The moment they cleared the cave mouth, the world fell away beneath them.
The air up there was thin and crisp, so cold it made Nard's eyes water, yet Beru's great golden wings beat steadily, carrying them higher, until the jagged ravines and dark forests of home looked no more than crumpled shadows on the earth below. Stars blazed overhead—brighter, closer than Nard had ever seen them, burning like scattered diamonds across a sky so deep it felt endless. The wind rushed past, soft but swift, carrying the faint, clean scent of coming snow.
"Hold fast," Beru's voice resonated deep within Nard's mind, warm and steady despite the biting chill. "We ride the northern jet stream. It will carry us faster than any arrow in flight."
They banked gently, turning toward the faint, pale glow on the horizon—the direction of the Northern Academy. Beneath them, the land unfolded like a living map: first the dark, rolling hills of the borderlands, then the silver ribbon of the Great River glinting under moonlight, widening into the vast, mist-shrouded marshes that separated the southern kingdoms from the High Plains. As they climbed higher still, the air grew colder, and the first patches of dazzling white began to appear—frozen lakes gleaming like mirrors, and far in the distance, the jagged, snow-capped spine of the Frostspine Mountains piercing the sky.
Nard leaned forward slightly, awestruck despite the urgency that hummed in his chest. He had never imagined the world could be so vast, so beautiful, so quiet. From up here, there were no manor walls, no cruel words, no chains of any kind. Just wind, and starlight, and the steady, powerful rhythm of Beru's wings lifting them ever onward.
"You have done this before," Nard said softly, his voice nearly lost to the rushing air. "Flown across the continent like this. Soaring above everything."
For a long moment, Beru said nothing. The great golden wings beat on, rhythmic and sure against the dark sky.
"I have known many skies," Beru said at last, his voice softer, carrying a faint, ancient weight that seemed to settle gently around them. "Once, I flew beside someone who knew every star by name. We watched empires rise and fall from heights like this. She walked through a world that feared her, and in all her long years, she had no one but me. I was her shadow, her quiet witness… the only one who saw that even the brightest light can feel terribly lonely."
Nard fell quiet, sensing the tender, distant memory in his friend's words. He did not ask for more. Some things were too precious and too vast to speak of clearly.
Hours slipped by, measured in the shifting of stars above and the slow, pale light beginning to bleed into the eastern sky. As they crossed the High Central Plains, the snow-covered landscape stretched out endlessly, smooth and unbroken, like a vast white sea frozen in time. Occasionally, far below, Nard saw the tiny pinprick lights of a village or a travelling caravan winding slowly along a road—people moving at the pace of horses, while they soared above it all, free and unseen.
But as the first rays of dawn touched the highest peaks, Beru's tone grew solemn.
"Look ahead, Nard. There it is."
Nard squinted against the growing brightness. There, rising from the very heart of the Frostspine range, stood the Northern Academy. It was not merely a building—it was a city carved into the mountain itself, towers of pale grey stone rising sheer and impossibly high, capped with snow that blazed pink and gold in the sunrise. Great arches spanned between peaks, and banners of deep blue and silver snapped in the wind, bearing the Academy's emblem: a star caught in a circle of light. Even from this distance, Nard could feel the hum of magic—an ancient, powerful thrum that vibrated through the very air, strong enough to make his teeth ache.
It was magnificent. And it was terrifying.
"The trials begin at midday," Beru said, circling wide, descending toward a narrow, shadowed valley far below the main gates. "We have arrived before the sun clears the highest peak. You have time to rest, to compose yourself… and to don your mask."
They touched down gently in a sheltered grove of ancient pine trees, their branches heavy with fresh snow. The landing was softer than Nard expected—Beru's wings braking with precise, powerful strokes until they settled light as a feather upon the frozen earth.
Nard slid down from Beru's shoulder, his legs feeling strangely unsteady after hours above the clouds. He stood for a moment, brushing snow from his cloak, looking up at the great golden shape that towered over him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I did not know… the world could look like that."
Beru's form began to shift, shrinking, the great wings folding in upon themselves until he stood once more in his human guise—tall and familiar, amber eyes glowing warmly in the shadow of the trees.
"The world is wide, Nard," he said, resting a hand gently on Nard's shoulder. "And you have only just begun to see it. But remember: inside those walls, you are not the heir of Zaqor. You are not the boy they cast aside. You are the Silent Star—unknown, unburdened, free to show them exactly what you are capable of."
Nard nodded, his hand closing around the medallion beneath his tunic. He pulled the dark cowl over his head, adjusting it until it cast his face in deep shadow, then fastened the silver crescent medallion over his cloak—where it caught the faint dawn light, glowing with a quiet, mysterious luminescence.
"Then let us go," he whispered, his heart beating fast but steady. "The Masters are waiting. And the Silent Star has arrived."