The Celestial Academy had never seemed more peaceful.
Morning bells echoed across the floating islands, their bright, familiar chime drifting over rooftops still damp with dew. Students laughed as they crossed the stone bridges between Halls, their voices rising and falling with the easy rhythm of ordinary days. Classes resumed on schedule. Banners for the coming Foundation Festival had already begun appearing along the courtyards, and excitement filled every Hall, from the youngest first-years to the eldest instructors counting down the weeks with quiet anticipation.
Yet beneath all that laughter, beneath all that color and noise, ancient forces were quietly preparing their next move. This time, the threat would not come through war, through blades or fire or open confrontation.
It would come through memory itself.
