The grand hall of House Aetherwyn was caught in a suspended state—one between silent reverence and quiet panic.
Nobles from every Great House remained bowed, kneeling before Aaron Aetherwyn, the freshly appointed "probationary" professor of the Mysterious Academy. The starlight ripple he'd casually conjured moments ago still glimmered faintly on the ceiling, its afterimage etched into everyone's minds.
Aaron stared at the crowd in horror.
"Please stand up!" he said, frantically waving his hands. "I didn't mean to intimidate anyone—I just… I was trying something small!"
His voice, filled with sincerity, only deepened their fear.
He's commanding us to rise… so merciful.
He said it was small… Was that a threat or a warning?
One noble dared to stand first, visibly trembling. The rest followed cautiously, as if standing too quickly might anger the celestial being before them.
Aaron, flustered and sweating, turned to grab another glass of wine—he needed something to hold, something normal. The glass, like the last, cracked in his grip and disintegrated.
"Again?!" he hissed. "These glasses are just poorly made. I need to speak to the steward."
The noble guests froze.
He's dissatisfied with our hospitality. The gathering has failed.
---
From the corner of the hall, a tall man in embroidered white and gold robes stepped forward, clapping slowly.
"An impressive show, Lord Aetherwyn," the man said smoothly. "And a rare one. Few ever display their gifts so… openly."
Aaron turned to face him. He was tall, silver-haired, and carried a long cane topped with a white obsidian serpent. His smile was polite, but his eyes sharp.
"And you are?" Aaron asked, trying not to fumble with etiquette again.
"Lord Castien Myrravelle," he replied. "Representative of the Ivory Provinces. Head of House Myrravelle."
Aaron stiffened. The head of one of the most influential noble houses in the realm?
"I've heard much of your quiet years," Castien continued. "It is... refreshing to see you emerge from obscurity with such command."
Aaron rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "It's really nothing, I swear. I just… read a lot."
Castien chuckled softly. "Indeed."
Behind him, a younger man stood silently—Axel Myrravelle, dressed in dark velvet with golden trim. He looked up at Aaron with narrowed eyes, saying nothing.
So this is the one who's disrupted the script, he thought. The "nobody" I was supposed to surpass. The story was mine.
---
Meanwhile, in the upper balcony, Headmistress Nova casually leaned on the railing, swirling her wine.
"Kaelen," she whispered to her vice-headmaster, "what's the read?"
Kaelen's gaze was sharp, unblinking. "The nobles are either terrified or deeply calculating. None expected him to overshadow the gathering. Not even his father."
Nova smirked. "And Aaron?"
"Still thinks this is all a misunderstanding."
Nova chuckled. "Perfect."
---
Back on the floor, the host—Aaron's father, Lord Thalion Aetherwyn—stood to give a formal address. He raised a hand, silencing the chatter.
"Esteemed guests of the Nine Houses," he began, "tonight we celebrate not just the appointment of my son to the Academy, but the rise of a new generation—a generation of potential, unity, and purpose."
Aaron glanced sideways. That sounds very political. Should I clap? Smile?
Thalion turned to him. "Aaron, would you care to say a few words?"
Aaron's mind went blank.
"Words?" he said dumbly.
The nobles chuckled nervously, but the room grew quiet again.
Aaron stepped forward, clearing his throat. "I, uh, don't have a speech. I didn't know there'd be a gathering. Honestly, I thought I was being rejected."
A few nobles stared, unblinking. Is this a tactic to humble us?
"I just… like teaching. I think. I don't even know if I'm good at it."
Whispers erupted.
"He teaches even though he doubts himself?!"
"That's true humility!"
Aaron awkwardly continued, "I guess I'll do my best? And please, really, someone talk to the steward about the wine glasses. I've broken three."
---
As the gathering resumed with careful conversation and over-cautious laughter, various nobles approached Aaron.
Lady Sorelle Raventhorn: "Lord Aaron, I've a niece attending the Academy. Might you tutor her personally?"
Aaron: "I—I don't even know if I'm qualified."
Lord Darius Virelith: "Have you developed any celestial applications for political defense? Your magic could secure a continent."
Aaron: "That's... way too advanced for me."
Every answer was taken as deflection or strategy.
By the end of the night, Aaron stood alone near the center of the room, dazed. His collar was half-unbuttoned, his robes slightly askew, his expression weary.
That went… terribly? Or fine? No one yelled at me.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. "I need to sleep for a year."
---
Up above, Nova descended the stairs, her footsteps soft but deliberate.
When she reached Aaron, she offered a warm smile. "You handle pressure well."
Aaron looked up at her, surprised. "You are?"
"Nova. Headmistress of the Mysterious Academy."
His eyes widened. "You came in person?"
"You're a professor now," she said smoothly. "A gathering without you would've been a waste."
Aaron looked down. "I really don't think I deserve all this attention."
Nova leaned in, voice low and amused. "That's exactly why you're terrifying."
Aaron blinked. "Sorry?"
"Nothing," she replied with a wink. "Rest well, Professor Aetherwyn. We expect great things… from someone so average."
She turned and vanished into the crowd.
Aaron stood still, more confused than ever.
---
[To be continued in Chapter 21: "Packing, Panic, and the Portal Room"]