The journey to the Academy wasn’t short. It never was.

  The ship—an obsidian serpent-css carrier powered by sky-mana reactors—cut through the upper atmosphere like a silent bde. Below, the kingdoms looked like map pieces; above, the clouds curled like painted smoke. The air shimmered with arcane pressure, a protective barrier keeping the thin sky from freezing the passengers inside.

  But despite the height, the silence, and the altitude, Joseph Quinn wasn’t looking out the window.

  He was watching people.

  Thirty-Two StudentsThere were thirty-two students aboard, all hand-selected from House Veylor’s domains. Some were nobles. Others were commoners granted a rare blessing of talent. Most had drawn low-value cards—fives, sixes, an occasional eight—but a few stood out.

  Veylor Lennox, a Ten of Spades, looked every bit the noble heir-in-training. Arrogant. Loud. Surrounded by lesser cards trying to gain favor.

  Mira Halwen, a Seven of Hearts with soft healing magic, kept mostly to herself, her gaze flitting nervously to Joseph every few minutes.

  Garric Stone, an Eight of Clubs, already bragged about how many brawls he’d won using raw mana channeling. Big. Loud. Predictable.

  Joseph sat in silence as these personalities cshed, sparked, and attempted to establish dominance. All posturing. All wasted energy.

  He didn’t speak unless spoken to. And when they did speak to him, it wasn’t casual.

  “Hey. You really a Joker?”

  Lennox again. He’d been eyeing Joseph from the moment they boarded.

  Joseph looked at him. Just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

  “Cards don’t lie,” he replied ftly.

  “That’s not what I heard.” Lennox leaned forward. “You’re from a branch family. Nobody pulls Joker unless they’re cursed.”

  Joseph didn’t answer.

  Lennox’s smile tightened, the type that hid insecurity behind arrogance. He leaned back, muttering something to a boy beside him—probably another follower. Joseph didn’t bother to listen.

  Let them think what they want. Let them guess. Fear made people unpredictable—but it also made them cautious.

  He’d use that.

  A Moment AloneLater, as the others settled into quiet groups, Joseph slipped away from the central lounge and moved toward the observation deck—an open-air ptform surrounded by a translucent mana field that allowed passengers to look down on the world below.

  Here, he could breathe. Not in the physical sense, but mentally.

  The wind couldn’t touch him, but the pressure of the world felt distant here.

  Joseph leaned against the edge, staring down at the nds far below—territories he once bled across. He’d burned vilges there. Stabbed old men in their beds on orders from nobles who wouldn't dirty their robes.

  And now he was returning to where it all began.

  Not as a hound.

  As something worse.

  “Why did you choose Joker?”

  Caelia’s voice broke the silence. She stood beside him now, silent in her approach, wrapped in her House’s yered robes.

  Joseph didn’t look at her. “I didn’t choose it. It chose me.”

  She studied his face, then said, “Jokers aren’t chosen. They’re born. Or made.”

  “Same thing, in the right hands.”

  She was quiet for a while. Watching the clouds.

  Finally: “Do you believe in bance?”

  Joseph blinked. “Bance?”

  “In power. In the world. In people.”

  He turned to her slowly. “I believe imbance kills people. That’s enough.”

  Caelia nodded, almost like she agreed.

  “You’ll make enemies fast,” she said.

  “I don’t need friends,” Joseph said, “just leverage.”

  That made her ugh—a small, controlled sound that didn’t match her cold reputation.

  Then she walked away.

  Talk of WandsAs the ship neared its destination, the mood shifted. The students quieted. Even Lennox stopped bragging.

  Because ahead, glowing like a jewel embedded in the sky, was The Floating Academy—a sprawling city suspended by ancient magic, with towers that pierced the clouds and bridges of stone that hovered without supports.

  The Academy wasn’t just a school.

  It was a stage.

  A battlefield.

  A kingdom of its own.

  And the first ritual all new students had to face was the Wand Selection Ceremony.

  “I heard the wand chooses you,” Garric Stone said from across the cabin, gripping the edge of his seat.

  “Nah,” Mira Halwen said quietly. “They assign it by core compatibility. You touch one, it either rejects you or doesn’t.”

  “Wrong,” another boy chimed in. “My brother said his wand snapped in half when someone else tried to borrow it. That’s not ‘assignment,’ that’s bonding.”

  They were all wrong in parts. Joseph knew that.

  The Wand Ceremony was a magical compatibility test combined with legacy enchantments and bloodline resonance. Wands weren’t just tools. They were amplifiers—extensions of will, discipline, and magical identity.

  In his st life, Joseph had been given a default wand. It worked. But it wasn’t his.

  This time… he had other pns.

  ArrivalThe carrier glided to a stop on a glowing ptform just outside the Academy gates. Dozens of staff members in blue and silver robes waited with open scrolls, enchantment markers, and glowing pendants. Behind them, towering gates of rune-etched steel blocked entrance to the inner city.

  Each student was called by name, escorted down the ramp, and greeted with a brief enchantment scan before being registered.

  Joseph stepped forward when called.

  He felt the scan brush across him like wind.

  It paused.

  Just a moment longer than the others.

  Then—

  “Joseph Quinn. Status: Joker. Registered.”

  The examiner’s voice didn’t falter, but her eyes did widen.

  He walked through the gate without a word.

  Inside, the Floating Academy loomed ahead—dozens of towers, floating walkways, yered gardens filled with magical flora, and libraries suspended mid-air.

  It was beautiful.

  And cursed.

  Because here, in the heart of magic, is where the world's rot truly began.

  And this time, Joseph Quinn was already inside.