Just the sound of bags unzipping, metal clinking, and the slow, hopeless wheeze of the ceiling fan giving up on life. I waited. Back still against the bunk, eyes casually scanning the room like I wasn’t silently ranking them all by how likely they were to stab someone in their sleep.
The purple-haired one—Elle—moved with military precision. She folded her uniform jacket with care, placed it at the foot of the bed like it was reporting for inspection. No wasted motion. No sound. Definitely the type to kill you with a clipboard before ever raising her voice.
The blonde—Mika—plopped onto the top bunk with a loud bounce, kicked off her boots without aiming, and yawned like she was allergic to structure. Wild card.
The tech guy—Sato—was already in the corner, mumbling to himself and unpacking like the rest of us didn’t exist. He spoke machine fluently. People? Not so much.
The tall one—Derrin—had his hands clasped behind his back like he was observing a nature exhibit he might one day rule.
And me? I was just waiting for the moment someone blinked first.
Mika beat us to it.
“So,” she said, stretching with a groan, “are we gonna talk, or are we committing to the whole silent prison-cell vibe?”
No one answered.
She sat up, clapped her hands once, and grinned like she was about to cause a scene on purpose. “Okay, new game: name, Aspect, subclass. Don’t be weird about it.”
Elle didn’t even look up. “Why?”
Mika popped a lollipop in her mouth. “Because I like to know what I’m working with in case one of you turns out to be secretly explosive.”
A pause.
Then, surprisingly, Elle answered.
“Elle Tamsin. Aspect of Water. Subclass: Bubbles. Compression and directional burst.” She raised her hand, palm facing up. A single bubble shimmered into existence—perfectly round, hovering weightless.
It popped with a tiny snap, sending a blast of wind strong enough to ruffle my hair and knock over Sato’s screwdriver.
“Neat,” Zach said.
Mika gave a low whistle. “Remind me not to call you cute in close range.”
“Noted,” Elle replied, already reaching for her notebook.
Mika pointed at herself next. “Mika Korin. Aspect of Light, Subclass: Body Projection. I don’t move at light speed or teleport or anything, but I can project light from myself. Bright enough to blind. Hot enough to sizzle.”
She raised one hand and pulsed her palm—light spilled out in a short, sharp flash that made Derrin flinch.
Sato sighed next. “Sato. Aspect of Tech. Subclass: Drone Sync. I link with machines. My drones think because I do. Control range: fifty meters. Processing power: better than most of you.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Zach muttered under his breath.
Derrin spoke last, calm and even. “Derrin. Aspect of Beast. Subclass: Bug. Short-range control. They listen. They scout. They defend.”
A beetle crawled across his knuckles like it was responding to his voice.
Mika leaned closer. “Can they attack?”
“Yes.”
“…Hot.”
Then it was my turn. Five pairs of eyes, five different kinds of curiosity.
I pushed myself upright, stretched once, and gave them my best lazy smile. “Zach. Aspect of Summoning. Subclass: Basic Sword.”
“Basic as in…”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
I raised my hand and summoned it. A dull shimmer, a simple blade—not even glowing. I flipped it once, then let it vanish again.
“That’s it?” Mika asked, tilting her head.
“Yep.”
“No fire? No secret transformations?”
“Nope.”
“…Still kinda hot,” she muttered.
“I get that a lot.”
The room settled after that. Not peaceful, but functional. Sato pulled out another drone and started calibrating its sensors. Derrin opened a book titled Invertebrate Structure and Social Systems. Elle tied her hair back into a perfect ponytail and resumed writing. Mika laid back and started tossing gummy worms at the ceiling like she was trying to feed the fan.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the bunk, and listened to the faint hum of power systems running somewhere behind the walls.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t home.
But it wasn’t silent either.
Then the intercom crackled.
“All first-year students report to the main courtyard for orientation. Repeat: All first-year students to the courtyard. Now.”
Mika rolled off her bed with a groan. “Well. Time to go be ignored by professionals.”
I stood, dusted myself off, and slung my sword across my back.
Welcome to Halcyon Academy.
Where the bottom doesn’t even get a floor—just concrete and a lack of expectations
Class 1-D walked through the halls like they were Class 1-A.
Not with arrogance. Not with pride. Just the kind of straight-backed, unbothered energy that said they didn’t care how bad the rest of the school thought they were.
Zach led the group, hands tucked into the sleeves of his haori, wooden sword resting at his side. His footsteps were easy, steady. Not trying to impress anyone. Just moving like someone who knew exactly how unimpressive he looked and leaned into it.
Mika was beside him, lollipop in her mouth, pigtails bouncing with every step. She popped the candy free and looked around with a smirk like she owned the place already. “So many tight collars. You think their uniforms come with oxygen tanks?”
Elle followed just behind, arms folded behind her back, eyes forward. Her uniform was spotless. Crisp creases. Polished boots. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.
Mika glanced at Elle and smirked "Guess we got our own tight collar huh?"
Sato trailed close, one of his drones hovering low by his leg like a loyal pet. He tapped into his tablet with precise flicks, muttering something about recalibrating the gyroscope. No one really understood him, and he preferred it that way.
Derrin brought up the rear, hands in his coat pockets, long strides silent. His eyes scanned every detail of the hallway—the walls, the lights, the students who passed them with too much interest. A beetle peeked out from his sleeve and disappeared again.
Other students moved out of their way, some on instinct, some out of curiosity. Not respect. Not yet. Just confusion. The kids from D-Class weren’t supposed to look like this—like they belonged in the building.
They followed the crowd out of the dorm wing and into the wide central courtyard. Rows of stone benches wrapped around a raised platform. Academy banners waved overhead in blue and silver. Most students were already seated in their class clusters. 1-A was front and center, all perfect posture and polished badges. 1-B was behind them, loud and competitive. 1-C had a few hover-boosters and weird weapon displays already active—showoffs.
1-D sat off to the side. Their bench had a small crack down the middle. No plaque. No nameplate.
Zach sat first, arms still tucked inside his haori, sword resting comfortably against the bench. He didn’t slouch, but he didn’t stand at attention either. Just existed. Like he was daring someone to ask why he was even there.
Mika stretched and flopped down beside him, blowing a bubble with her gum before snapping it with a pop. “This feels like the part where a cult leader tells us to reach enlightenment by drinking bleach.”
Elle sat with spine-straight military posture. Sato didn’t sit so much as dock, still adjusting settings on his tablet. Derrin sat with one foot tucked under the other knee, calm and unreadable.
Then the courtyard shifted.
No music. No dramatic cues.
A figure walked down the aisle, and every conversation died like it had been cut with a wire.
Principal Rhoan Vale stepped onto the stage without needing to announce who he was. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He just stood there, tall and quiet, long black coat catching the breeze. His hair was slicked back, dark with streaks of silver, and a jagged scar ran down one cheek. His right arm—fully mechanical—hummed faintly with soft magic lines that pulsed under the surface.
He looked over the students the way you might examine weapons in a vault. Measuring weight, usefulness, potential breakpoints.
When he spoke, his voice was low and clear, not loud, but heard by everyone.
"Lets get something straight you are not here because you are strong. You are here because strength alone is not enough. This academy does not create legends. It sharpens them. Or breaks them."
His gaze swept across the courtyard. For a second, it landed on 1-D. And lingered.
"We do not care about your rank today. We care what remains of you when it’s tested."
Then he stepped back.
No applause. No closing line.
Just silence—and then the sudden flood of noise as the courtyard came back to life.
Zach leaned back slightly, gaze on the stage.
No one said it out loud, but the message was clear.
They weren’t expected to become legends.
They were expected to survive. Or fail.
And if Zach had anything to say about it, failing was going to take more than just a low rank and a shitty power
They walked back like they hadn’t just been told they were statistically likely to get broken in half.
Mika led the charge, hands behind her head, lollipop tucked in the corner of her mouth. “So, real talk… am I the only one who thinks the principal could snap half this school in two with his non-metal arm?”
“I don’t think he needs either arm,” Sato muttered, nose still in his tablet. “He could probably win a fight just by smoldering it.”
“I want to be him when I grow up,” Mika said.
They crossed through the central corridor—wide, open, and busy. Students from Class 1-C were posted near the railing on the second floor, chatting like they weren’t obviously watching every step 1-D took. A couple students from 1-B leaned against a wall nearby, eyes tracking them like predators sizing up the weird animal at the zoo.
Mika noticed first, naturally. She grinned and waved. “Hi, hello, yes, it’s true we’re ugly, poor, and underqualified. Please contain your excitement.”
One of the 1-C students snorted, then quickly looked away when Elle glanced up at him.
Zach walked in the center of their little group, arms tucked calmly into his haori like always, wooden sword resting at his hip. The others talked, bantered, filled the space with noise—but his head was still back on that courtyard stage.
Aegis.
That was what they called him. The Iron Aegis.
Zach had watched footage of Rhoan Vale before, but watching him on a screen wasn’t the same as standing in the same air. The guy didn’t speak like a hero. He didn’t posture, didn’t brag. He just was. Like a fixed point that gravity bent around. Like everything else in the world was negotiable except him.
Even now, hours later, Zach could still hear the rhythm of that voice. Not just the words—but the weight behind them.
You are not here because you are strong.
That line stuck.
“Hey,” Mika said, nudging his side with her elbow. “You good? You’ve got that glazed-over ‘I just saw my idol’ look.”
Zach blinked back into focus. “Nah. Just thinking.”
“About the principal?” she grinned.
“Maybe.”
“You wanna be him or kiss him?”
“Whats wrong with both?” Zach said with a smirk which Mika mirrored
They passed a trio of 1-B students who all whispered the second they passed. Sato sighed audibly.
“I could build a drone that spits chalk dust in their eyes.”
“Tempting,” Derrin said softly, “but then they’d just feel seen.”
"Right cause we need even more fuel for them to hate us" Mika said as she flicked the stick of her lollypop in their general direction earning her a scowl then she laughed loud enough to echo.
When they finally reached the stairwell down to their wing, Zach glanced once more over his shoulder at the open halls and higher levels.
Every step forward from here was a climb.
But damn if it didn’t feel like he was finally somewhere worth climbing in.
.