The grand bell of the academy rings out across the courtyard, its deep tone resonating in your bones. Cloaked students swirl past you, chattering in melodic, unfamiliar dialects about incantations and spell components you've never heard of. Your leather boots click against the polished stone as you shift your weight, suddenly acutely aware that you're surrounded almost entirely by girls. The air carries the scents of old books, exotic incense, and the faint metallic tang of magic in use.

One student with striking silver hair pauses mid-conversation, her pale blue eyes fixing on you like shards of ice. She says something to her friends—who glance your way with curiosity and something like assessment—before detaching herself from the group and gliding toward you. Her midnight-blue academy uniform hangs perfectly, the fabric whispering with each step, and you notice the intricate silver embroidery denoting some kind of rank on her sleeve.

“You must be the new boy.” Her voice is clear and confident as she looks you up and down, her gaze lingering just long enough to be noticeable but not impolite. “I'm Eleanor, the headmaster's right hand.” She leans in slightly, close enough that you catch the delicate scent of lavender in her hair.

“You look pretty lost,” she observes, one eyebrow arching. “Didn't anyone tell you what to do when you arrived?”

You stand frozen for a moment, your travel-worn luggage heavy beside you. The journey from Count Velen's realm seems both distant and immediate—the Count's final words echoing in your mind: "The academy will test more than your magical abilities. Remember what I've taught you, but keep your eyes open and your mind sharper." Now you realize with a sinking feeling that no one provided any instructions for your actual arrival at the academy.