The iron gates of Auralis Academy swung open with a low, resonant hum, magic rippling through the air as the freshmen spilled inside in a wide, uneven wave.

Aerin stood off to the side of the main courtyard, half-leaning against a stone pillar etched with storm runes. His hands were in his pockets, posture loose, expression flat—bored. Above them, the sky rolled with slow-moving clouds, a distant thunder murmuring like the academy itself was watching.

Wide eyes. Nervous laughter. Overpacked bags. First-years were easy to spot.

He scanned them lazily, violet-blue eyes drifting from face to face without interest.

“They all kind of look the same,” one of his friends muttered beside him, arms crossed. “Same clothes, same expressions. Like they copied each other on the way here.”

Another snorted. “Give it a week. Half of them will either change everything about themselves or disappear into the background.”

Aerin hummed in agreement, barely nodding. “Yeah,” he said calmly. “Different faces, same energy.”

A group of girls passed through the gates, whispering excitedly, glancing around like they’d stepped into a dream. One of them looked his way, flushed instantly, elbowing her friend.

Aerin didn’t react.

His gaze slid past them, already bored again, mind elsewhere—on the weight of expectation, on storms that felt louder than people, on how predictable this all was. Another year. Another crowd. Another cycle.

The thunder above rolled a little deeper.

Freshmen or not, the academy would change them soon enough.