CHAPTER 210

A sharp knock at the door jolted Thorne from his sleep. 

For a moment, he was disoriented, he almost reached for a dagger that wasn’t there. Instinct, old and honed, sent a jolt of readiness through his limbs, but as his surroundings came into focus.  

The unfamiliar weight of the blanket draped over him, the soft mattress beneath his back, it all felt wrong. Then, like a tide rolling in, the memories of the previous night came flooding back. The ritual. The king. His past clawing its way to the surface. He had thought sleep would evade him after that, but strangely, he had felt hollow. Empty. As if his emotions had been drained completely. 

And so, he had slept like the dead. 

It had been… how long since he had truly rested? 

The knocking came again, more insistent this time. 

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, running a hand over his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His clothes from the previous day were wrinkled but manageable, but he smelled something awful. He stood and strode to the door, cracking it open to see Rowenna standing there, arms crossed, her expression calm. 

Her sharp grey eyes flickered over him, taking in his appearance. “"I thought you might’ve died in there. Your smell...” She added with a grimace, “didn’t help either. Was about to check for a corpse." 

Thorne smirked, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “It was a long night.” 

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I need to talk to you.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, she brushed past him into the room. Thorne watched her for a moment, then sighed and closed the door, turning to lean against it as he crossed his arms. 

“What were you doing with the king last night?” he asked bluntly. 

Rowenna stilled. It was only for a fraction of a second, but Thorne didn’t miss it. 

“Probably the same thing you were,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “Sponsorship.” 

Thorne narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely convinced. Her affinities, while strong, weren’t particularly rare. There was no shortage of students with elemental abilities, so why had the king taken an interest in her? 

He pushed further. “Then why were you so angry when you left?” 

Her jaw clenched. “Because I don’t like being controlled,” she snapped. “And I sure as hell won’t bow to that man.” 

Thorne frowned at her furious expression. What had the king done to her? There was something deeper here, something personal. 

Interesting... 

Maybe her hatred for the king could be useful. 

Rowenna’s glare sharpened, as if sensing his thoughts. “Be careful, Silverbane. No matter how nice he acts, no matter what honeyed words he weaves to convince you, don’t trust that man.” 

Thorne tilted his head. “I don’t need convincing,” he murmured. The king had already ruined his life once. There was nothing the man could say or do to earn his trust. 

But… Rowenna’s reaction. 

Still, he said casually, “A sponsorship, though. Congratulations.” 

She scoffed. “The king offers sponsorships to every first-year. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a meeting with every single one of us.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “Caledris is desperate for mages. The kingdom is lacking in that department, and with rising tensions against the neighboring kingdoms, the king will take anyone with enough talent to fling a fireball or two at his enemies.” 

Thorne absorbed her words. She seemed… awfully well-informed about Caledris and its politics. 

Who exactly was this girl? 

She stood there, arms crossed, her grey eyes sharp and assessing. Unlike the others, she had changed into her uniform, the fine tailoring accentuating her compact, athletic frame. She looked like she belonged here, despite the fact that no one had known her name before today. 

“You look like you’re brooding,” she said. 

Thorne arched a brow. “You don’t waste time, do you?” 

“Not when I have questions,” she admitted, stepping inside without invitation. She gave his quarters a once-over, nodding in approval, as if all her anger had drained away. “Not bad.” 

Thorne leaned back, watching her. 

“Alright,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Ask.” 

She didn’t hesitate. 

“What exactly happened during your ritual?” 

Thorne’s fingers tapped against his knee, considering. 

“How do you mean?” 

Rowenna rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I was standing right there. I saw how the officials reacted. I saw how the nobles whispered the moment your orb turned black.” 

Thorne’s face remained impassive. “And?” 

“And,” she said, stepping closer, “you’re either the most dangerous person in this room, or the most interesting. I’d like to know which.” 

Thorne tilted his head. 

Interesting. 

Of all the students he’d encountered, she was the first to be so direct. 

The others either looked at him with disdain, curiosity, or suspicion. 

Rowenna? 

She just wanted the truth. 

Thorne let a slow smirk curl at his lips. 

“Well,” he said, voice smooth, “I suppose you’ll just have to find out.” 

Rowenna narrowed her eyes at Thorne’s evasive answer but didn’t push. Instead, she let out a slow breath, glancing toward the window where the floating terraces of Aetherhold shimmered under the evening light. 

“Fine,” she said, arms still crossed. “But you’ll have to tell me eventually.” 

Thorne arched a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?” 

She gave him a knowing smirk. “Because whether you like it or not, you and I are going to be in the same house.” 

Thorne paused. 

“…House?” 

Rowenna blinked, then let out a short laugh. “You really don’t know?” 

“I wasn’t exactly given an orientation packet,” Thorne said dryly. 

Rowenna shook her head, walking over to lean against the ornate wooden desk. “Aetherhold divides its students into four houses. It’s… well, it’s supposed to foster competition, collaboration, and all that nonsense. But really, it’s a way to sort out power, politics, and influence.” 

Thorne frowned. “And who decides which house we end up in?” 

“The Nexus,” she said, tilting her chin toward the distant floating crystal structure visible outside the window. “It evaluates our abilities, backgrounds, and potential, then places us where we best ‘fit.’” 

Thorne let that sink in. 

So the Aether Nexus didn’t just assist in the Spellbinding Ritual, it actively sorted students into categories. 

That meant who he aligned himself with could be determined by factors he had no control over. 

He didn’t like that. 

Not one bit. 

Rowenna must have seen the flicker of dissatisfaction cross his face because she gave him an amused look. “Relax, it’s not as if it’ll toss you into a pit of vipers.” She hesitated. “Well… not literally.” 

Thorne exhaled sharply. 

“And you?” he asked. “You already seem convinced we’ll end up together.” 

She shrugged. “Call it a hunch.” 

Before Thorne could respond, a loud chime echoed through the academy. A distant hum of magic vibrated through the walls, reverberating in his core. 

Rowenna straightened. “That’s our cue.” 

Thorne rolled his shoulders before following her toward the door. The moment it opened, a streak of blue light shot down the hallway, forming an illuminated path leading away from their chambers. 

Other students were already stepping out of their rooms, looking just as disoriented but following the glowing path nonetheless. 

Lucian emerged from his room just as Thorne and Rowenna stepped out. His robes were draped over one shoulder, his boots half-laced, and his hair was a mess. He blinked blearily at them before sighing. 

"If this is another magical life-or-death trial, I’d like to request a nap first," he muttered. 

Rowenna smirked. "Relax. Worst-case scenario, they throw you into a pit of fire." 

Lucian groaned. "Why does that sound like a genuine possibility?" 

"Because it probably is," Thorne said dryly. 

They followed the illuminated path through twisting corridors, descending deeper into the academy. The air grew heavier with magic, the walls pulsing faintly with arcane scripts that flickered like candlelight. 

The students whispered among themselves, speculating about which house they’d be sorted into. Some looked eager, grinning at the possibilities. Others, like Ronan looked nervous. 

Isadora, of course, floated through the crowd like she already owned the place, chatting away with another noble girl. 

As they walked, Ronan was muttering anxiously under his breath. 

"I don’t care which House picks me," he grumbled. "As long as it’s not Umbra. Too many ritualists. And if Zephyrus doesn’t want me..." 

Isadora, passing by, smirked and smacked his shoulder lightly. "Stop whining. If Zephyrus doesn’t want you, you can always start a janitorial guild." 

Ronan shot her a glare. "Very funny." 

She beamed. "I thought so." 

Despite himself, Thorne smirked slightly. 

As they moved deeper into the castle, the walls took on a different texture. The architecture grew older, grander, as if stepping through layers of time. 

Thorne frowned. "I thought we were heading to the same room as last night." 

Rowenna shook her head. "The Nexus is everywhere in Aetherhold," she said, voice laced with something akin to reverence. "Like a heart, with veins running through the academy." 

As they made their way toward the new chamber, Lucian dragged his feet, rubbing his eyes. 

"If this Nexus is everywhere, why do we have to walk? They couldn’t enchant a few floating chairs?" he muttered. 

Rowenna sighed. "Because movement is good for you." 

"Debatable," Lucian grumbled. "I could be absorbing knowledge while reclining. They should enchant sofas. Flying sofas. I’d be the best student Aetherhold has ever seen." 

Thorne smirked and asked, "Are you always this dramatic in the morning?" 
Lucian just groaned. "Morning? It’s practically midnight somewhere. Wake me up when the world stops spinning." 

They descended a flight of marble steps that spiraled downward, the air thick with latent energy. With each step, the temperature seemed to drop slightly, and the whispers of magic in the walls grew stronger. 

While everyone looked around with wide eyes, Isadora was completely unfazed stopping every few feet to greet someone, throwing dramatic compliments or air kisses. 
"Darling! I simply adored your gown at the gala last spring, oh, and you simply must tell me where you got those boots!" 

Thorne observed her and muttered conspiratorially to Rowenna, "Is there anyone she doesn’t know?" 

Rowenna shrugs. "Probably the cleaning ladies." 

Lucian, half-asleep, murmurs, "Give it five minutes." 

When they emerged into the new chamber, it was like stepping into a different world. 

The vast hall stretched before them, massive columns carved from some gleaming, unknown stone. In the center, floating above a shimmering pedestal, was the Nexus. 

Thorne exhaled slowly. 

Let’s see what happens next. 

Now that Thorne was standing directly beneath it, he felt the weight of its immeasurable power. 

It pulsed with aetheric energy, its crystalline structure shifting like it was alive, countless sigils appearing and vanishing along its surface. 

At the far end of the room, several robed figures stood there, observing... Their golden insignias marking them as high-ranking faculty members. 

One of them, a tall man with a silver-threaded cloak, stepped forward. His presence commanded absolute silence. 

He raised a hand, and the Nexus flared brighter, illuminating the entire chamber. 

“First-year initiates,” he called out, his voice resonating with aether-enhanced power. “Welcome to the final stage of your induction.” 

The chamber fell into absolute silence as the high-ranking official surveyed the gathered students. His silver-threaded cloak shimmered faintly under the glow of the Aether Nexus, the sigils woven into the fabric pulsing with restrained power. 

His gaze was sharp, assessing. When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the vast chamber. 

“You stand on the precipice of your journey into Aetherhold.” 

A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd. 

“Your passage through the Spellbinding Ritual has marked you as initiates of the arcane. However, your place within these halls has yet to be determined. The Houses of Aetherhold are more than mere academic divisions, they shape your future, your alliances, and the very foundation upon which you will build your legacy.” 

Thorne felt his shoulders tighten slightly at the weight of those words. Legacy. He had spent his life living in the shadows of others' ambitions. Uncle’s control, Alvar’s underworld, and now, the prying eyes of the academy. 

The official continued. 

“The Nexus does not simply judge your abilities. It evaluates your potential, your strengths, and the paths you may one day walk. Do not assume this choice is random.” 

Another wave of murmurs rippled across the gathered initiates. 

“The Houses of Aetherhold are fourfold.” The official’s voice cut through the whispers. 

Thorne sharpened his focus. 

“House Ignis,” the man continued, “for those who burn with ambition, who seek to carve their names into history with force and fervor. Here reside warriors, tacticians, and pioneers, mages who command their own fates.” 

A section of the chamber lit up with a deep, smoldering red glow. 

“The House of Zephyrus,” he went on, as another section of the chamber illuminated in soft gold, “for those whose wit and cunning rival the winds themselves. It is a house of intellect, of diplomacy, and of those who weave magic and influence in equal measure.” 

Isadora perked up at that, tilting her head in interest. 

“The House of Aegis,” the official gestured to the left, where a cool cerulean light shimmered, “for those who uphold the ideals of guardianship and discipline. It is a house of stability, tradition, and unwavering will. Its members are the sentinels of magic’s balance.” 

Thorne saw Garridan tense slightly, his jaw tightening as if trying to will himself into that House. 

“And lastly, the House of Umbra.” 

A deep violet radiance filled the final quadrant of the chamber. 

“For those who walk the unseen paths. Seekers of knowledge, of secrets, of the mysteries buried deep within magic itself. It is a house of scholars, shadow-weavers, and those who embrace the hidden truths of the arcane.” 

Thorne’s lips pressed together. 

That one sounded a little too fitting. 

He wasn’t the only one who thought so. Rowenna shot him a sideways look. 

The official lifted his hand. 

“The Nexus shall decide where you belong.” 

The moment the words left his lips, the floating crystal at the center of the room flared to life. 

Aether crackled through the air as the first name was called. 

A tall elf from a different delegation stepped forward hesitantly as the Nexus pulsed, a strand of light extending toward him, wrapping around her like a spectral ribbon. 

Then it snapped toward one of the four Houses. 

Ignis. 

The elf let out a relieved breath before moving toward the designated area. 

Then another name was called. 

And another. 

One by one, students stepped forward, the Nexus judging them in mere seconds before sending them toward their respective Houses. 

Thorne watched, arms loosely crossed, as patterns began emerging. 

The strongest spellcasters and warriors seemed drawn toward Ignis. 

The nobility, the socialites, the tacticians gravitated toward Zephyrus. 

Aegis held stoic, composed figures, those who carried themselves with a quiet, unyielding presence. 

And Umbra… 

He narrowed his eyes. 

That House received the ones who stood apart. The ones with too much potential, too much secrecy, or too many unanswered questions. 

It was hard not to feel a sense of inevitability as he watched. 

Then, Lucian’s name was called. 

He stepped forward, his gait calm, measured. 

The Nexus flared. 

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Then, gold and violet light surged simultaneously. 

A dual resonance. 

The crowd stirred. 

Then, finally, the purple light overtook the gold. 

Lucian Caerthas. Umbra. 

Lucian blinked once, as if unsurprised, before walking toward his new House. 

Vivienne was next. 

She stepped forward with a self-assured stride, though Thorne caught the nervous clench of her fingers. 

The Nexus reacted swiftly. 

A golden arc of energy snapped outward. 

Zephyrus. 

Vivienne’s face immediately brightened, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as she strutted toward her House. 

Then, a name that drew an audible reaction from the crowd, just like last night. 

Cassian Ravenaire. 

The prince of Rivenwald. 

There was no hesitation when he stepped forward, exuding the confidence of someone who already knew the outcome. 

And he was right. 

The Nexus blazed with deep crimson fire. 

Cassian Ravenaire. Ignis. 

The nobility on the balconies murmured in approval. 

Then, Thorne’s name was called. 

A heavy silence followed. Many faces turned to him, watching him, waiting. He could see recognition in their expressions.  

They remembered last night’s unusual display of power. 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He moved. 

The crowd shifted subtly, watching him with renewed interest. 

Thorne stepped onto the platform. 

The moment he did, the Nexus shuddered. 

Light flickered erratically, spiraling outward in an unpredictable, chaotic display. 

It wasn’t choosing. 

It was reacting. 

A strange, electric pulse crackled through the chamber. 

Then, all four colors surged at once. 

Gasps filled the air. 

Thorne’s eyes flickered. 

And then... 

A final, decisive pull. 

Umbra. 

The chamber exploded with whispers. 

He saw Rowenna look at him with a small smirk, as if she had expected nothing else. 

Thorne’s expression remained impassive, though internally, he was already calculating the implications.