Into the New World
The academy’s great hall glittered with light. Crystal lanterns hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting rainbows over polished marble. Robes swished, applause echoed, and one by one the names of the graduating sorcerers were called.
“Iris Thalia.”
Her name rang sharp and clear. Iris stepped forward, heart thudding as the weight of dozens of eyes followed her. She accepted the scroll from the headmaster, bowed, and forced a smile. The cheers felt warm on the surface, but shallow underneath.
She slipped back into her seat, her fingers tight around the parchment. And then, just before the next name was called, she heard it.
“She’s talented, but unstable.” A teacher’s voice hushed but sharp.
“Too emotional. Not disciplined enough to last long in the world.”
“It’s a shame… she’s bright, but she’ll burn out.”
Iris’s chest tightened. She turned, half-expecting to see sneers but instead, when their eyes met, the teachers’ faces softened into bright congratulatory smiles. Classmates clapped her on the back, offering warm words as if nothing had passed their lips.
She smiled back, lips trembling. Pretend. Always pretend.
When the ceremony ended and the crowd dispersed into laughter and chatter, Iris slipped away. She couldn’t breathe under the weight of their hollow praise. The corridors were empty now, moonlight spilling across the stone floors, guiding her feet to the courtyard.
The fountain stood silent at its center, silver ripples glinting in the still night. She closed her eyes, trying to anchor herself to the quiet
—
Footsteps.
“I thought you’d be here,” Arian said softly.
He stood under the colonnade, the moon outlining him in pale silver. His smile was calm, steady, unchanging, just as it had always been. To the others, he was charm and grace. To Iris, he was simply… safe.
“I wanted to see it one more time,” she said, turning to the fountain. Their fountain. How many stolen hours had they spent here between lessons, trading dreams, secrets, laughter?
Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words.
Then he reached into his satchel and pressed something into her palm. A small gem, faintly glowing as if alive with its own breath. “Keep this. But don’t waste it. Use it only when you truly need it. You’re stronger than you think, Iris. Stronger than me.”
Her throat ached. “Arian, I—”
“Shh.” He placed a folded handkerchief over her hand, wrapping it gently around the gem. “And this. For when it feels like too much. Hold onto it and pretend I’m right there beside you.”
Her eyes stung. Quickly, before the tears could fall, she pulled out a scarf from her cloak and looped it around his neck. The stitches were uneven, but warm, scented faintly of lavender from her dormitory window.
“You’re always losing yours,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes. “Now you don’t have an excuse.”
Arian laughed, breath clouding in the night air. But when she dared to glance at him, his gaze stilled her. So many things lingered there—I’ll miss you. I love you. Please come back.
Instead, he said only “Then it’s a promise. When this is all over… when we’ve walked our rough roads and found our way, we meet here again. Right here. No matter what.”
Iris swallowed hard and nodded. “I won’t forget. Even if the path is filled with shadows, I won’t give up. Not until I see you here again.”
For a moment, time seemed to stop. Moonlight, breath, heartbeat—everything tangled together in silence.
Then she turned, clutching the handkerchief tight in her hand, and walked toward the gates. Her steps were unsteady, but her voice barely above a whisper carried into the night
“Into our new world.”
