The Crown Academy

Act I — Arrival

Flying divine carriages are supposed to feel majestic. Mine? More like a gilded cage with wings.

I slouched against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, watching clouds blur past. Below, Heaven’s wards stretched like a golden quilt stitched with rivers of light. Above, marble spires stabbed the sky like they were trying too hard.

Me, sarcastic (in my head): “Nothing like riding a flaming luxury taxi to a school where the curriculum is ‘survive or die trying.’”

Flashback time, because my brain loves tormenting me:

Mother’s hand on my cheek before I left. Her eyes soft, but sharp underneath.

“Stay strong, Haise. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone but yourself.”

Father’s silence. Just his hand on my shoulder — heavy, steady.

His storm-eyes said everything: Don’t screw this up. The throne watches.

Back in the carriage, I sighed. “Great pep talks all around.”

And then, of course, there was Hakuya Kurotsuki. My “secret servant,” sitting stiff across from me, pretending to be invisible. Reports straight to Father, probably writes essays about every time I sneeze. Cute.

He thinks I don’t notice.

Spoiler: I always notice. Sometimes, I send out a Parallax Ghost just to watch him tail the fake me while I slip off for dumplings. He still hasn’t caught on. Miracle boy: 1. Loyal stalker: 0.

Act II — First Glimpse of the Academy

When the carriage finally swooped down, I got my first look at the Sentinels of Flame - Crown Academy.

Calling it a “school” was underselling it. This was a fortress-cathedral hybrid, built by someone who thought “intimidation” was the same thing as “education.”

Obsidian towers climbed into the clouds, veins of molten runes glowing along their edges.

 Crimson banners whipped in the wind, stamped with the dragon-flame crest — the Legion’s sigil.

Training arenas blazed with fire circles, cadets chanting incantations loud enough to make thunder jealous.

Beast tamers struggled with chained dragons, their roars shaking the ground.

And smoke curled lazily from pits where creatures I didn’t even want to identify were being “trained.”

Me, dry: “Great. A boarding school where homework is punching each other in the face until someone coughs blood.”

Lore Note — Sentinels of Flame (4th Legion)

“The Sentinels of Flame — Heaven’s big shiny army. Everyone starts here, gets grilled and graded, then shipped to whatever Legion you actually belong in.

Not just dragon riders: the Beast Wardens wrangle divine beasts and, on very bad days, demon ones.

They’re the line between Heaven, Earth, and the Abyss — first to war, first to burn.”

Behind me, Hakuya trailed silently, blending in like a shadow in servant’s clothes. Always watching. Always reporting. Always pretending.

Act III — Reunion

The courtyard buzzed with cadets, whispers snapping like sparks.

“He walks like the throne itself is behind him.”

If I had a coin for every rumor, I could probably bribe Arval into honesty.

Then—

“Haise!”

Lyra. Her green hair caught the sunlight, her smile slicing clean through the noise.

She pushed past cadets, breathless but glowing like seeing me was oxygen.

“Missed me already?” I smirked. “We were apart for what—two whole days?” She laughed, too soft, too real.

But her eyes lingered. A little longer than they should’ve. A little warmer than friendship.

Of course, before I could enjoy it,

“Kael barged in, every detail of his outfit crisp and deliberate — gleaming like the Academy’s golden statue had come to life.”

Kael: “Try not to embarrass yourself, Haise. This isn’t your palace. It’s the real world now.”

I grinned. “Oh, thank the gods. I thought this was summer camp.”

The air between us burned hotter than the banners. Rivalry wasn’t just rivalry anymore — it was tinder waiting for a spark.

Act IV — The Ceremony

The first day wasn’t lessons. It was theater.

They herded every junior into the Academy Hall — a chamber so massive palaces looked like broom closets in comparison.

The floors shimmered like liquid gold, runes shifting beneath our boots like they were alive. Statues of legendary commanders lined the walls, eyes carved so sharp you’d swear they tracked you.

And then he arrived.

Commander Ignar.

He descended from a floating dais like a living inferno. Hair flowed like liquid fire, eyes blazing like twin suns. Every step bent the air around him, heat rippling with each movement.

The hall went silent.

For once, even I didn’t have a joke. The heat rolling off him could’ve melted stone. Every breath felt heavy, like the room itself bowed under his weight. If this was just the opening act… maybe I really was in trouble.

Ignar’s voice was flame wrapped in iron: “Welcome to the Sentinels of Flame Academy. Here, you will burn. And from that fire, you will rise.”

Behind him, crimson banners erupted in flame. The Draconic Pyre-Lance manifested, a spear forged of dragonbone and living fire, hovering above him like it was daring us to breathe wrong.

I muttered under my breath: “Nothing screams school pride like a weapon that could deep-fry us before lunch.”

Then the air changed — the banners’ flames slowed, coiling like serpents.

The hall darkened, and a new voice echoed — not Ignar’s, not human.

“You stand before the first gate of Heaven’s Judgment.

Five trials shall forge you — but each holds two faces.

Together, they form the Tenfold Qualification: the virtues of Heaven made flesh.

Strength without mercy, courage without wisdom — both burn hollow.

Only balance endures.”

The words rippled through the hall like living fire — ancient, weighty, undeniable.

Then light returned, and Ignar’s gaze burned brighter than ever.

He smiled — barely.

“The voice of the Crown relays Heaven’s truth. You are no longer children of comfort. You are disciples of balance. Remember that.”

The ceremony was shared between Flame and Life — two legions judging one generation. If Flame forged the warriors, Life would decide who was worth saving.

And beside him, Commander Sylara descended more quietly...

Commander Sylara Virentis.

She didn’t blaze. She didn’t roar. She simply stood, robes green and silver flowing like living branches, silver-green hair catching the light.

Her eyes glowed faintly — not with fire, but with stillness, like rivers that had seen centuries pass.

She never spoke. She didn’t need to. Her presence hummed through the hall like a heartbeat of calm to match Ignar’s inferno.

Act V — The Lifesong Contrast

Then the fire dimmed. The hall shifted.

Since the Tenfold Qualification took effect, the Lifesong shared this academy — one campus, two legions, one future.

Green-gold light bloomed. A spiraling tree sigil unfurled across the opposite wall, branches spreading like veins of light. The air filled with music — wind chimes, leaves rustling, like life itself humming.

Lore Note — Lifesong (5th Legion)

“Then there’s the Lifesong. Heaven’s choir of healers. They patch you up after the Sentinels break you. Nature magic, calm vibes, singing trees — the opposite of fire and blood.

Basically the people who stop Heaven’s sword from stabbing itself to death. Without them? The Sentinels would’ve burned themselves extinct centuries ago.”

The Eversong Staff appeared, silver wood spiraled with endless vines, runes glowing like a pulse.

Ignar raised his hand. “This academy is shared ground. Flame and Life. The Sentinels burn as Heaven’s sword. The Lifesong heals as its breath. Together, they forge balance — destruction and renewal.”

Cadets bowed. Some whispered. Some glanced at me.

I smirked. “So this place is half dragon fire, half singing tree. No way that ever clashes later.”

Lyra’s eyes lingered on the Lifesong sigil. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough. I noticed. Miracle boy notices everything.

Act VI — The Oath

Ignar’s voice thundered again: “Here, you are no longer heirs or children of ministers. You are soldiers. Sworn to flame, to life, to Heaven. Weakness will burn. Strength will rise.”

Every cadet raised a fist to their chest, chanting the Legion’s vow. I raised mine too — grinning, because if anyone looked close, they’d see my lips weren’t even moving.

Fake it till you make it. Miracle boy motto.

One dragon suddenly jerked against its chain, fire snapping across the hall. The heat singed the air, cadets recoiling. One boy screamed, collapsed, dragged out by guards as the beast snarled. For a second, I froze too — if that leash had snapped, half the room would’ve been ash.
Then I smirked again, muttering: “Yep. Totally safe. Best school ever.”

Act VII — Closing Note

As the crowd dispersed, reality sank in.

This wasn’t school. This wasn’t play. This was war disguised as education. Every banner, every rune, every dragon screamed the same thing: The Sentinels weren’t training students.

They were forging soldiers.

"The gauntlet on my left arm hummed softly — polished black metal threaded with violet light. Crownlink, they called it. Tracker, communicator, vital monitor — and during trials, an emergency teleporter linked to the Academy’s Safe Chamber.

Basically the instructors’ way of saying, “We trust you... but only under supervision.”

One pulse from this thing, and I’d vanish to safety — but only when the trial system’s active.

Step outside official combat zones, and it’s just a pretty bracelet.

I flexed my fingers; runes glowed, reading my vitals, scanning the mana surge coiled under my skin.

“Comforting,” I muttered. “A glorified leash that sparkles.”

The ember inside my chest pulsed once, faintly mocking. Even my own power had a sense of humor."

Kael walked ahead, shoulders stiff, jaw tight. His glare promised: This isn’t over.

Lyra lingered near me, her smile quiet, steady, her eyes whispering: You’re not alone.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, sighed.

Me, sarcastic: “First day of school. Normal kids get chalkboards and apples. I get dragons, rivals, and probably third-degree burns. Wonderful.”