Class A was quiet.
Not the uncomfortable silence of strangers forced into the same room, but the deliberate stillness of people who understood exactly where they stood.
Every student seated inside the classroom knew what Class A meant.
It meant expectation.
It meant pressure.
It meant that everyone here had been judged—by mana reserves, by aptitude tests, by raw potential—and found worthy of standing at the very top of their generation.
Aster Snowflake Wynfall sat at the very back of the room, leaning slightly against the chair, silver eyes calmly observing everything with the detached air of someone who had long grown used to scrutiny. He was not tense. He was not nervous. If anything, he looked like an audience member rather than a participant—cataloguing faces, postures, subtle mana flows.
Beside him, Astra sat with perfect posture, hands folded neatly atop her desk, long white hair cascading over one shoulder. Her expression was gentle, almost serene, but there was a quiet sharpness in her silver eyes—a discipline cultivated through years of practice, restraint, and the knowledge that their gift was both beautiful and misunderstood.
Lea Kingscrown lounged comfortably on Astra's other side, arms crossed behind her head, legs stretched forward under the desk. Physical magic users rarely struggled with confidence, and she was no exception—her relaxed demeanor radiating easy strength, a faint mana hum around her like coiled energy waiting to spring.
Rain Lancelot sat at the end of the bench, upright and composed, blue eyes reflecting the morning light streaming through the tall arched windows. Unlike many noble students who either sought attention or avoided it, she simply existed in the space—calm, observant, unhurried.
Four students.
One bench.
Already, their presence subtly altered the atmosphere around them—drawing glances, whispers, a ripple of curiosity and caution.
Across the room, other students whispered quietly—voices low but carrying in the charged silence.
Some glanced back repeatedly—curious, awed, or wary.
Some avoided looking at all—pretending disinterest while stealing side-eyes.
Some studied the Snowflakes openly—as though evaluating a phenomenon rather than classmates.
They were not just students.
They were already symbols.
Legends in the making.
The ones who had shattered expectations.
The ones who had returned after three years of silence with a concert that shook the kingdom.
Then—
The classroom door opened with a soft, deliberate click.
Footsteps echoed softly across the polished stone floor—measured, unhurried.
Conversation died instantly.
Every student straightened in their seat—spines aligning, hands folding, eyes forward.
A woman entered.
She was neither imposing in stature nor fragile, neither overly stern in expression nor casually relaxed. Her academy coat was worn but immaculate, its silver-lined edges marking her as a senior instructor. Long ash-blonde hair was tied neatly behind her back in a practical braid, revealing sharp, observant eyes the color of storm clouds.
She carried no visible weapon—no staff, no blade.
Yet the air around her felt… anchored.
Stable.
As if mana itself behaved more politely in her presence—flows smoothing, fluctuations calming.
She placed a thin spellbook and a crystal pointer on the central desk with quiet precision, then turned toward the class—gaze sweeping the room slowly, taking in every posture, every subtle expression, every flicker of mana.
"My name is Professor Elira Vael," she said calmly—voice neither loud nor soft, yet carrying effortlessly to every corner without amplification.
"I will be your homeroom instructor for the year."
A subtle ripple moved through the room—recognition in some eyes, curiosity in others.
Elira Vael.
Not a combat legend.
Not a battle mage.
But a name whispered with respect in academic circles—specialist in applied mana theory, magical integration, rune refinement.
Her gaze lingered briefly on each section—front row overachievers, middle clusters of noble heirs, back bench outliers.
"You may relax," she continued—tone even. "This is not a battlefield."
A few students exhaled quietly—shoulders loosening fractionally.
"But before we begin proper lessons," she said, tapping the desk once with her crystal pointer—a soft chime resonating.
"There is something I need to clarify."
She raised the pointer.
A rune flared to life on the projection board behind her—glowing words materializing in elegant script, hovering in mid-air.
The world does not revolve around fighters.
The sentence hung there—heavy with intent, challenging.
Several students frowned—confusion or disagreement flickering.
Some exchanged glances—uncertain.
Others leaned forward—intrigued.
Elira began walking slowly across the front of the room—pace deliberate, pointer tapping lightly against her palm.
"This academy is famous for producing powerful mages and elite warriors," she said evenly. "That reputation is well-deserved. Many alumni have shaped battles, defended borders, claimed glory."
She paused near the center—letting words settle.
"But it is incomplete."
Another gesture—pointer tracing mid-air.
Images replaced the text—vivid illusions manifesting with effortless precision (null magic projection—common skill requiring immense concentration and practice, yet she executed it flawlessly, layers overlapping seamlessly).
— Rune engineers in workshops, engraving intricate arrays into magic stones, sparks of mana dancing along tools.
— Healers in field tents, hands glowing as they stabilized wounded soldiers post-battle, closing gashes with precise flows.
— Strategists in war rooms, mapping supply routes on illuminated tables, predicting enemy movements with glowing markers.
— Scholars in libraries, recording mana fluctuations in ancient tomes, quills moving without touch.
— Artificers in forges, constructing complex devices—gears turning, runes activating, prototypes humming to life.
"Wars are not won by strength alone," Elira said—voice firm but calm. "They are won by preparation, intelligence, healing, innovation, and restraint."
The illusions faded smoothly—leaving lingering afterimages.
New text appeared—bullet points glowing.
Mana Control
Cognitive Capacity
Adaptability
Specialized Talent
Attribute Compatibility
"Some of you," she continued—gaze sweeping again, "could defeat students from other classes in direct combat today."
A few proud students straightened further.
"Some of you could not."
Those few shifted uncomfortably.
"But all of you," she said firmly—voice rising slightly for emphasis, "have the potential to become irreplaceable—not through raw destruction, but through understanding."
Her gaze lingered briefly on Aster and Astra—acknowledgment subtle but clear.
Then she smiled faintly—warmth breaking stern facade.
"Which brings us to introductions."
She folded hands behind back—posture relaxed authority.
"I want each of you to stand, introduce yourselves, your family name if applicable, and your magical attribute."
She raised one finger—clear warning.
"No boasting. No intimidation. No demonstrations."
A few disappointed expressions appeared—combat types deflating slightly.
"We are classmates," Elira said—tone leaving no room argument. "Not rivals. At least—not yet."
She turned slightly toward front row—gesture inviting.
"Begin."
***
The first student stood promptly.
A tall boy with neatly combed brown hair and confident posture—uniform crisp.
"My name is Cedric Halwyn," he said clearly—voice steady. "From House Halwyn. Wind magic."
He bowed slightly—graceful, practiced—and sat.
Next—
A girl with crimson hair tied into high ponytail stood—energy crackling faintly around her.
"Mirella Thorncrest," she announced—tone sharp, competitive edge clear. "Fire magic. Baron family."
She sat with deliberate force—chair scraping slightly.
Aster noted her stance immediately.
Aggressive posture.
High output type—likely favors direct confrontation.
One by one, students rose.
Earth mages—steady voices, grounded presence.
Lightning users—quick speech, restless energy.
Light and shadow manipulators—subtle tones, enigmatic smiles.
Illusionists—playful introductions, faint visual tricks despite warning.
Physical enhancement specialists—confident, broad-shouldered.
Some spoke proudly—shoulders squared, eyes challenging room.
Others spoke quietly—eyes darting, voices soft.
Some avoided looking toward back bench.
Some deliberately looked—curiosity or assessment.
Then—
Lea Kingscrown stood—grinning wide.
"My name is Lea Kingscrown," she said brightly—voice carrying easy confidence. "Physical enhancement magic."
A ripple passed through room—recognition immediate.
Kingscrown name carried weight—living weapons, battlefield legends.
She enjoyed attention—winking at a few surprised faces before sitting.
Next—
Rain Lancelot stood—movements smooth, controlled, unhurried.
"My name is Rain Lancelot," she said calmly—voice even, clear. "From House Lancelot. Water magic."
Several students exchanged glances—water mages rare, extremely valued for precision, healing, control.
She inclined head slightly—graceful neutrality—and sat.
Then—
Atmosphere subtly shifted—anticipation thickening.
Astra stood.
Her movements gentle—dress uniform rustling softly.
"My name is Astra Snowflake Wynfall," she said softly—voice warm, carrying naturally. "My attribute is sound magic."
Room stirred—whispers rippling outward immediately.
Sound magic.
Rare.
Unconventional.
Poorly understood by most.
Astra bowed slightly—smile kind—and sat gracefully.
Then—
Silence deepened—expectant.
Aster stood.
He did not rush—movements deliberate.
"My name is Aster Snowflake Wynfall," he said calmly—voice steady, resonant without effort. "Sound magic."
He paused briefly—then added evenly,
"I also specialize in rune engraving and magic device design."
Reaction immediate.
Murmurs exploded—surprise, skepticism, interest.
Rune engraving at fourteen—almost unheard of outside master artisans.
Device design—implying inventions like Harmonia Players.
Professor Elira's eyes sharpened—interest clear.
Aster sat—expression unchanged.
Remaining students introduced—but room never quite returned earlier balance.
Energy shifted—focused on back bench.
***
When last student sat, Elira clasped hands.
"Good."
She surveyed room—taking measure.
"Now you know each other—at least on surface."
Board shifted again—new projection glowing.
**Your First Lesson: Understanding Your Role**
"You may believe placement in Class A means superiority," Elira said evenly—voice carrying quiet authority.
Several students stiffened—pride or insecurity flickering.
"It does not."
She walked slowly between rows—pace deliberate, pointer tapping palm.
"It means expectation."
Stopped near middle—gaze sweeping.
"You will receive harder material. Broader responsibilities. Greater scrutiny."
Continued walking—voice calm but firm.
"Those who rely solely on raw power will struggle here."
Gaze passed briefly over Mirella—fire mage tensing.
"Those who refuse adapt will fail."
Glanced toward cluster proud-looking nobles—shifting uncomfortably.
"And those who believe status matters more than contribution…"
She smiled thinly—eyes sharp.
"…will be corrected."
Aster suppressed faint smile—approval quiet.
Elira returned front.
"For today—no practical lesson."
Collective exhale—relief spreading.
"Instead," she said, "receive schedules, dormitory assignments, academy guidelines. Dismissed early. Use time explore grounds, libraries, facilities."
Paused—gaze sweeping once more.
"But remember—everything you do here observed. By instructors. By peers. By history."
Bell rang—clear, resonant.
Conversation erupted immediately—chairs scraping, voices rising.
Students stood—forming clusters rapidly.
Some gathered around powerful-looking peers—alliances forming.
Others approached Aster and Astra cautiously—curiosity winning.
"Your concert incredible," one boy said—eyes wide. "The new album—I've listened ten times."
"Didn't know sound magic could do that," girl added shyly. "The resonance… felt it in my mana."
"Are inventions really self-made?" another asked—tone awe.
Aster responded politely but briefly—nodding, thanking, deflecting deeper questions.
Astra smiled warmly—engaging gently, easing tension.
Elsewhere—
Some students whispered—voices low but carrying resentment.
"They don't act like nobles…"
"Rune engraving? Sounds exaggerated…"
"Performing for money—disgraceful."
(but they didn't say anything openly—not yet)
Lea cracked knuckles—glaring direction.
"Already irritating," muttered.
Rain spoke quietly—observant.
"They're insecure. Fear what doesn't fit expectations."
Aster glanced—nodding faint agreement.
***
As they exited classroom—sunlight flooded corridor through tall arched windows, dust motes dancing in beams.
Students flowed outward—laughter, tension mixing freely.
Professor Elira watched back bench thoughtfully—lingering moment.
Sound magic.
Rune engineering.
Physical enhancement.
Water control.
Unusual convergence.
Potential… vast.
She smiled faintly—turning away.
As Aster stepped into corridor—felt something settle chest.
Not excitement.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
This academy not just school.
Crucible.
Place ideals collided.
Power without understanding broke.
Astra walked beside—hand brushing his reassuringly.
Lea laughed loudly something trivial—easing mood.
Rain followed calmly—quiet presence steady.
First day ended peacefully.
But Aster knew—
Peace never lasted long places meant shape future.
And Class A…
Already beginning move.
That evening—back Snowflake Mansion—atmosphere calm, warm.
Arlienne listened quietly children told first day—academy halls grandeur, assembly weight, classmates variety, teacher who said world not revolve around fighters alone.
Astra spoke softly—describing classroom layout, people met, subtle tensions.
Aster explained lessons structure, class system philosophy, how academy valued knowledge much strength.
Arlienne smiled—relief, pride mixing eyes.
"I'm glad," said gently—hand stroking Astra's hair. "Academy teaches think far more incredible one only teaches fight."
Aster nodded—quiet reassurance settling.
Astra leaned closer mother—smiling bright.
"Good first day."
For first time since entering Royal Academy—Aster felt clearly—
No matter vast world became,
Snowflake Mansion always place returned.
Home.
Family.
Foundation.
And tomorrow—
Lessons truly begin.