After stepping out of her dorm, Eira made her way to the Ombrelune Hall, where a tall girl with a silver prefect badge stood waiting. The prefect addressed the assembled first-years in a sharp but calm voice. Eira had just stepped out of her dormitory, freshly dressed and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, when her attention was drawn to a confident voice at the front of the hall.
A tall, older student stood before the gathered first years, her Ombrelune prefect badge glinting faintly.
"Alright, all of you—eyes up and ears open," the girl said, hands on her hips. "You’ll be following to your first class—Potions. Do not wander off. For this first week, each of your lessons will be accompanied by a senior. After that, you’ll be navigating on your own."
With a swish of her navy-blue cloak, the prefect turned and led the way out of the hall. Eira moved with the group, her polished shoes clicking quietly on the flagstones. As they stepped into the garden beyond, she gasped softly.
The scenery she hadn’t seen clearly the night before now unfurled before her like a living painting—flowering trees in bloom, quaint stone bridges over narrow streams, and vines trailing down marble pillars in bursts of pale pink and violet. The air slled faintly of jasmine and springwater. Across the lawn, the boys’ group erged, led by a male prefect, and the two lines rged as they made their way toward the château.
A familiar voice beside her drew her attention.
"Good morning, Eira," said Marin cheerfully, falling into step beside her. "How was your first night? I tried to co into your dorm hall to say hello—but those ridiculous statues blocked ."
Eira glanced at him, confused. "What were you doing trying to enter the girls’ dorm hall?" she asked, her voice guarded.
Marin looked utterly unbothered, if not mildly insulted. "Well, my roommate was snoring like a troll. I couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d find a senior girl in your hall and, I don’t know, crash with her for the night ."
Eira blinked at him, startled. For a mont she wondered if he might be suffering from so ntal affliction—or if he was just truly that shaless. With a hint of sarcasm, she muttered,"You know, I’ve only t two truly shaless people in my life. Congratulations, you’ve just beco the second."
He grinned without sha. "Only the second? I’m flattered. Who on earth managed to outrank ?"
Eira gave a quiet snort. "My uncle."
Marin laughed at that, apparently delighted, and the two continued walking as the towering doors of the château opened before them. They were led down a sweeping corridor with arching ceilings and gilded sconces, until they reached a large classroom bathed in soft morning light.
Inside, the Potions room was breathtaking—lined with shelves of glass jars, bottled ingredients glinting in hues of sapphire, erald, and amber. Each workstation glead with copper, crystal, and enchanted pewter cauldrons already set for brewing. The room humd with a sense of precision and discipline.
Eira chose a seat near the middle, Marin settling next to her with a casual flop. Other students filed in, so nervously glancing around. Once the room was full, the door opened, and a hush fell over the class.
In walked a tall woman with a composed air and commanding posture. Her long dark hair was streaked with silver, and her sharp eyes held no warmth, but no cruelty either. Her navy teaching robes flowed behind her as she stepped up to the front.
"I am Professor René Voclain," she announced, her voice calm and cool as winter rain. "I will be your Potions instructor. I expect two things from every one of you. First: silence during class—potions are crafted alone, and mistakes are your own to bear. Second: write down and practice every assignnt I give. Do you understand?"
The students nodded, murmuring assent.
Without further preamble, Professor Voclain turned toward the blackboard and wrote in crisp, fluid script: Lueur Douce Potion.
"Now, who can tell what this potion does?"
Hands shot up across the classroom. The professor ignored them all and instead fixed her gaze on Eira.
"Miss White," she said coolly. "You may answer."
Eira blinked, montarily startled. But she quickly straightened in her seat and spoke clearly.
"The Lueur Douce Potion (Gentle Glow Potion), Professor," she began, "creates a soft, glowing light. It’s used to gently illuminate dark places without startling magical creatures or disturbing sleep. The ingredients include three dried Pyrenean glow worms, crushed into powder, ten milliliters of lavender essence, two sprigs of moonlit chamomile, fifty milliliters of Pyrenean spring water, a pinch of powdered moonstone, and three rose petals.
"You heat the water gently, then add the chamomile and stir clockwise five tis. Then, the glow worm powder is stirred in counterclockwise three tis. Lavender essence is added drop by drop, followed by the moonstone—stirred clockwise seven tis. Finally, the rose petals are dropped in, allowing them to settle naturally. The result is a silvery-pink glow, and the potion slls faintly of lavender."
Professor Voclain gave a single nod. "Acceptable. Begin, all of you. The ingredients are prepared on your tables. You will follow the recipe I’ve written, and I will correct your technique as needed. The best way to learn is by doing—not copying.from those who already mastered it "
With that, the classroom buzzed to life.
Eira rolled up her sleeves and approached her station with quiet confidence. She laid out her ingredients with precision: glow worms, chamomile, lavender, moonstone, rose petals. She placed her pewter cauldron over the enchanted fla, its soft blue flicker giving the workbench a gentle warmth.
Carefully, she crushed the dried glow worms into a shimring powder, the scent earthy and faintly sweet. She chopped the chamomile, separating the delicate blossoms from their stems, then poured the spring water into the cauldron and added the flowers.
Stirring clockwise five tis, she watched the petals steep and tint the water pale gold. The glow worm powder was next—stirred counterclockwise three tis until the mixture began to emit a soft shimr. Drop by drop, she added the lavender essence, its fragrance curling upward like mist. Then the powdered moonstone—she stirred it in seven tis, watching the light stabilize into a gentle, magical glow.
Finally, she dropped in the rose petals, one by one, letting them sink naturally.
She removed the cauldron from the fla and let it cool. When it was ready, she poured the potion into a crystal vial. The liquid shimred like moonlight on water, glowing softly in its glass container, releasing a calming scent of lavender and roses.
Professor Voclain swept over, peering into the vial.
"Standard," she said, nodding slightly. "Not perfect—but competent. You seem to have so talent. With refinent, it may beco sothing worthwhile. One star to Ombrelune."
With a flick of her wand, a glowing silver star rose into the air, hovering briefly before gliding out the open window. Eira followed its path with wide eyes, feeling a thrill of accomplishnt.
She had earned her first star—and a small, glowing piece of pride that would be sent directly to the Ombrelune tower. She’d learned from older students that each house collected stars like these throughout the year, earned through talent, discipline, or creativity. At the year’s end, the house with the most stars would perform the closing celebration—a performance of magic and dance to honor their work.
As Eira turned back to her potion, a quiet smile played on her lips. It was a good beginning.
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