The gates of England's Star Academy opened before Jess and Troy like the jaws of a slumbering beast—massive, polished, and ancient with centuries of etched history. Inside, the courtyard was a sea of new students, a thousand colors and energies clashing and flowing in one great wave. The school was as grand as the myths foretold, with towering spires of white-gold stone, banners fluttering with the sigils of old houses and new dynasties, and an enchantment humming subtly in the air, like the place itself was alive.
The crowd was immense, and if the academy had been any less vast, they'd have been trampled. Thankfully, the stone paths split into directions leading to massive buildings, and space was no issue. But even with the breathing room, it was chaos. Lines stretched for registration. Teachers, upper-years, and magical constructs were doing their best to direct the tides.
Jess and Troy managed to keep close, fingers laced tightly as they approached the registration arch.
And then came the challenge.
"Men to the left, women to the right," a large sentry construct announced, its voice magically amplified.
Troy frowned, his grip tightening.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
Jess smiled gently, cupping his cheek with her free hand. "I'll see you after, I promise. You can't lose me in a place like this."
He didn't smile back, but his eyes softened. "You'd better."
With a little squeeze of his hand, she turned and vanished into the woman's entrance. Troy lingered for a moment, standing awkwardly at the threshold of the men's changing hall.
"Don't worry, man," a voice beside him said. "I'm sure your sister'll be fine."
Troy turned to see a boy with soft, reddish-orange hair like autumn leaves and rectangular glasses. He looked friendly enough.
"She's not my sister," Troy muttered, then pushed through the entrance without another word. He didn't even notice the boy's raised eyebrows.
Meanwhile, in the women's hall, chaos reigned.
There were separate stalls, sure—but many girls were changing in open clusters. Factions formed like natural laws, from rich heiresses to magic specialists to influencer-favored alchemists. And, of course, gossip ruled the air like a weather pattern.
"I heard the Queen's son and daughter are enrolling this year."
"No way—do you think they'll be in the top class?"
"I don't care about that. Did you see the goth girl? She's... kind of a goddess."
It didn't take long for Jess to realize they were talking about her.
Her frilly jet-black hair framed her face in an elegant veil, eyes the color of stormy skies, and her figure—a perfect hourglass—had already turned more than a few heads. She kept her expression cool as she changed, used to stares but never quite thrilled about them. But while some gazes were admiring, others were venomous.
In one corner of the changing hall stood Plaza Cruise, daughter of the most powerful Auction House in England. Her crew—a group of stylish but petty noble girls—were whispering among themselves, not about Plaza, but about Jess.
Plaza's eyes narrowed as she saw the way her own entourage ogled the new girl. Her lips curled, masking her insecurity with arrogance.
"Looks like someone forgot to stay in their social lane," Plaza murmured.
Jess ignored the eyes, the whispers. She was used to standing out. But she wasn't here to make enemies—yet.
Back in the men's hall, Troy was nearly finished changing when someone else entered the stall beside him.
The boy had golden-blonde hair and carried himself like royalty, his uniform fitted perfectly, posture elegant, and presence heavy.
The silence between them was awkward. Occasionally, the golden-haired boy glanced at Troy—not with suspicion, but with curiosity.
Then he spoke, his voice calm and certain.
"You're strong."
Troy froze. What?
The words hung in the air a second too long. And in Troy's mind, they twisted the wrong way.
"Not interested," he said quickly, snatching his coat and slipping out of the stall in a blur of embarrassment and confusion.
Behind him, Kraft Lane—the son of the Queen herself—tilted his head. "I meant your blessing," he murmured. His eyes shimmered faintly gold, the Blessing Eye of Inspection still active. "Interesting…"
It took effort and half a dozen wrong turns, but Jess and Troy found each other again—right outside the towering Coliseum, the arena where Orientation would be held.
Inside, it was unlike anything they'd seen. Circular tiers of seats surrounded a central battleground, and enormous projection boards hovered in the air, powered by radiant crystal-tech. Thousands of new students were filing in, and Jess and Troy squeezed each other's hands tighter as the energy of the crowd built like a rising tide.
As the final students entered, the doors slammed shut with a booming echo.
The boards lit up—and a single face appeared.
Queen Elizabeth Lane.
Her platinum hair was coiled in a ceremonial braid, her golden eyes clear and unblinking. Though young, she carried herself like a ruler of centuries, clothed not in mana—but in Holy Power, granted by a God of Order after the Cataclysm.
Her voice rang out like a bell in a cathedral.
"You come from many places, some from greatness, some from dust. But value is not born—it is earned. Even my children must prove themselves, for power and birth mean nothing without purpose."
"And so, I ask you: Are you ready to begin?"
No answer came—but none was needed.
A golden magic array bloomed beneath everyone's feet.
Troy turned to Jess, panic flashing across his face. Before he could speak, she slipped one of her earrings into his hand.
"This'll help you find me," she said. "Promise."
Troy didn't let go of her hand yet.
"Don't be silly," he said softly. "I'll find you."
The light swallowed them.
When the light faded, the sky was green with dense canopy. Birds cawed overhead. The air was thick with life—and tension.
Jess, somewhere in the distance, awoke beside a brook, a strange mark glowing on the back of her hand.
Troy, on the other side of the forest, stood atop a cliffside path, the earring clutched in his palm and his eyes burning.
They were not alone.
All across the forest, other Starborn were appearing in flashes of light. Confused. Alone. Or worse—eager.
The Orientation had begun.
The only rule was simple:
To know someone truly… you must fight them.