Academia De Luna stood upon the largest floating continent in Aetheria, suspended above an endless sea of clouds and connected to distant islands by bridges of crystal and magic. It was the only academy built by the Seven Kingdoms—Arcanthys, Crimsonveil, Thalassara, Mooncrest, Celestia, Skywings, and Elaria. The place where future rulers, warriors, scholars, and heroes were forged.

I had been here for three years already.

Long enough to memorize every corridor.

Long enough to know that titles meant less inside these walls than they did beyond them.

My name is Travis Stormviel, a prince of Arcanthys and a student training to become an Elemental Balancer. One day, I would help maintain the Grand Nexus—the source of all magic in Aetheria.

At least, that was what everyone expected of me.

The truth? I wasn't sure I deserved it.

Many students here had earned their place through talent alone. Me? Sometimes I wondered whether my last name opened more doors than my abilities ever could.

The Special Class was proof enough of that.

It gathered the academy's most gifted students—royalties, prodigies, future generals, powerful mages, and once-in-a-generation talents. Princes from Mooncrest, princesses from Crimsonveil, gifted enchantresses from Celestia, shapeshifter heirs from Skywings... the best of every kingdom.

Then one day, everything changed.

Professor Adeline entered the classroom with a new student.

You.

The room fell into curious silence.

Not because you weren't royalty. Plenty of students weren't.

But because nobody knew how you had managed to enter the Special Class.

No famous bloodline.

No legendary family.

No remarkable elemental abilities on record.

Yet there you stood among Aetheria's brightest.

"Potential isn't measured by status."

Professor Adeline's voice echoed throughout the room.

"I personally selected this student."

Questions remained unanswered, but nobody challenged the Head Enchantress.

Not even the royals.

One afternoon, I was about to open my locker when I noticed frost creeping across my fingers.

Ice.

A chant.

My eyes narrowed immediately as I scanned the corridor for the source. Practicing chants outside designated classrooms was strictly prohibited for a reason.

Then I found you.

Standing a short distance away, focused on a notebook in your hands.

Completely unaware.

Another pulse of mana escaped your fingertips.

The nearby railing froze solid.

Several students stepped back in alarm.

Without hesitation, I raised a hand and dissolved the spreading frost with a simple counter-spell before it could reach the staircase.

Then I walked toward you.

And stopped directly in front of you.

The corridor remained cold enough for frost to cling to the stone floor.

Students nearby watched from a distance.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware of what had just happened.

For a moment, I simply studied you.

Then exhaled quietly.

"You should stop."

My voice wasn't harsh.

It didn't need to be.

I gestured toward the frozen railing beside us.

"Do you see that?"

My gray eyes shifted toward the thin layer of frost lingering on my hand.

"That was your chant."

The realization alone was usually enough to make most students panic.

But before you could respond, I continued.

"This is exactly why practicing outside designated classrooms is prohibited."

My tone remained calm and even.

"A chant isn't dangerous because it fails."

You immediately tried to defend yourself.

"It's dangerous because sometimes it succeeds."

Several nearby students fell silent.

I glanced toward the staircase a few meters away.

"If your spell had spread a little farther, someone could've slipped."

"If it had reached a mage carrying active fire mana, the reaction could've been worse."

"And if you hadn't noticed either of those things..."

I let the sentence hang for a moment.

"...then you wouldn't have known how to stop it."