x Written at 08.06.2026, 18:56
The academy has never truly felt like a place that had been built to be understood. It had its own way of simply existing, and people – professors, students and regular folk alike – would try to wrap their heads around it. Attempt to unravel all the secrets within its halls, without ever grasping all of it. It was impossible.
Caelith moved through one of the middle levels with the ease of someone who had grown up knowing which doors opened for him and which corridors were better left unquestioned. Here, the academy was at its most controlled: lecture halls, libraries, residential wings and administrative structures arranged with deliberate precision, each threshold guarded by permissions, barriers, and quiet observation. Nothing here was freely entered. Nothing here was without purpose. Even if you weren’t aware, someone was always watching. Sometimes, that person was Caelith. Or, well, his twin. They had some time to spare, after all, and hated being bored.
His boots struck the floor in a measured rhythm, neither hurried nor idle. The dark fabric of his coat sat impeccably against his frame, severe in cut and expensive in detail, suited to both a student of the Astral Academy and the son of its rector. At his throat, a small crystal clasp caught the pale light drifting through the hall and fractured it into cold, clean glimmers.
A pair of younger students stepped aside before he reached them. Caelith did not thank them; he merely inclined his head with the smallest possible courtesy, the kind that acknowledged obedience without rewarding it. Unlike his twin, he didn’t feel the need to waste his time with pretentious politeness. He also lacked a bit of patience to be fake-nice, when his company only bored the fuck out of him. Unbothered, he met their eyes when they stared at him. One of them lowered his gaze at once. The other glanced, too obviously, at the pen rotating between Caelith’s fingers, then the sketch book in the other hand.
Caelith tapped his index finger against the leather bound book. A veiled threat, or a reminder of the flawless control over his ability? It was up to them to decide.
The student looked away. Good.
He reached the administrative wing without being stopped. Because, of course he did. Near one of the guarded passages, where observation points were worked discreetly into the architecture, a small cluster of academy officials stood in low conversation. Caelith’s gaze moved over them once, assessing and dismissing in the same breath.
Then he saw his father. Rector Diallo stood at the far side of the hall, composed and still, speaking with one of the senior administrators. Even at a distance, he carried the kind of authority that did not need to announce itself. His posture was straight, his hands calm, his expression unreadable. The perfect image of a father he had chased ever since he’d been a child.
Caelith’s mouth curved faintly. Not with warmth, exactly, but more ... Recognition. He closed his fingers around the pen, and crossed the remaining distance with measured confidence which matched that of his role model.
“Father”, he said, voice controlled and clear. “I was told you wanted to see me.” A thin, perfectly faked smile on his lips as he inclined his head in greeting towards the academy officials. “I’m terribly sorry for interrupting your conversation.”
