As soon as Alana stepped through the circle of stones, the world around her dissolved like smoke in the wind.
She felt the ground vanish beneath her feet and a strange lightness take over her body — as if she were floating inside a bubble made of light and wind. Colors that didn't exist on Earth shimmered around her, and soft sounds — like children's laughter mixed with the songs of invisible birds — filled the air like a forgotten melody.
When her feet finally touched solid ground again, Alana found herself in a vast, green field, covered in flowers that changed color under the light of a sky with three dancing suns. In the distance, mountains floated on the horizon, suspended by golden roots. At the center of that enchanted world stood a magnificent structure: spiraling towers, floating windows, staircases that shifted direction, glass bridges connecting aerial platforms. An architecture dreamed up by someone who never accepted the limits of reality.
The Institute.
Alana was speechless. She had never imagined magic could be so alive, so real. The stone around her neck vibrated faintly, as if it recognized the place before she did.
Before she could take another step, two figures appeared beside her, as if they had emerged from the air itself. A tall man with silver hair and a navy-blue robe, his serene eyes seeming to read her soul; and a woman with golden skin and braided hair like roots, dressed in a cloak woven from leaves and light.
"Alana Stilinsk," said the man with a gentle smile. "You arrived sooner than we expected."
"Which isn't a bad thing," the woman added, her voice melodic. "The Institute responds to the strength of the awakening. And yours... was intense."
Alana looked from one to the other, trying to understand.
"Where am I? Is this real?"
"More real than anything you've ever seen," the man replied. "You are in the Domain of Aetheris, one of the magical regions protected by the Veil. This is the home of the Institute of Kael'Thar."
"My name is Lysander," he said, bowing slightly. "Professor of Magical Theory."
"And I'm Maeria," said the woman, smiling. "Guardian of the Portals and Professor of Elemental Manipulation."
"There is much you must learn," Lysander continued. "And very little time. The forces that have awakened will not wait."
Maeria stepped forward and lightly touched Alana's shoulder. A gentle warmth spread through her body, as if an invisible protection had been activated.
"From now on, you are under the Institute's protection. But be careful, Alana... the light of your magic may also draw in what lurks in the shadows."
The Institute's doors opened ahead, revealing a vast hall with columns of carved crystal and floating banners that changed color with the mood of the environment. At the center, a raised platform welcomed the new students. Above it hovered the imposing figure of Headmistress Nymira — a woman with hair long as mist, silver eyes, and a cloak that dissolved into stars at the edges.
"Welcome to the Institute of Kael'Thar," she said, her voice echoing effortlessly through the hall. "You are not here by chance. Each of you was called, touched by a spark that many go their whole lives without ever noticing. But here, you will learn to hear magic... and to answer it."
After the headmistress's speech, a translucent orb appeared in the center of the platform. Its core spun slowly like a small planet, radiating soft waves of light. Each time the light touched a student, it changed color and emitted a distinct sound — like a bell attuned to the soul of the one it touched.
"The Selection will be made by the Orb of the Veils," explained one of the professors beside the headmistress. "Step forward one at a time, touch the sphere, and your sector will be revealed."
The hall fell into reverent silence as the first student stood. One by one, the youths walked toward the Orb. Some were immediately surrounded by green and blue lights — Elemental Sector. Others by silver and violet hues — Mental Sector. A few were touched by shifting shadows — the Shadow Sector. Each group was guided to a different side of the hall, where professors waited in cloaks matching their colors.
Alana watched everything with a racing heart. With each selection, she felt the pressure build. The air around her seemed thicker.
"Alana Stilinsk," the professor called.
Time slowed.
She stood with trembling legs, crossing the hall under the gaze of students and masters. When she reached the Orb of the Veils, she hesitated for a moment. Then, she took a deep breath and reached out her hand.
The instant her fingers touched the surface of the sphere, a golden flash burst from the center. Deep blue and red sparks danced around her. The sound that echoed was not a bell, but something deeper — like the restrained roar of a distant storm. The hall fell silent. The Orb trembled. For a moment, the light surrounding Alana seemed to battle with itself, flickering between distinct tones — fire, water, shadow, light, wind. It was as if every affinity claimed her at once.
And then, the gold prevailed. Not an ordinary gold, but an ancient glow — calm and absolute.
"This is..." murmured one professor, stunned.
"Ancient Magic," whispered Maeria, her eyes locked on Alana. "A rare lineage. Nearly extinct."
The headmistress rose, her expression solemn and grave.
"Alana Stilinsk, the Orb has recognized you as a bearer of Primordial Magic. You will be guided by professors from every sector. Your training will be different... and your journey, unique."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Some students watched with awe, others with unease. A girl from the Shadow Sector pressed her lips together, while a group from the Elemental Sector whispered among themselves.
Alana returned to her seat still wrapped in that soft glow, like a living halo that lingered. She felt the stone on her chest vibrating in harmony with the magic around her.
She had no idea what "Primordial Magic" truly meant.
But she knew, with a quiet certainty, that from that moment on... nothing would ever be the same.
And though she had only taken the first step inside the Institute, there were already things — and forces — watching her every move.