The scent of crushed herbs filled the air, a mix of earthiness and floral sharpness that clung to Kaelin’s skin as she moved through the apothecary wing of Lumen Hollow Academy. Gss jars lined the shelves, neatly beled with rare and exotic ingredients from across the Zephyrian system. Some were imported from neighboring pnets, their properties potent and valuable. Others grew right here on Zephyra, cultivated under the careful watch of students who had spent years honing their craft in herbalism.

  Kaelin Nerys, however, was not just any student. Her family name alone carried weight within the academy’s walls, and while it granted her certain privileges, it also painted a target on her back. The murmurs, the side gnces, the sneering remarks from those who had cwed their way into Lumen Hollow through rigorous entrance exams.

  I don't care.

  Yet, no matter how fiercely she repeated those words to herself, a part of her still winced with each whispered insult, each sideways gnce. She measured out a pinch of finely ground powder, forcing herself to concentrate on her work. As the tincture simmered, darkening to a perfect emerald, Kaelin's mind wandered. What would it feel like, she wondered, to be accepted simply for who she was, rather than judged for a name she hadn't chosen?

  The potion—a simple healing balm infused with restorative properties—would soothe minor wounds and ease muscle strain. Not the most complex of concoctions, but a staple in every apothecary’s arsenal. And with increased Skythari training underway for the new term, demand for it would be high.

  She stepped back, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness from hours bent over her work. Morning light streamed through the high-arched windows, casting golden hues over the polished wooden floors. Outside, she could hear the distant cry of Skythari circling the academy’s aerial training grounds.

  Skythari were an integral part of Zephyrian life, from the academy’s programs to the daily functions of its people. Their presence wasn’t ceremonial—they were mounts, messengers, and companions. Their intelligence, keen senses, and ability to navigate the skies made them invaluable. Some rger ones pulled sky-carriages or transported heavy cargo between floating isles.

  Physically, Skythari blended feline grace with avian majesty. Their lean, muscur bodies allowed them to unch into the air with a single, fluid motion. Their wings, vast and feathered, could span up to twelve feet, granting them unmatched agility in flight. On nd, they were just as formidable—retractable cws, fluid gaits, and long, tufted tails enhanced their bance and elegance.

  They weren’t mere beasts of burden. A rider without a Skythari could never cim mastery of the skies. And a Skythari without a rider cked purpose. Only the fiercest males, called Prowlers, were used in battle. The females—Fres—were kept for breeding. It was said no Fre had ever bonded with a rider.

  Kaelin’s fingers brushed a nearby journal, its worn pages filled with her own notes—pnt hybrids, potion theories, sketches of rare herbs she hoped to one day cultivate. This was her world. She would prove she belonged here by merit, not legacy.

  Her gaze caught on the edge of a page—a folded note in her father's handwriting. A soft ache tightened in her chest. She didn’t allow herself to think of them often. Not here, where vulnerability was a weapon. But in the quiet of the apothecary wing, she let that ache surface.

  She remembered an afternoon years ago—her father teaching her to graft stubborn herbs together. “The pnt doesn’t resist if it trusts the hands shaping it,” he’d said. She had rolled her eyes then. Now, she understood. Trust was delicate. Earned. And easily broken.

  Outside, the courtyard bustled. Skythari riders practiced sharp dives and spirals. That morning, she’d seen a young trainee nearly collide with a statue. The training schedule would be brutal in response.

  Even between departments, rivalries thrived. The Riders and Alchemy wings barely tolerated each other—one prized instinct, the other precision. Lumen Hollow encouraged excellence, but it bred competition. Whispers of sabotage weren’t uncommon.

  A sharp rap at the door broke her thoughts.

  She turned as Liora stepped into the room, arms crossed. “Still burying yourself in vials and herbs, I see.”

  Kaelin smirked. “Some of us have work to do. Not all of us get to lounge around the training fields or hide behind musty old tomes.”

  Liora rolled her eyes. “Please, I’d rather face a battle-trained Prowler than mix another tincture. And those musty tomes contain vast knowledge, thank you very much.” Her tone softened. “You’ve been here since dawn. Even you need a break. If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss midday meal—and all the gossip.”

  Kaelin capped a vial. “And what exactly is so important this time?”

  Liora stepped closer, voice lowering. “A new student. Rumors say he’s an outsider—untested—but allowed in because of a Fre he brought with him. A golden one.”

  Kaelin frowned. “A golden Fre? Are you sure?”

  Liora nodded. “Unheard of, right? Professor Aldrin and the program heads—especially the Head Rider and Head of Skythari Breeding—were practically falling over themselves.”

  That did catch her interest. Skythari colors varied, but a golden Fre? That was rare. If someone gained entry because of it, he might understand what it was to be both admired and resented for things out of your control.

  Still, she hesitated. “You know I don’t have time for distractions. The new student trainings start soon.”

  Liora sighed. “Suit yourself. But don’t bme me when you’re the st to know anything interesting. Honestly, Kaelin, do you even remember how to have fun?”

  Kaelin ughed softly. “Maybe after I finish these vials.”

  “Fine.” Liora smiled. “Just don’t work yourself into the ground. You’re brilliant, Kaelin. But even brilliant minds need rest.”

  Kaelin watched her friend disappear into the corridor. With another sigh, she turned back to her station—but her thoughts lingered.

  Something tugged at her. She looked to the window.

  A flicker of gold passed beyond the rooftop.

  She stepped closer, but whatever it was had already vanished. Still, her pulse quickened.

  Trouble, she thought grimly, *has a way of arriving with wings.*has a way of arriving with wings.