The bells of Arkana Academy chimed eight times—soft, slow, and hesitant, as if unsure whether to announce the day at all.
Noé stood at the towering gates, hands buried deep in the pockets of his uniform coat. The air was thick with rain that didn't fall, just hovered—caught between memory and motion. The sky above bled hues of deep indigo and faded gold, the sun not yet brave enough to chase away the night.
Students passed by in clusters, laughter on their lips and sparkles of enchantment trailing from their bags. Dark-blue uniforms with golden trims, each perfectly fitted, swayed in rhythm with excited footsteps.
They looked alive.
They looked certain.
They looked like they belonged.
Noé was not so sure about himself.
His fingers brushed over the silver key clipped to his chest pocket. A simple ornament, they told him. A welcome gift from the academy. Yet every time he held it, it pulsed with a strange warmth—as though it remembered something he didn't.
A voice cut through the fog of his thoughts.
"Hey, new guy!"
He turned.
A girl with wild orange hair and bright, sunlit eyes waved at him energetically. She was small, but her presence was anything but.
"You're standing there like you're frozen in a loading screen," she said with a grin. "C'mon, first-years line up in front of the east tower. I'm Mira, by the way."
"Noé," he answered softly, the word barely more than breath.
"Cool name." She tilted her head. "Have we met before?"
He almost said yes.
But the moment passed like a flicker in the rain.
The east tower loomed ahead, ancient and proud, runes glowing faintly along its spiral. The place felt alive—like it breathed through the stone, like it remembered every step taken within its halls.
Dozens of students gathered in lines, murmuring and shifting impatiently. Mira pulled Noé into place with her usual chaotic cheer, completely ignoring the judgmental stares of upperclassmen.
"So, Noé," she whispered, "you nervous?"
"I think… I don't know what I feel," he murmured.
"Wow. Deep," she grinned.
Before he could reply, silence fell like a wave over the crowd. A figure had stepped onto the stone steps of the tower, wrapped in a cloak the color of a moonless sky.
She didn't speak. She didn't have to.
Her presence alone bent the air.
Lysira Velentis.
Top of her class.
Heir to the House of Hours.
Eyes like the hands of a clock—always moving, always watching.
"She's… pretty," Noé whispered.
"Pretty?!" Mira nearly choked. "She's terrifying!"
Lysira's gaze moved across the students with cold precision—until it landed on Noé.
She stopped.
Just for a second.
A pause, like a skipped heartbeat in a flawless melody.
Then she turned, and her cloak swirled behind her like smoke in reverse wind.
Noé's heart thumped, once.
Hard.
Up above, inside the tower, one of the ancient glass clocks cracked. A fine line, barely noticeable.
But real.
Only time noticed.
After the ceremony, the courtyard buzzed with magical projections displaying class schedules. Noé barely saw them. His eyes were fixed on the sky.
A bird high above flapped its wings—and then froze.
Not in place.
Not mid-motion.
Frozen in time.
He blinked.
It moved again.
"You really love staring into nothing," Mira teased, elbowing him. "Let's go. Magical Theory, Room 2-A. Can't wait to sleep through it."
The school was a maze of floating hallways, mirrored ceilings, and walls that shimmered with protective spells. As they walked, Noé noticed details that shouldn't matter—but did.
Cracks in the tiles that were too symmetrical.
Whispers behind stone that stopped when he passed.
Paintings that blinked when no one looked.
Room 2-A was massive, with chairs that adjusted to your body and floating blackboards shaped from crystal. Mira flopped into her seat beside him without grace.
The moment the professor walked in, Noé felt it.
Tension.
Stillness.
Like the room was holding its breath.
He was tall, with violet eyes and a predator's smile. His robes shimmered with unreadable sigils.
"Welcome to Arkana," he said. "I'm Professor Lior. I teach paradoxes. And the first paradox is this—magic is a lie. Or rather, a story told so well that even reality starts to believe it."
The words echoed in Noé's mind.
Something inside him stirred.
A door he didn't know was locked. A memory he didn't know was his.
The class drifted into abstract concepts and magical theory. Lior spoke in riddles, Mira doodled stars in her notes, and Noé… listened.
Listened as the world around him began to slow.
Voices became distant.
The edges of the room blurred like watercolor.
Mira yawned—and her motion lagged.
The lights flickered.
Only two people noticed.
Professor Lior.
And Lysira, who stood silently in the doorway.
Both their eyes locked on Noé.
"Stop it," Lior said softly.
Noé blinked. "Stop… what?"
He hadn't moved.
Hadn't cast.
Hadn't even thought about magic.
And yet—he had.
Lior said nothing more. "Class dismissed."
The students stood, stretched, wandered off. Mira gave a shrug and a stretch. "Weird vibes, huh?"
Noé nodded, distracted.
Only when he stood did he notice the rune glowing faintly beneath his desk—drawn into the wood with heat and magic.
And far above, in the bell tower, one of the clocks ticked backward.