues. Around the courtyard, gardens of luminescent flowers stirred to life, their petals unfurling as if to greet the sun. The estate breathed magic; every stone in its walls hummed faintly with enchantments laid down generations ago, an eternal reminder of the family's legacy.

Amara stood in the courtyard, the world around her alive with beauty and yet weighed down by the stillness of the moment. The locket at her throat, The Bound Thread, pulsed faintly against her skin. She had grown used to its warmth, the quiet hum that felt like a second heartbeat, but today—this moment—the sensation seemed different. More insistent. More alive.

In her hand, the summons scroll felt heavier than its delicate parchment should have been. The golden wax seal of Zarathis Citadel—a seven-pointed star encircled by ancient runes—caught the morning light, glinting with an almost taunting brilliance. This was it. The moment she had spent years preparing for, fearing, and hoping against.

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"Open it," Caelan's voice broke through the morning's stillness. It was a command, as much as a plea. He stood on the balcony above, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze unyielding. Beside him, their father, Lucan, loomed like a shadow of judgment, his features carved from stone. Selara's presence was a gentler light in the tension, her hand resting on Caelan's arm as if to temper his intensity.

Amara's fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet courtyard. She unrolled the scroll, the bold, flowing script glowing faintly as the words revealed themselves:

By decree of Zarathis Citadel, Amara Aurelian is hereby summoned to join the ranks of this year's students.

A wave of something she couldn't name—relief? Excitement? Pride?—rushed through her, but it was quickly extinguished by the next line:

Placement: Luminal Fringe.

The words hung in the air like an accusation. The Luminal Fringe. The weakest designation, the place where the unremarkable were sent. It was a half-step away from rejection, and for an Aurelian, it might as well have been exile.

Her chest tightened. The locket at her throat pulsed harder, its hum turning sharper, almost agitated. She clasped it instinctively, grounding herself as the weight of the words settled over her.

"What does it say?" Soren's voice cut through from the shadows of the balcony. Unlike Caelan's commanding tone, his was softer, probing. She glanced up, catching his narrowed eyes and half-smirk—a mask, she knew, for whatever he was truly feeling.

"I..." Her voice wavered for the first time. She hated that. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to stand taller. "I've been placed in the Luminal Fringe."

The silence that followed was unbearable. Caelan's jaw tightened, Soren's smirk faded, and even Kieran, the youngest of her brothers, leaned forward from his place near the far railing, his expression unreadable.

"The Luminal Fringe?" Caelan's voice was low, dangerous. "They might as well have rejected you."

"Caelan," Selara's voice was soft but firm, a gentle reprimand that only a mother could deliver. "She has been accepted. That is what matters."

Amara wanted to believe her, but the knot in her chest refused to loosen. She could feel their disappointment, their worry, as clearly as if it were her own. The Bound Thread hummed again, warmer this time, almost comforting. It didn't matter. She'd made it in. That was enough.

Wasn't it?

"You leave by sundown," Lucan said, his voice cutting through the moment. It wasn't a suggestion. "You will represent this family with pride, no matter your placement."

"Of course," Amara said, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her. She folded the scroll carefully, tucking it into the pocket of her coat, and turned toward the house. The warmth of the locket stayed with her, its hum like a whisper: There is more to you than this.

She hoped it was right.