At Velshyre Academy, power came in twelve shapes.
These were the Twelve Noble Houses—ancient families with magic in their blood, wealth in their vaults, and influence across the entire empire. Every student at Velshyre belonged to one of them.
Except one.
Arden Vale.
He did not come from gold or bloodline. He came from the wild reaches of the west, where survival mattered more than lineage. He had no crest stitched onto his robes, no family to boast about, no ancestral grimoire passed down through generations.
And yet—he was here.
---
Each House had a name, a symbol, and a kind of magic it was known for:
1. House Grayson – The Moon Lion. Known for control and illusion magic. Cold, clever, and feared.
2. House Morwen – The Serpent Crown. Masters of poisons, shadows, and secrets.
3. House Elenwald – The White Stag. Famous for healing, purity, and protective spells.
4. House Caerwyn – The Thorn Rose. Experts in nature magic, often underestimated.
5. House Vortan – The Iron Boar. Warriors and enforcers. Fire and strength.
6. House Ysadora – The Mirror Dove. Diplomats, spies, and charmers.
7. House Draeven – The Black Hawk. Fast, sharp, and ruthless. Wind magic.
8. House Lysander – The Crystal Eye. Seers, time-watchers, and truth-readers.
9. House Nyros – The Drowned Mask. Water mages, and very private.
10. House Fenmoor – The Hollow Tree. Necromancers and bone readers.
11. House Solmere – The Golden Flame. Light and divine justice.
12. House Belgrave – The Silent Bell. Sound and silence magic. Quiet, deadly.
The students from these Houses often stuck to their own. House rivalries were legendary, some lasting centuries. Entire duels had erupted in the past over a single insult, and the faculty had long given up trying to stop them.
To be part of a House was to be part of history. To be outside of it… was to walk alone.
---
Alistair sat alone in the library, the glass ceiling above casting pale light over his book. He wasn't reading anymore. The page had Arden Vale's name written across it, again and again, in his mind.
He remembered when his father had first told him what it meant to be a Grayson:
> "You are not here to learn, Alistair. You are here to command."
So who was this boy, who came without a name and expected to belong?
An orphan? A peasant? A nobody?
Alistair didn't believe in accidents. If Vale was here, it was because someone wanted him here. Someone was playing a game.
And Alistair hated games he didn't control.
He closed the book softly.
"Let's see how long you last, Vale.