Page 3 of House Ignis

"Are you ready?” Ember’s soft eyes met mine, a small smile gracing her lips.

Gods, was I truly doing this? Barely four months after my brother's death?

A familiar, choking anxiety clawed its way up my throat, threatening to steal my breath before I could even cross the threshold.

“May the fire god, Ignis, strike me down,” Aether muttered through the bond, his obsidian tail flicking in sharp irritation.

“The sheer drama of your mind is exhausting.”

Arrogant fucking house cat.

I swallowed the panic, drawing in a deep, stabilizing breath.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

The moment we stepped through the wrought-iron Academy gates, the sheer scale of the grounds stole whatever words I had left.

Towering spires of polished black stone pierced the sky, casting sharp shadows across a labyrinth of silver footbridges and lush gardens bursting with fire-bright blooms.

Crystal fountains sprayed high arcs of jeweled water, scattering glittering prisms across the cobblestones.

Above the courtyard, the grand house banners rippled in the alpine breeze—the blazing crimson of Ignis, the deep emerald of Terra, the stormy sapphire of Tideris, the pale silver of Ventus, and the shadow-drenched black and violet of Umbra.

Magic lived in the very air here, humming against my skin, as thick and tangible as woodsmoke.

Fae and humans streamed past us in a restless sea of leather and robes, their footsteps weaving into the vibrant thrum of a new semester. The sheer energy of it only made the suffocating weight in my chest press harder.

Students from every corner of Lyr'n'dell had been summoned here, torn from their homes at twenty-one.

Any younger and your magic was still too wild to survive the shaping. The divine summons was absolute law—no appeal, no delay.

Not everyone survived all three years.

Because the Academy wasn't just a school.

The Academy existed to forge the next generation of the Astral Guard—the only thing standing between the five kingdoms and the darkness pressing at the edges of the Containment Ring.

The Guard didn't just defend borders. They enforced balance.

A blade held at the world's throat.

And here I was, like everyone else, walking toward the sorting ceremony like a lamb to the slaughter.

The moment every wielder either dreamed of or dreaded—I firmly fell into the latter.

Because once that choice was made, you weren’t just a student anymore.

You belonged to the continent. To your kingdom. To the Ring.

Jax was made for that life. He would have thrived.

Me? Not a chance.

My fire had never behaved the way it was supposed to. Volatile. Unpredictable.

So wild it had burned its way into my body and left me with an autoimmune disease, the kind healers waved away as ‘tummy issues’ and physicians dismissed as if it were all in my head.

I couldn't help but notice the irony of the heir to the throne being undone by her own magic.