Chapter 1: First Days at the Academy of Duality

“The Academy of Duality—a temple of hypocrisy, where beneath a veneer of exquisite manners and strict traditions hides a breeding ground for passion and chaos. But even here, there is a place for those capable of seeing the true threads of order.“

I arrived at the ceremonial hall exactly one hour before the official ceremony for first-year students was to begin. Like the other newcomers, I was directed to one of the side wings of the grand, beige-stone building, where temporary changing rooms had been prepared. My traveling attire, chosen by my mother for the long journey, was a model of restraint and quality: a simple but well-made traveling dress of dense blue wool with a high collar, long sleeves, and thin gold clasps at the cuffs, paired with heavy, thick-soled boots. No extra adornments, no hint of aristocratic status—only a color reminiscent of my childhood and a cut that would not draw unnecessary glances. Against the backdrop of chattering girls in light summer dresses, I looked like a fragment of another, sterner culture.

The academic uniform awaited me in a box bearing the crest of Duality. I drew it out, assessing each detail with the cold precision of an architect. A black tunic, adorned with silver embroidery of intertwined vines—a symbol of sacrifice. The crest on the right sleeve—two flames from a single wick, encircled by a golden border—a symbol of the order born from that sacrifice. A long, nearly ankle-length black skirt of a coarse fabric that did not restrict movement. And a leather belt as black as everything else, to accentuate the waist. This was not merely clothing, but the very idea that had governed this place for centuries.

To complete the uniform, there were several boxes. Two of them held footwear: one contained black, low-heeled shoes, the other, sturdy leather boots for training that reached just below the knee. The third box held more delicate items: several sets of obligatory undergarments, as well as thick black stockings and modest garters to hold them in place.

I allowed myself a small but significant deviation from the academy's standard, one not explicitly forbidden by the uniform regulations. From my travel bag, I took out thin gold clasps for the cuffs and collar—symbols of Order, of authority and system. The gold was not merely a metal of high harmony; it was the natural color of purest Order, the very essence that veiled the cosmos. I carefully affixed the clasps to their designated places and smiled to myself, for this was an affirmation of my true nature in this foreign attire.

Having changed, I approached a tall, dim mirror in the corner of the room to assess the result. The reflection was flawless. A tall, slender figure with perfect posture. The body appeared toned from regular training, but without excessive muscle mass—only the necessary minimum to maintain form and graceful movement. Long black hair cascaded down to my hips like silk, catching faint highlights as it fell. My eyes, deep and enigmatic, held a dark violet hue with barely perceptible golden flecks, like a night sky pierced by stardust. Pale, almost porcelain skin lent my appearance an aristocratic coldness. The gold details on the dark fabric of the tunic perfectly matched the sparks in my eyes, creating a complete, structured image. My aura exuded a subtle sense of authority—the very quality the other students would instinctively feel without understanding its true nature.

But something disrupted the overall harmony required by the rules. A detail, absent but obligatory within the academy walls. I returned to the uniform box and looked at its bottom, where, in a small velvet pouch, lay a pair of silver stud earrings in the shape of the A’liren flower. I knew the symbol. It was a rare mountain flower from the homeland of the twin queens’ mother, which had become a symbol of inherited resilience and hidden inner beauty. The outer petals of the earrings were made of matte silver, while the polished center caught the light, creating an illusion of inner radiance. The instructions accompanying the uniform clearly stated: wearing the earrings was mandatory for all students as a sign of respect for the legacy. Any other jewelry worn on the body was forbidden.

And here arose the first, unforeseen deviation from the norm, for my ears were not pierced. This was no oversight but a calculated decision, dictated by the childhood asceticism so diligently cultivated in me by Alice. In childhood, asceticism served as the perfect disguise, but both my mortal mother and I understood that in the adult life of a noblewoman, the absence of earrings would raise unnecessary questions and draw unwanted attention. We had agreed to postpone this ritual until I came of age to avoid curious glances prematurely. Now, however, this farsighted plan had turned into a tactical error on our part.

I put the earrings back in the pouch and clenched them in my hand, as the academy uniform had no pockets. A violation of the charter was inevitable, but I did not wish to appear completely detached from their meaningless traditions.

Having finished my preparations, I made my way to the main ceremonial hall. It was not festive—it was monumental. High stone vaults absorbed sound, creating a resonant echo. Along the walls hung dark tapestries bearing the Academy’s crest—two flames from a single wick. The first-year students sat in neat rows, their excited whispers barely disturbing the solemn silence. In their eyes, I saw a mixture of fear and awe before the grandeur of this place. All, without exception, wore identical earrings, their silver centers catching the dim light, creating a barely perceptible shimmer. I was the only one whose ears remained untouched, and this did not go unnoticed, drawing extra glances toward my appearance.

Soon, the ceremony began, and Rector Geranira Evenclod ascended the specially prepared podium. Her voice, clear and strong, filled the space, stilling even the faintest whisper.

“Welcome, daughters of Valtheim, to the halls of the Academy of Duality!” she began. “Today, you stand where, a thousand years ago, the fate of our world was decided. Then, when the Gods of Dreams wove their web of nightmares to consume Illumora, two sisters, two queens, Aelind and Ildri Valtheim, made their choice. They did not seek glory. They did not seek power. They gave their lives to tear that web and seal away the ancient evil.”

I listened to this ritualistic propaganda with cold detachment. Sacrifice. The most inefficient and irrational act imaginable. It is not strength. It is an admission of defeat. A miscalculation wrapped in a beautiful legend to justify the inability to find another, more structured solution. Their sacrifice was nothing more than a compromise with the local deities, who continue to exist on the edge of reality, observing every step of the royal line.

“Their sacrifice is not a tragedy,” the rector continued, and a note of steel rang in her voice. “It is our greatest lesson! It is a symbol that a woman’s true strength lies in her readiness to give everything for the common good. Here, within these walls, you will learn not only magic and the sciences. You will learn to be a pillar for our kingdom. You will learn to sacrifice the small for the great!”

Around me, the girls listened with bated breath. Reverence was reflected on their young faces. They absorbed this ideology like dry earth absorbs rain. For them, it was truth. For me, merely another example of emotion’s chaos supplanting the logic of order.

“In the four years you will spend here, you will gain not only knowledge but also sisters. You will form alliances that will become a support for you and for the entire kingdom. You will grow into worthy women of Valtheim, ready to serve the crown and preserve the peace paid for at a great price. Remember this. Always.”

When the rector finished her speech, a moment of silence hung in the hall, then it filled with a relieved exhale and restrained whispers. The students began to rise from their seats, adjusting the folds of their tunics and exchanging first impressions. I rose with everyone, intending to leave the hall before the chaos of the dispersing crowd reached its peak. But just as I took a step toward the aisle, a sharp voice stopped me. The Magister of Light magic approached me—a middle-aged woman with an unkind gaze, whose lessons I, for obvious reasons, would never be able to attend. Her eyes first bored into the gold clasps on my uniform, then darted to my ears. Her face twisted with restrained anger.

“Artalis Nox!” she hissed, her voice trembling on the edge of fury. “What is this?! Not only non-regulation adornments, but also the absence of a mandatory part of the uniform! What do you think you are doing?! This is a direct disrespect to the heritage of the Academy and its rules!”

“My apologies, but the academy’s charter contains no explicit prohibition on wearing additional accessories on the uniform, so from a formal standpoint, I am not violating anything,” I replied, looking the teacher straight in the eye. “As for the mandatory earrings, I am unable to wear them, as my body is not yet prepared for them.” I turned to her side and showed her my unpierced earlobe so she could see clearly that I was telling the truth.

Her lips tightened until they turned white. She saw not an explanation, but a dual, calculated assault on the charter. For a moment, she was speechless from such audacity. “Not prepared?!” she finally squeezed out. “This is… this is unheard of! The rector must be informed of this flagrant violation immediately!”

It was amusing to listen to her fight for silver trinkets with the same zeal with which the Primordials destroyed the first world. She spun around and, without another word, almost ran toward the rector, who was conversing with other teachers.

The Magister of Light magic approached the rector and, lowering her voice, began to quickly and emotionally explain something, gesturing toward me. Geranira Evenclod listened in silence, her face inscrutable. Then she slowly turned her head in my direction. Her gaze was not judgmental, but heavy and demanding. She made a barely perceptible gesture with her hand, beckoning me.

I approached, moving steadily, without haste, and stopped at a proper distance, politely bowing my head.

“Artalis Nox,” the rector said, her voice calm but tinged with authority. “Magister Eliara informs me of two violations of the charter on your part. Explain yourself.”

“Madam Rector,” I began, voice respectful but measured with confidence. “I have come from the Tarvarian Empire, and perhaps I did not fully realize how strictly some traditions are observed here. I did not mean to show disrespect.”

“Traditions are the foundation of our order, Miss Nox,” her gaze sharpened. “What about the earrings?”

“It is a promise made to my mother, Madam Rector. We agreed that I would undergo this ritual only upon reaching adulthood. It is an important family tradition that I dare not break.”

Geranira Evenclod fell silent for a moment. She looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw not just an evaluation, but an analysis. She was weighing my words, my posture, my composure.

“The Academy of Duality respects family ties and promises made to a mother,” she finally said, her tone level. ‘In all my years of practice, you are the first case of a student arriving with unpierced ears. It is… unusual.” She paused. “I grant you temporary permission not to wear the earrings until you come of age. But know that this is an exception, not a precedent. As for the gold clasps…” her gaze slid to my collar, “they are indeed not jewelry in the literal sense, but they attract undue attention. Be more modest.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Madam Rector. I will take your words into account.”

She nodded, signaling that the conversation was over. Magister Eliara, whose face still bore the traces of a flush of anger, did not dare to contradict the rector. But as I was about to politely bow and leave, she took a barely perceptible step toward me and hissed, so quietly that only I could hear, “Order without Light is merely darkness, Miss Nox. I will be watching your progress at the academy very closely.”

I did not reply. I only met her gaze—cold, empty—and, after politely bowing to the rector, I walked away, feeling two entirely different kinds of stares on my back. The first test had been passed.

***

The walk from the ceremonial hall to the residential area took several minutes. The academy had several dormitories, but according to the status of the Nox family, I was given a room in a prestigious, three-story building of beige stone, where students from the most influential families lived. It was here, as I already knew, that both Reina and Nova resided. Entering, I found myself in a spacious hall with a high ceiling and a floor of dark marble. A fireplace burned in the center, and around it were arranged groups of soft armchairs where several girls were already seated, discussing the past ceremony.

The path to the second floor was via a wide, straight staircase of dark wood, its banisters polished to a shine by thousands of touches. The corridor was long, with a high, vaulted ceiling. Rooms were located only on the right, while the entire left wall was given over to high arched windows overlooking the inner park of the dormitories.

My personal belongings, including the travel bag with the blue dress, had already been delivered by servants and were waiting for me at the door with the number “231.” The door was locked, and taking my key from the blue dress that lay on the bag, I opened the door without a creak. The room was spacious but functional. At the far wall was a large window with a wide sill, overlooking the main academy buildings. On either side of it, with headboards against the window, stood two beds. At the foot of each was a writing desk. Against the left wall stood a massive wooden wardrobe, and opposite it, against the right, was a large, full-length mirror. A screen for changing stood modestly in the corner.

The room was not empty. Neatly folded clothes already lay on the right bed, and at the writing desk, with her back to me, sat a girl. She was reading a book, and her posture was impeccable.

It was Catherine Holu herself.

She was a tall girl, though shorter than me, with a slender but not fragile figure. Her light hair was gathered in a neat bun. Her blue eyes, when she turned at the sound of the closing door, were calm yet perceptive—the gaze of one trained to notice details. A pair of crutches stood against the wall. Despite the absence of her right leg, she exuded an inner strength. Her form combined fragility and resilience in a balance that was… statistically rare.

“You must be Artalis,” she said, her voice soft but confident. “I’m Catherine. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Arta. You can just call me Arta,” I nodded, placing my bag by the free bed.

She smiled, noting my preference for simplicity. “As you wish. Welcome to our humble abode. If you need anything, feel free to ask. Although, judging by your uniform, you’re accustomed to certain standards.”

Her words were not a taunt, but an observation. She had noticed the gold details on my uniform but chose not to comment on them. Perhaps she, too, could sense things that others preferred to ignore.

I began to unpack my things, neatly placing the travel dress in the wardrobe. One half of the room was already inhabited by Catherine, with neatly arranged books; the other remained empty, awaiting my presence.

“Do you have rules I should adhere to?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Catherine shook her head. “Only one: respect my space, and I will respect yours.”

Her tone was friendly, but it had a steel core. I approved of her approach. Respecting boundaries was something I could understand. The first evening passed in silence. Catherine read, and I finished unpacking. A strange equilibrium was established between us. She did not ask unnecessary questions, and I did not seek contact. It was… convenient.

Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness, a thought was already forming. A prosthesis. An ideal prosthesis that could restore her lost leg. Not from pity—I never act from pity. But from calculation. She could become a useful ally, but now was not the time. Today was just the beginning of a long journey at the Academy of Duality, a place full of people, each with their own story, their own goals, and their own secrets. And among them were those who posed a real threat to the balance—Reina Morgan and Nova Cross.