By the time Ryn and I found the classroom, it was already half full.
Aetherion Academy didn't have the kind of classrooms any sane place would. Back in my old world, a lecture theatre meant a row of seats, a projector that displayed the lecture slides, and maybe a whiteboard if the room was old enough. However, here it looked like someone had taken the concept of a university and handed it to a mythological architect with a superiority complex.
The room itself was circular, layered in smooth descending rings that ultimately led towards a broad central teaching floor. The walls were pale stone that shot through with silver filaments, and every few seconds, those filaments pulsed faintly, feeding Aether into the lecture arrays embedded around the chamber.
Overhead was a translucent domed ceiling that filtered in daylight, turning the air gold-white. At the centre of the room hovered a suspended structure of geometric light that looked like a map of the stars but as a machine diagram.
Ryn stopped as he entered the doorway and stared at everything around him.
"Of course it looks like this."
I adjusted the strap of my backpack and followed him. "Like what?"
"Like the sort of place that'd eat up all your Aether and turn it into homework."
I let out a small laugh. "I don't think any room in the world is capable of doing that."
Ryn gave me a sidelong glance. "You say that... and then boom! You turn into a piece of homework!"
This time, I couldn't hold in my laughter. "Hahaha, what are you even talking about?"
Students were still filtering in, filling the descending rings in loose clusters. There were around a hundred of us— or maybe more, I couldn't fully tell. Either way, there were too many for comfort. Enough to make every movement feel public, and every conversation potentially overheard.
Ryn leaned slightly toward me and lowered his voice.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Back row?"
"Yeah"
"Immediately?"
"Yeah. Run."
We moved toward the uppermost ring, keeping to the outside edge so we could pass without forcing other people to stand. The back rows were already filling with the sort of students who either wanted to disappear, like us, or had no interest in looking eager. Mainly commoners. However, there was one nervous-looking noble who had clearly lost a battle with his own confidence.
We found two seats near the rear, just left of centre. Good view of where the professor would be, an easy exit, and minimal attention on us.
'This is perfect.' I thought to myself.
"This is a perfect place to hide." Ryn somehow spoke my inner thoughts out loud.
Ryn dropped into his seat like he was claiming his territory and immediately sagged.
"Good. Good," he muttered. "It's discreet, safe from professor-led questions. Exactly where we belong."
"The way you say that makes it sound like an insult."
"It is... to you," he said snarkily.
I scoffed and proceeded to sit beside him, placing my backpack beneath the desk, and let my eyes travel down across the room.
The heirs were impossible to miss.
They all sat together by the front, not because anyone told them to, but because the room itself seemed to expect it. Ten distinct points of gravity are presented in human form.
Cyril Valenhardt sat in the centre of that cluster as if it were naturally expected. His back was straight, his expression distant, one elbow resting lightly against the arm of his seat. He looked exactly like he had during the practical exam: composed, immaculate... and faintly bored. If the lecture hall collapsed around him, I suspected his first reaction would be irritation at the inconvenience, rather than concern.
To Cyril's right sat Elya Veyrannis, pale and quiet, hands folded in her lap, her gaze was unfocused in the way that suggested she was either deep in thought or seeing things that no one else could.
'She's barely moved at all.'
Taron Caelvarin was the complete opposite.
He was sitting properly— well, technically he was, but only because the chair seemed to limit how much trouble he could physically get into. One of his legs bounced, while the other was still. He was leaning too far sideways to say something to Selene Lysoria, who sat beside him with a look of practised patience and amused restraint. She said something back, it was too quiet to hear, but clear enough to see Taron grin mischievously as he'd just been offered a dare.
Marin Thornevale sat a few places away. Her posture was neat, and one hand was resting against her cheek as she looked over the room with casual interest. Kind face. Sharp eyes. She didn't look especially intimidating until you remembered she was one of the heirs and probably more dangerous than most people in the building.
Astrid Solvane sat with her hands folded perfectly, gaze already fixed on the central teaching floor, looking as though she'd personally arrived an hour early to out-discipline the room.
Rein Drakovar looked half a heartbeat away from sleep but somehow still gave the impression he'd notice everything.
Veyra Nythra sat in stillness so complete it became its own form of movement.
Lucielle Ardentis looked serene in a way that suggested she'd be exhausting to argue with.
Darius Renora, meanwhile, sat with a firm confidence, like the Academy belonged to him and everyone else was waiting for him to admit it.
Ryn followed my stare. "Look at them... they really do look like they were made to be here."
"I think they're just aware that people are watching."
"Good," Ryn interjected. "Let them be the entertainment for once. I wouldn't be surprised if they enjoyed it."
"Maybe," I replied.
Down below, more students filed into the middle rows. The overall arrangement revealed itself quickly enough. The front clustered with heirs, noble elites, and those confident enough to want the professor to remember their faces. The middle held the practical majority, the ones who took school seriously enough to want a good seat without volunteering themselves for execution. The back, naturally, belonged to people with instincts... for survival.
Us.
Ryn sat up slightly and looked toward the front again.
"I'm telling you now," he murmured, "if one of them turns around and starts a conversation, I'm playing dead."
"That might cause them to bring medical attention."
"Better than noble attention."
"I don't think—"
Before I could answer, a low chime rippled through the room.
Conversations simmered but didn't vanish.
Then a man entered through the side entrance, and everything else followed him into silence.
He wasn't particularly tall, and at first glance, there was nothing flamboyant about him. Dark academy robes, silver-threaded cuffs, a narrow-faced expression that looked permanently one thought ahead of annoyance. His hair was iron-grey and cut short. He carried no staff, no books, no visible spell instrument.
He didn't need to.
The moment he stepped onto the central floor, the suspended lattice overhead brightened and reorganised itself in response.
Ah.
Everyone in the room already knew him.
Everyone but me.
He looked around once, taking in all hundred-and-something of us with the ease of someone who'd done this for years and shaped every batch.
"Good morning," he said.