"Seven stars fall from heaven, seven souls
rise from obscurity. When the Academy
calls, destiny answers—but not all who
enter its gates are what they appear to be."
— Ancient inscription on the Gates of Ashram
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As the sun rose, bringing forth a new day, its first rays kissed the peaks of the frost-covered— Kailasha Mountains. The white ice glistened like diamonds against the morning light, and cutting through the frozen expanse, the River Dhara flowed—a river so pure and radiant that it evoked the holiness of the legendary river in storier— Ganga.
Dhara carved its path across the continent, spanning thousands of kilometers, dividing the land into two halves before finally embracing the endless sea. Along its journey, it nourished civilizations, filled ponds and reservoirs, and breathed life into the world.
At the heart of the continent, Dhara met a colossal crevice. The river cascaded into its depths, filling the abyss before continuing on its destined course. Above this great fissure, a massive floating island defied nature—a wonder of the world that hovered in silent majesty.
Atop this island stood the Arcane Academy, a bastion of wisdom founded by a legendary hero of the past. He had gathered Teacher and students from every race, uniting them in a place of learning and enlightenment.
Over the centuries, the academy produced countless knights, mages, Ministers craftsmen and various officials , shaping the fate of the continent with each graduate who passed through its hallowed halls.
In time, a great city grew around the academy—TheAshram.
Ashram, meaning a place of study and residence, belonged to none, yet was sponsored by every nation.
It was a city of art and culture, its stone houses adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts and heroic tales.
Towering statues stood as testaments to past champions—one particularly grand monument depicted a warrior slaying a monstrous Turtlophant, a spiked, turtle-shelled mammoth that had once terrorized the eastern lands.
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Today, Ashram buzzed with excitement and celebration unlike any other day.
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The rhythmic beating of drums echoed through the cobblestone streets of Ashram.
People paused in their daily activities,
turning toward the sound that grew louder with each passing moment. Children scrambled to the edges of the roads, eyes wide with anticipation.
"The Academy drummers!" a young boy shouted, pointing at the approaching procession.
The Academy drummers, clad in crimson and gold coats, marched in perfect unison. Their drums, crafted from ancient wood and adorned with arcane symbols, pulsed with more than mere sound—each beat seemed to ripple through the Air that permeated the city.
Behind them walked a herald, his voice magically amplified ×Ting× to reach even the farthest corners of City.
"Hear ye, hear ye! By decree of the High Council of the Arcane Academy, the Entrance Tournament, which comes but once every three years, will commence in two months' time!"
Gasps and excited chatter erupted from the gathering crowd.
"All those who seek to join the Academy's hallowed halls, prepare yourselves! The Tournament will test your spirit, your mind, and your mastery of Urza! Let it be known throughout the lands—from the Kailasha Mountains to the Western Shores, from the Northern Wastes to the Southern Jungles—the Academy calls!"
As the herald's announcement spread through the city, dark shapes took flight from the highest tower of the Academy. The MessengerCrowites—raven-like beings with gleaming obsidian feathers and intelligent eyes—soared into the sky, each carrying scrolls and flyers secured to their talons.
The flock split into distinct directions, their purpose twofold: to spread news of the tournament to every corner of the continent and to deliver special messages to those deemed worthy of the Academy's attention before the trials even began.
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**GONG!**
The colossal bell atop Arcane Academy sang, its deep chime rippling through the city like a heartbeat of fate. Stone trembled, birds took flight, and the streets hushed in reverence. Market stalls stilled, footsteps paused—every soul turned toward the towering spire, where the bell's final echoed
High above the city, from the Academy's Grand Chamber, seven glowing scrolls shot forth like meteors, each trailing a distinctive color as they arced across the sky. The citizens of Ashram pointed upward, their faces illuminated by the spectacle.
"Seven scholarships!" an elderly scholar gasped, adjusting his spectacles. "Never in my lifetime have I seen more than three granted in a single year!"
"What could it mean?" a woman beside him asked.
"Change," the scholar replied, his eyes never leaving the fading trails in the sky. "Great change is coming this year."
The scrolls streaked across the continent, each drawn to its intended recipient like a compass needle finding true north. They crossed mountains, forests, rivers, and plains, carrying with them the potential to transform seven lives forever.
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1st Scroll
In a garden of white lilies, a young elf with hair like freshly fallen snow slumbered beneath the shade of a willow tree. Her peaceful dreams were interrupted as a scroll landed softly beside her, its gentle glow illuminating her fair skin. Her blue eyes fluttered open, momentarily confused by the intrusion. She reached for the scroll with slender fingers, unaware of how it would change her destiny.
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2nd Scroll
The rhythmic sound of an axe striking wood echoed through a forest clearing as a muscled young man split logs with practiced efficiency. Sweat glistened on his brow as he raised his axe for another strike. The scroll descended like a bolt from the blue, obliterating the log he had been about to split. He stared at the smoking remains of his work, then at the pristine scroll that lay amid the splinters, his expression a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
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3rd Scroll
In a filthy back alley of a forgotten town, a girl in tattered clothes practiced sword forms with a broken blade. Mud caked her brown hair, and grime streaked her face, but her movements were precise and graceful. The scroll spiraled down before her, landing in a puddle yet remaining mysteriously dry. As she retrieved it, her black eyes—bearing strange holy symbols where pupils should be—widened in disbelief.
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4th Scroll
A fenrir boy raced through a meadow, reveling in his half-transformed state—part human, part wolf. Animals scattered before him, recognizing a predator in their midst, yet he called to them in their own tongues, reassuring them of his peaceful intentions. The scroll struck him squarely on the head, sending him tumbling into unconsciousness. When he would awaken, his path would be forever altered.
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5th Scroll
Deep within an ancient forest, where the veil between worlds grew thin, a blind girl sat in perfect stillness. Though her eyes saw nothing of the physical world, her other senses perceived far more. Forest spirits and fairies danced around her, drawn to her innate connection to the natural world. She sensed the scroll's approach before it came into view and, with a gentle command, directed a wind spirit to intercept it. The fairy brought the scroll to her waiting hands, its touch confirming what her heart already knew.
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6th Scroll
The clanging of hammer on metal reverberated through a dwarven workshop as a bespectacled craftsman shaped his latest creation. So focused was he on his work that he didn't notice the scroll until it crashed through his roof, sending debris scattering across his previously immaculate floor. He looked up at the hole in his ceiling, then down at the scroll, and muttered a string of colorful curses in the ancient dwarven tongue.
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7th Scroll
A tall, nimble figure darted across the rooftops of a merchant district, a stolen purse clutched tightly in his hand. The headband that held back his wild hair fluttered behind him as he leaped from one building to the next. The scroll caught him mid-jump, striking with such force that it sent him plummeting to the street below. By the time city guards found him, he was already unconscious with wide open mouth, the scroll glowing faintly beside his bruised form.
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News of the tournament spread like wildfire across the continent. Within days, caravans began forming, ships set sail, coal-powered trains chugged along iron tracks, and wyvern riders took to the skies—all bound for Ashram. The city that had already been bustling, will face an influx unlike any it had seen before.
Teleportation gates—reserved for nobles and the wealthiest merchants, flashed with increasing frequency, depositing elegantly dressed figures who surveyed the growing chaos with expressions ranging from amusement to disdain.
In Ashram itself, preparations accelerated to an almost frantic pace. New inns sprouted up overnight, their hastily constructed frames reinforced with urgency spells that would hold them together just long enough. Marketplaces expanded beyond their traditional boundaries, vendors claiming any available space to hawk their wares. Streets were swept clean and decorated with colorful banners and magical lights that would glow with increasing brightness as night fell.
Houses were repaired and painted in vibrant colors, their owners hoping to rent rooms at exorbitant prices to desperate visitors.
But For those who could afford nothing, vast tent cities were established on the outskirts, with communal kitchens providing simple but nourishing meals—a gesture of goodwill from the Academy that understood the value of talent regardless of wealth.
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Far to the east..., a train rolled along tracks carved through the heart of a mountain range. Its engine belched black smoke as it labored up steep inclines, its whistle occasionally piercing the mountain silence. Passengers dozed in their seats, lulled by the rhythmic clacking of wheels on rails.
On the mountainside above, wildlife paused their foraging and hunting as an unusual sound reached their sensitive ears. Something unknown has entered their territory—
A black blur moved across the rocky terrain, so fast that it appeared as little more than a shadow. What lay in its path—boulders, trees, undergrowth—was instantly crushed or scattered.
A dark wolf, sensing potential prey, leapt from its hiding place to intercept the speeding form. In an instant, the wolf found itself bisected, its body falling in two separate directions as the black blur continued unimpeded.
Breaking the sound barrier with a final burst of speed, the shape launched itself from the cliff edge, soaring through the air before landing with precision on the train's metal roof. The impact created a dull *thud* that momentarily drew the attention of passengers, who glanced up before returning to their conversations and naps, dismissing the sound as nothing more than a falling rock.
Atop the train, the black fur of the small creature rippled in the wind, occasionally catching the sunlight to reveal an unnatural sheen.
Its crimson eyes, narrowed against the rushing air, glowed with an inner fire that spoke of intelligence and purpose far beyond that of an ordinary beast.
Small paws gripped the metal roof with surprising strength, ensuring it wouldn't be thrown from its perch as the train rounded bends and crossed ravines.
This was the little Furball—Kaal,
Journeying toward a destiny he couldn't yet comprehend but felt pulled toward like a lodestone to true north.
He now stands at peak from where he can see a faraway island freely floating over the land, and a massive fortress city and giant statues around it.
He had traveled 4900+ miles in 54 days, pushing his small body to its limits, and now arrived near six days before the entrance tournament would begin—just enough time to rest, observe, and prepare.
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A caravan of wagons crested a hill, affording the travelers their first view of Ashram in the distance. Children who had been dozing in the back of wagons suddenly perked up, pointing and shouting with excitement. Adults smiled, remembering their own first glimpses of the magnificent city, its floating academy visible even from this distance.
But the joyous moment was short-lived. The caravan ground to a halt as scouts returned with troubling news: the road ahead was blocked by two packs of red hyenas fighting over a freshly killed buffalo-like beast. The vicious creatures, known for their aggression and territorial nature, had completely shut down the path forward.
"We can't fight them," the Guards leader said, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully. "They are Too many, and they're blood-frenzied already."
"We can't wait them out either," A merchant added. "The tournament registration begins tomorrow at dawn."
"We are already late.. and" A old leader of the caravan rubbed his eyes, he was worried for the students and merchants he was carrying.
As the adults were pulling out their hairs, a soldier noticed movement behind the last wagon—a small figure approaching from the direction they had come. The soldier raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare, making out a child wearing a simple straw hat and tattered coat, dragging something behind him.
"Hey, boy!" the Guard called out. "Stop! There's danger ahead!"
But the child paid no heed, continuing his steady approach, leaving a dark trail behind him. As he drew closer, the adults gasped—the thing he dragged was the carcass of a massive wolf, larger than any they had seen in these parts.
The old wagon leader stepped forward, recognition dawning in his weathered face as he widens his eyes. "Let him pass," he commanded, his voice carrying authority that brooked no argument.
When the boy reached the front of the caravan, he didn't stop or acknowledge the gathered travelers. Instead, he continued forward, toward the battling hyenas, his pace neither quickening nor slowing.
"We will follow behind him," the wagon leader ordered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Keep your weapons ready, but follow at a distance."
"But sir?!" Neil, The Leader of guards tried to raise complaint. But stopped by the wise old man.
"Neil, believe me, My whole life, i have experienced many of wars and risky travels, my merchant senses are screaming of some unforseen possibility." As he smiled like a child at such age he pushed on his decision.
The caravan lurched forward, maintaining a respectful gap behind the small figure leaving behind the trail of monster blood. As they drew closer to the fighting beasts, an extraordinary thing happened...
The hyenas, caught in their blood frenzy, suddenly froze. Their eyes widened, ears flattened against their skulls. Some dropped to their knees, while others, the younger and weaker ones, simply collapsed unconscious. Not one made a sound or movement as the boy walked between them, dragging his grisly trophy.
The caravan followed, the travelers holding their breath as they passed between the paralyzed creatures. Only when they were well beyond did they exhale collectively, looking back in disbelief at what they had witnessed.
"What was that just now?!" Neil was surprised.
"I don't know either, i never saw anything like that before." The wise old leader, rubbed off the sweat from his forehead.
"Where's the boy?" a female guard shouted, scanning the road ahead. "He was just there."
But the child had vanished, he jumped down from the road into a deep ravine as the trails ended there.
At the bottom of the ravine, Kaal lay unconscious, his human form replaced by his true appearance—a small black furball with crimson eyes. The use of his Skill—Soul-Reaper's fear mode had drained him completely, but he had calculated the risk and deemed it necessary. Better to exhaust himself now than potentially face greater dangers closer to the city with depleted reserves.
Everything turns black as he's eyes shuts.
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The harsh cawing of a seagull-like bird roused Kaal from his slumber. He opened his crimson eyes to find the bird pecking at his sensitive nose.
"Grroowwwrrrr..."
With a growl, he noticed more birds had descended upon the wolf carcass he had been dragging—his intended rations for the coming days. The birds had picked it nearly clean.
It was still dark, sun has yet to rise.
Kaal lunged at the nearest bird, but in his weakened state, he was too slow. The flock took to the air, their mocking calls receding as dawn broke over the horizon.
Gathering what remained of his provisions and a tattered robe from ground into a small bundle, Kaal shifted back into his human form—a pale-skinned boy with black hair, crimson eyes, and unusually sharp teeth. In this guise, he ran toward the city gates, visible in the distance by the giant beacon fires that burned atop them.
As he approached, his heart sank. A line of travelers , carts and wagons stretched from the gates, snaking back for nearly two kilometers. At the current pace, it might take days to reach the entrance.
"You there, child!" an elderly woman called out in staggering voice, beckoning to him from her place in line. "Coming for the tournament, are you? Come, stand with me. An old woman shouldn't be alone in these crowds."
Before Kaal could respond, she had pulled him into line beside her, her gnarled hand surprisingly strong on his arm. He considered breaking away but calculated that the social camouflage might prove useful.
Hours passed as the line inched forward under the strengthening sun. Kaal observed his surroundings with the tactical awareness that had served him well in his previous life. The crowd was diverse—prospective students from every race and region, merchants hoping to profit from the influx, tourists eager to witness the spectacle, and even a few who seemed to be watching with predatory intent, their eyes marking those who appeared wealthy or vulnerable.
Finally, as the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, Kaal and the old woman reached the massive gates of Ashram. Guards in the colors of the Academy—crimson and gold—examined documentation, questioned travelers, and occasionally turned away those deemed suspicious or undesirable.
When it was their turn, the old woman presented a worn letter bearing an official seal. "My grandson," she said, nodding toward Kaal. "Come to try his luck in the tournament."
The guard glanced between them, clearly skeptical of their supposed relationship, but after a moment's consideration, waved them through. "Registration begins at dawn tomorrow in the central plaza," he said. "Don't be late."
As they passed through the gates, entering the chaotic energy of Ashram, Kaal felt something shift within him—a recognition that he stood at the threshold of a new chapter in his unexpected second life.
The old woman turned to him, her eyes suddenly sharp and knowing in a way that made Kaal instinctively tense. "Well, little monster," she said in a voice too low for others to hear, "what brings something like you to the Academy's doorstep?"
Behind them, the gates of Ashram swung closed with a resonant boom, sealing them within the city of wonders and marking the end of one journey and the beginning of another far more dangerous.