Beneath the Same Sky
Chapter 2 — Beneath the Same Sky
The plaza of Del Santiago Academy was vast.
Far larger than Rikuo had imagined when he first stepped through the gates, it spread outward in layered stone terraces, each one filled with students gathered in loose clusters.
Marble pillars rose at measured intervals, engraved with sigils that glowed faintly beneath the morning sun.
Above them all loomed the Grand Assembly Platform, a circular structure elevated high enough that even those at the far edges could see whoever stood upon it.
From where Rikuo stood, the academy felt less like a school and more like a small city carved from stone and ambition.
Wide staircases connected the terraces, while long banners bearing the academy’s crest fluttered gently in the breeze. The sigils etched into the walls seemed almost alive, faintly reacting to the presence of so many awakened talents gathered in one place.
The air was alive.
Excited voices overlapped endlessly—laughter, nervous whispers, confident boasts, quiet prayers.
Some students wore finely tailored uniforms already bearing noble crests, while others clutched simple travel bags and documents with white-knuckled determination. A few stood alone, eyes sharp and guarded, measuring everyone around them as potential rivals.
Everyone here carried something different.
Hope.
Fear.
Ambition.
Desperation.
Rikuo stood near the outer ring of the plaza, close enough to see the platform clearly but far enough to avoid being drawn into conversation. His satchel rested against his side, his posture relaxed but guarded. He kept his breathing steady, ignoring the dull ache that lingered beneath his ribs—a familiar companion by now.
He preferred it this way.
Watching before acting.
Listening before speaking.
Crowds had never been kind to him. Too many eyes, too many unspoken judgments. Here, however, no one looked at him with outright contempt. At most, he earned a passing glance before being forgotten again.
That, at least, was comfortable.
“Dong… doooong…”
A bell rang—deep and resonant—its sound rippling through the air like a command rather than a request. The vibration seemed to pass not only through stone, but through bone.
Silence followed.
Slowly at first, then all at once.
Every student’s attention turned toward the platform.
Rikuo felt it then—a pressure, subtle but undeniable. Not oppressive, but absolute. As if the very concept of authority had taken physical form and settled over the plaza.
A figure ascended the steps.
She appeared young.
That was the first impression most would have.
Her body was slender, her posture elegant, her movements unhurried.
Long white hair flowed freely down her back, catching the sunlight like strands of silver. Her crimson eyes swept calmly across the gathered students, sharp yet unreadable, as though she were not merely seeing them, but measuring the weight of their futures.
She wore the formal black-and-red robes of the academy’s highest authority.
Director Charlotte.
An ancient vampire.
A being who had witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, wars that had reshaped continents, and generations of heroes who now existed only in history books.
The world itself respected her.
When she reached the center of the platform, she stopped.
And smiled.
“Welcome,” she said.
Her voice carried effortlessly, smooth and composed, echoing across the entire plaza without the need for amplification. It was neither warm nor cold—simply absolute.
“New students of Del Santiago Academy.”
A ripple of tension passed through the crowd—not fear, but awe. Even those who had boasted moments earlier now stood straighter, quieter.
“For some of you, this place represents opportunity,” Charlotte continued. “For others, it is refuge. And for many… it is your final chance.”
She paused, letting the words sink in.
Rikuo felt his chest tighten slightly.
Final chance.
The phrase echoed unpleasantly in his mind, brushing against memories he would rather leave buried.
“Yes,” she said, crimson eyes gleaming faintly. “I will not insult you by pretending otherwise. This academy exists because the world is unfair. Talent is not always rewarded. Potential is often crushed beneath bloodlines, politics, and divine whims.”
A murmur spread among the students.
Some nodded, expressions bitter but resolute.
Some clenched their fists, anger flashing briefly across their faces.
Some looked away, as if the truth was too close for comfort.
“But here,” Charlotte said, spreading her arms slightly, “those excuses hold less power.”
The sigils carved into the platform pulsed softly, responding to her presence.
“At Del Santiago, your origin matters less than your resolve. Your Sigil matters less than how you wield it. And your past…” her gaze sharpened, “…will not chain you, unless you allow it to.”
Rikuo swallowed.
It felt as though those words had been spoken directly to him, peeling back layers he kept carefully hidden.
“Some of you stand here because you were born into power,” she continued. “Others because you clawed your way here with talent alone.”
A pause.
“Both are irrelevant.”
Murmurs rippled through the students once more, louder this time.
“Here,” Charlotte said, “bloodline does not grant immunity from failure. Nor does hardship excuse weakness.”
Her eyes gleamed faintly red.
“The academy exists for one purpose: to temper Sigils and the souls that bear them.”
She let her gaze sweep over the crowd again.
“This place has produced generals, heroes, archmages, saints, and kings,” she said evenly.
“It has also buried failures.”
The words landed heavily.
Charlotte continued. “You will be challenged. You will fail. You will bleed—sometimes literally. Advancement is earned, not granted.”
A few students shifted uneasily.
“And yet,” she added, her tone softening just slightly, “those who endure will stand among the strongest forces this era will ever know.”
She let the silence stretch until it felt almost uncomfortable.
“Classes begin tomorrow. Dormitories are assigned by aptitude. Combat is mandatory. Cooperation is encouraged.”
Her eyes glinted.
“Have hope.”
Then she smiled again.
“Because you are not just anywhere.”
“You are at Del Santiago Academy.”
The bell rang.
Applause erupted, echoing off the stone terraces like rolling thunder.
Rikuo exhaled slowly, realizing only then how tense his shoulders had been. The ache in his chest eased just a fraction.
As the crowd dispersed, energy flooded back into the plaza. Students talked excitedly, compared notes, argued, laughed. Some looked nervous now that the speech was over, the weight of expectation settling in.
Rikuo moved along the edge of the crowd, absorbing everything quietly. He listened to fragments of conversation—dreams of glory, plans for advancement, fears of failure. So many voices, all moving forward.
That was when he felt it.
That same subtle pressure.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
He turned.
The young man from the road stood beside a pillar, hands in his pockets, expression calm.
“You followed me?” Rikuo asked.
Ley shrugged. “Walked the same direction.”
A pause.
“…You survived the speech,” Ley added. “Congratulations.”
“I wasn’t aware that was optional.”
Ley snorted. “Most speeches here are worse.”
They stood together for a moment, watching students pass. Rikuo noticed how easily Ley blended into the surroundings, drawing little attention despite his sharp presence.
“Name?” Ley asked.
“Rikuo.”
“…Ley,” he replied. “Just Ley.”
Their gazes met briefly.
Something sharp flickered between them—like steel brushing against steel.
“Well,” Ley said, turning away, “don’t give up too fast.”
“I’ll try.”
Ley disappeared into the crowd.
Rikuo watched him go, uncertain whether he had just made an ally or encountered a future problem.
Not long after, staff began distributing documents and calling names.
Rikuo checked his paper.
Dormitory C.
As he started toward the inner paths leading to the dorms, a voice called out behind him.
“Uh—hey! Excuse me!”
He turned.
A broad-shouldered boy jogged toward him, slightly out of breath. His hair was dark blond, his expression open and earnest, eyes bright with curiosity rather than calculation.
“You’re heading to Dormitory C too, right?” the boy asked, holding up his paper.
Rikuo glanced at it, then nodded. “Looks like it.”
The boy grinned. “Nice. I was worried I’d get lost.”
“Izuo,” he said, offering a hand. “Izuo Veln.”
Rikuo hesitated, then shook it. “Rikuo.”
Izuo’s grip was firm, warm. Honest.
“You look like you’ve already had a long day,” Izuo said with a laugh. “First time away from home?”
“…Something like that.”
Izuo didn’t press, and Rikuo silently appreciated that.
They began walking together along the stone path that curved through the academy gardens. The noise of the plaza faded behind them, replaced by the softer sounds of rustling leaves and distant voices.
“This place is insane,” Izuo said, looking around.
“I mean—have you seen those towers? Back home we thought a three-story building was impressive.”
Rikuo nodded faintly. “It’s… bigger than I expected.”
“You don’t talk much, huh?”
“I talk enough.”
Izuo laughed. “Fair.”
As they passed beneath a massive oak tree near one of the inner courtyards, someone spoke again.
“Oh! You’re going to Dormitory C too?”
A girl stood beneath the branches, hugging a book to her chest. Her hair was a soft greenish-brown, eyes gentle, curious rather than wary.
Several small plants around her shifted subtly, leaves turning toward her as if listening.
“Yes,” Izuo said easily. “You?”
She nodded. “Latris.”
“Nice to meet you,” Izuo said immediately. “I’m Izuo. This is Rikuo.”
Latris smiled softly at Rikuo. “Hello.”
“…Hello.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“You feel… tired,” she said.
Rikuo stiffened.
Izuo blinked. “Uh—what?”
Latris flushed faintly. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I just… feel things sometimes.”
Rikuo relaxed. “…You’re not wrong.”
Latris smiled again, relieved.
They continued walking together, their steps naturally falling into rhythm.
Conversation flowed more easily than Rikuo expected.
Izuo talked about his hometown and how he barely passed the entrance evaluation, laughing about how he thought he would be sent home on the spot. Hearing Izuo’s words, Rikuo felt a flicker of shame, knowing his uncle had used the prestige of House Seras to enroll him without requiring the entrance exam.
Latris spoke about plants, healing magic, and how she wanted to help people rather than fight, her eyes lighting up whenever she described her dreams.
Neither asked about Rikuo’s situation.
Neither pushed.
And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.
As Dormitory C came into view, its stone façade bathed in warm afternoon light, Rikuo realized something quietly, unexpectedly important.
For the first time since leaving House Seras—
He wasn’t walking alone.
End of Chapter 2
