​Most stories you've read begins with bleeding history, but this one begins with a whisper.

​"Most stories are about a hero climbing a mountain to defeat a monster. But is that the truth, my child? Or just the version that survived the climb?"

​The mother’s voice was like velvet, cutting through the low hum of the hearth.

"This story is about a hero who was already at the top only to realize the 'Gods' who put him there were the ones who broke the world."

​The child gasped, eyes wide in the firelight. "No..."

​"It’s true," she chuckled softly, though her eyes remained grave. "And the 'Monster' they cast to the bottom? He is the only one who can save us. Listen closely..."

​"In the garden of the Mother, where the golden rivers ran,

There walked a silent shadow since the day the world began.

Not a creature of the mountain, not a spirit of the sea,

But the iron-cold reflection of the Goddess' majesty."

​She leaned in, her voice dropping to a final, dangerous secret.

Mother: "Remember this: In a world built on a stolen history, the greatest act of rebellion is to remember who you truly are."

"So sleep now, little seeker, while the Trio plays their part,

But listen for the rhythm of the Goddess’ darker heart.

For when the history is hollow and the truth is cast in stone,

The Mirror-God will rise again to claim its Mother’s throne."

Disclaimer

Na Zurha Imperan is a work of fiction. All names, characters, institutions, and events depicted in this novel are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This novel includes original world-building elements, including a fictional language (Alerians), mythologies, and realms, which are created for entertainment purposes only.

No part of this publication may be copied, distributed, or used in any form without the express written permission of the author.

P.S.

Legends are born when truth dares to wear a mask. If you feel the pull of destiny between these pages… perhaps you were always meant to find this story.

— Aether

“Vareth solin tal’dura.” let your story find it's page

Author’s Note:

Writing a story is often like trying to capture a shadow just when you think you’ve pinned it down, it shifts. Na Zurha Imperan was born from a simple, nagging question: what happens to the truth when the "winners" are the ones holding the pen?

​We are taught to cheer for the light and fear the dark, but in the world of Alerians, those lines aren't just blurred—they were drawn by people with something to hide. This story isn't just a journey across realms; it’s a journey through the layers of a stolen past.

To my readers and fellow seekers: thank you for stepping into the Garden. Whether you are here for the high-stakes intrigue of the Legend turning into a Myth, I hope you find a piece of yourself reflected in these pages.

​The path ahead is cold as iron and deep as a whisper. Don't trust the statues, and never stop questioning the climb.

​"Vareth solin tal’dura."

— Aether

​The warmth of the memory shattered against the cold, amplified voice of the Headmaster.

​"Citizens of the Light! Disciples of the New Dawn!"

​The Great Hall of D’elvanilmest was a sea of white and gold. Thousands of students stood in rows so perfect they looked mechanical. Above them, the Kairn-Spires pulsed with a rhythmic, artificial glow that made the air taste like copper.

​"Five hundred years," the Headmaster boomed, his silhouette framed by the Triple-Sun sigil. "Look at the marble that does not crack. Look at the peace that does not falter. We stand at the summit of history, looking down into the fog of a past that nearly swallowed the world."

​He gestured to a massive holographic mural depicting a weeping woman turning her back on a burning city.

​"Before the Year Zero, there was only the Dissonance. A Mother Goddess, whom we cannot acknowledge, grew weary of her children and abandoned her throne to watch the stars burn."

​A collective gasp rippled through the hall like a physical wave.

"I cannot believe it..." someone murmured, their voice trembling with taught fear.

"The Mother herself? To just leave us?"

"Serves her right to disappear," a girl hissed, her hand over her heart in the sign of the Trio.

​On the far left side of the crowded line, Alex stood still. His piercing golden eyes didn't look at the Headmaster; they looked at the shadows beneath the pews. He felt a sharp, dissonant ringing in his ears—a frequency the Academy called 'heresy' but his blood called 'truth.'

​"Hey, Alex," his friend whispered, leaning in. "Can you believe this? The history is so... absurd, right? It feels like a stage play."

​"As if it’s the truth," Alex replied, his voice barely audible.

​"Well, I don't care if it's true or not," the boy shrugged, looking at the shimmering ceiling. "But my guts aren't lining up with that man on the stage. At least we're alive in the 'Era of Butterflies,' as they say. Better a beautiful lie than a cold grave."

​The Headmaster’s voice rose to a crescendo. "But the Light did not die! From the ashes, the Supreme Trio rose. They took the shattered fragments of chaos and forged the Stability we breathe today. They cast the butcher Hellion into the Abyss! They turned the tide of the Ghouls!"

​He raised his hands, and the Spires flared with blinding intensity.

​"Bless the Three. For the Light is the Truth, and the Truth is all."

{Headmaster Valerath, whose name means ‘Declared Truth,’ somehow speaks words that are nothing but deception, far from the truth.} Alex thought.

"Hey alex, which Class will you be in? " his friend asked.

"I bet D'elnaki, this dude is born to slay." newcomer called out, swaggering toward them with a grin.

"Dang, it's Rune" the guy eyes widened.

​"Good to see you, Hael," Rune said, offering a quick nod before turning his focus to Alex. "Alex."

​Alex managed a thin smile, reaching out to meet Hael’s hand in a firm shake. "Good to see you."

​"The gang’s almost complete," Hael noted, scanning the thinning crowd of students. "Just one more missing..."

​His gaze locked onto a familiar silhouette weaving through the groups of students. Without a second's hesitation, Hael cupped his hands around his mouth and roared, "Nyx! Over here!"

​The girl froze, then began a slow, deliberate march toward them. Her expression was a cryptic mask—shifting between irritation and something far more dangerous.

​"Damn, Hael," Rune joked, tapping his friend’s shoulder with mock solemnity. "I guess this is goodbye."

​Alex watched her approach, mesmerized by the sheer intensity she radiated. "It’s like her expression is something that can't even be drawn," he murmured softly. "But at least we’re all here now."

​As soon as Nyx reached them, she didn’t offer a greeting. Instead, she gave a fluid, languid wave of her hand.

​Hael’s boastful grin vanished instantly. He gasped, his hands flying to his throat as an invisible force tightened around his windpipe.

​"Ugh! Ple... please..." he wheezed, his face darkening. "She’s actually... trying to kill me..."

​The group erupted into laughter, watching the familiar spectacle of Nyx scolding him with a sharp tongue while simultaneously holding him in a magical vice. Only when she saw him truly struggling did she finally drop her hand, releasing the spell.

​Hael doubled over, gasping for air and gingerly caressing his neck. "Damn, woman! Are you trying to snap my spine?"

​Nyx adjusted her sleeve, "You should be thankful your neck is still in one piece."

"Ahh? Thank you?" Hael replied teasingly. He leaned back against one of the massive stone pillars of the Ground Hall, looking entirely too relaxed for a man surrounded by hundreds of anxious freshmen.

​Nyx stepped closer, her voice a low hiss that barely cut through the ambient roar of the gathering. "Stop drawing attention, you idiot," she scolded, though her eyes darted toward the shifting sea of students.

​Nearby, a group of upperclassmen paused their conversation, their eyes tracking the group with a mixture of awe and suspicion. The murmurs began to ripple outward like a stone dropped in a pond.

​"It's them, isn't it?"

​“That’s Alex… from the House of Vael’Tharion.”

​“Yeah. I’ve heard their bloodline is the last of the Seven.”

​Hael’s playful smirk didn't leave his face, but he shifted his weight, his boots scuffing the polished marble floor. Beside him, Alex stood like a statue, his gaze fixed on the orientation stage, though his jaw remained tight.

​“Same here… and House Ael’Solaryn...they’re said to be the greatest healers. Though I also heard one of the former masters of the Holy Tower went berserk… from having too much healing power.”

​“Yeah… at least they have power to begin with. Wait...aren’t those two Rune from House Elvan’Korith and Nyx from House Sha’Virelith?”

​The air around Nyx seemed to grow heavy. She stopped scolding Hael and went perfectly still, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

​“Yeah… my father told me about them," another student added, their voice rising just enough to be heard over the orientation hubbub. "House Sha’Virelith… they were assassins long before they ever rose to power. And House Elvan’Korith… the keepers of forbidden knowledge.”

​Rune, standing in the shadow of the pillar, pulled his hood lower.

​“Keep your voice down…” a cautious voice whispered from the crowd. “The Lady of the House Sha’Virelith doesn’t like being talked about.”

​Nyx didn't look back. She simply turned and began to walk through the crowd, her path clearing naturally as students instinctively stepped out of her way. The "assassin" reputation, however unfair, served as an effective.... lonely....shield.

​"Come on," Alex muttered to the rest, his voice commanding. "Let's go straight to the Pillar of Trine, besideswell be all going there."

Hael's playful expression didn't vanish...it sharpened. He locked eyes with the student who had mentioned the forbidden knowledge of House Elvan’Korith. He didn't say a word, but he tapped a single finger against his temple and winked.

​The student turned a ghostly shade of pale, their orientation pamphlet slipping from trembling fingers and hitting the marble floor with a sharp slap that echoed in the sudden quiet.

​"That’s enough, Hael," Alex said softly. His voice was the anchor, steady and devoid of the heat radiating from Nyx. He straightened his posture, his cloak settling around his shoulders with the practiced grace of the Vael’Tharion line. "We’re done here."

​Rune stood next, moving like a shadow detached from the masonry. He didn't look at anyone. He didn't need to. The mere rustle of his heavy robes as he stepped into the light was enough to send the neighboring clusters of students into a frantic, hushed silence.

​Nyx was the last to move. She slowly released her grip on the iron railing she had been leaning against, the metal groaning slightly from the pressure. She turned her head just enough to catch the eye of the girl who had told everyone to keep their voice down.

​"You're right," Nyx said, her voice carrying clearly through the now-silent hall, cutting through the distant drone of the faculty preparations. "We don't like being talked about. So, if you're going to tell stories about my House... at least make sure you get the body count right next time."

​She didn't wait for a reaction. She turned on her heel and strode toward the towering doors of the Grand Hall. The group followed her, their footsteps echoing in perfect, intimidating unison against the polished stone.

​Behind them, the hundreds of gathered students remained silent for a full minute before anyone dared to breathe.

The Pillar of Vora

​The sun hung high over the jagged peaks of the post-war world, casting a long, needle-thin shadow from the Pillar of Vora. To the approaching D’elvanilmest students, the tower looked like a fragile spine of ancient stone, barely wide enough to hold a single spiral staircase.

​A student, nervously shifting with dust on his boots, stared at the narrow Great Arch. "How are we all supposed to fit in there?" he whispered.

​"Welcome, students, to the Pillar of Vora," a professor announced, their voice echoing against the silence of the peaks.

​The Great Hall of Vora

​The interior was a geographical impossibility. The walls were miles apart, draped in tapestries of living starlight that rippled with the wind of an indoor sea. The ceiling was gone, replaced by a swirling celestial map where planets drifted like slow-moving lanterns. The floor was a vast expanse of polished white gold, etched with shifting geometric lines that rearranged themselves as hundreds of students filed in. This was the Welcome of the Vora the moment the tower’s interior transformed into a massive auditorium of judgment.

​Suddenly, the air hummed with a three-fold resonance.

​To the center stood a man in a white-gold robe. His presence caused the messy lines of students to snap into perfect, rigid rows. His gaze was a cold calculation, measuring the structural integrity of their potential. To the right, a woman drifted, her thousand-winged butterfly affinity filling the hall with a soft, iridescent glow. She didn't look at their faces; she searched for the "light" humming within their chests.

​In the left stood a third man. He said nothing, but the Scythe of Retribution rested across his back. His presence was the "Weight"—a heavy, physical pressure that forced every student to confront their own truth.

​"The Vora knows your name," the man in the white robe declared, his voice vibrating at a frequency that made the very marrow of the students bones ache. "But it does not yet know your place."

​As the first student stepped forward, the hall reacted. Doors hundreds of them, made of everything from solid shadow to shimmering glass manifested along the distant walls.

​"Step into the Mirror of the Void," the woman commanded softly.

​One by one, the hall sorted them. When a student stepped into the Mirror, they saw a reflection of starlight not themselves, but a version of their soul at peace.

​"Aeilmestys Class," the man in white declared. "Go to your left, young one."

​

​The tower breathed with them, the doors shifting and walls expanding like a living lung. When it was finally Alex’s turn, the "Ghostly Pull" of the tower grew so strong his feet left the ground. He looked up, and for the first time, the massive hall felt small because the Vora were finally looking directly at him.

​As Alex drifted toward the Mirror, the "Weight" of the man with the Scythe intensified, a gravitational anchor peeling away Alex’s layers like dry parchment. When his boots touched the Mirror, the white-gold floor vanished. Alex stood upon liquid obsidian, reflecting a sky that hadn't existed for a thousand years.

​In the reflection, Alex saw a silhouette draped in the World-Eater’s shadow, eyes glowing with the pressurized light of a collapsing star. Behind him, a spectral chain manifested, connecting his heart to the core of the tower.

​The man in the white-gold robe leaned forward, his calculated gaze fracturing with a rare flicker of recognition. "The Vora does not just know your name," the man in the center spoke, his voice like grinding tectonic plates.

​"It remembers your original sin, or is it?" the man in white added. "How fascinating..."

​Suddenly, the hall reconstructed itself. The walls of starlight rushed inward; the celestial map spun into a violent vortex. The three Vora smiled as if they were watching a prophecy unfold.

​"No door showed up..." a student murmured.

"Yeah... how? I mean, he’s a Vael’Tharion, but is that family really that powerful?"

​The man in the left tapped his Scythe on the floor. The echo silenced the hall instantly.

​"Proceed to D'elnaki," the man in white said, his eyes locking onto Alex’s. "You are much better fitted there."

He paused, offering a subtle, knowing wink.

​Following Students, Hael, Rune, and Nyx stepped forward. The Mirror didn't hesitate. One after another, the Divine Blades were claimed by the flames and chaos of the D'elnaki, leaving the rest of the Academy confusion bout what is in D'elnaki.

​As the heavy doors finally settled, the Great Hall returned to a humming silence.

​"One hundred first-year students sorted in two hours... amazing," Caelvaron, the man in the white-gold robe, remarked as he reclined onto a manifested couch of silk and light.

​"That child..." the woman, Elyssmaria, whispered, her butterfly wings fluttering with a nervous, silver agitation.

​"I know." Caelvaron’s expression shifted, the cold calculation of his face replaced by something darker caution.

​"If my judgment is correct," the man with the Scythe added, his voice low and heavy, "he could be that sword."

​"Ahyy,..." Elyssmaria breathed. "Honestly, it is the first time in the history of this Academy that someone has entered the Mirror of the Void and emerged unpredictable. My Mirror could not find his end."

​Caelvaron rubbed his temples, his mind clearly racing through a thousand filtered histories. "Oh, right, Elyssmaria... before I forget. Has Drae’Valion sent you any word regarding the chosen humans?"

​The hall grew cold for a moment. Elyssmaria looked at the swirling celestial map above, her eyes reflecting distant, dying stars.

​"...I have received nothing," she answered softly.

​"Strange..." Caelvaron murmured, tapping his fingers against the arm of his white-gold couch. "By now, the students from Nixon University should have arrived alongside the D’elvanilmest group. The schedule is slipping."

​Thalrion, the man with the Scythe, didn't look up from his hand. "Perhaps there was a change of fate. Or maybe they just missed the bus. It happens."

​"Should I look into it?" Elyssmaria asked, her butterfly wings shimmering with a restless silver light.

​"Let’s not interfere for now," Caelvaron said, pulling a card from the deck on the floating table. "Why not just go back to where we left off? Your turn, Elyssmaria."

​"Great! Let’s continue." She grinned, snapping a card down.

​Minutes later...

​"A Uno Reverse Card? Oh, come on!" Elyssmaria shrieked, her wings fluttering in a frustrated shade of violet. She stared at the card Caelvaron had just played with pure betrayal. "That’s the third time this round! How do you even have that many?"

​Caelvaron leaned back, a smug, rare smile breaking his cold expression. "This day really can’t get any better. First, a unpredictable shows up to shake things up, and now I’m finally crushing you at cards."

​"You’re totally cheating," she huffed, crossing her arms. "You’re using that '....' of yours to see through the back of the deck, aren't you?"

​"I don't need to cheat to beat a butterfly," he countered smoothly, winking at her.

​Thalrion sighed, finally setting his own cards down a stack of Draw Fours that would have ended the game anyway. He looked toward the heavy doors where Alex and the others had vanished. "Don't get too comfortable, Caelvaron. The First Sword is in the Academy now. This 'Uno' games are going to get a lot more complicated."

"Complicated indeed " Caelvaron said.

While the Vora remained in their impossible hall, lost in the trivial tension of their card game, the one hundred initiates were forced to confront the cold geometry of their new lives. Led by their respective fourth-year representatives, the group moved through the Grand Axis the university’s massive central artery before the final, jagged split.

​The university was a study in absolute duality, beginning with the two leaders standing at the threshold.

​To the right stood the Aeilmestys Representative, a vision of ethereal elegance. He wore a high-collared white military tunic, heavy with gold-threaded embroidery that mimicked the swirling patterns of a galaxy. A floor-length Mantle of Starlight billowed from his shoulders, held by golden lion-head clasps. Beside him, the Aeilmestys girls mirrored this grace in pleated white skirts and gold-laced stockings.

They looked less like students and more like a celestial choir, ready to enter their ivory sanctuary of meditation balconies and glass-walled dorms that hummed in sync with the stars.

​To the left, the atmosphere turned heavy and sharp. The D'elnaki Representative stood as a wall of disciplined power. His uniform was a masterclass in functional aggression: a double-breasted coat of deep midnight navy and slate black, its shoulders squared off with thick silver braiding that caught the light like cold steel. A short, structured cape flickered behind him, and a heavy leather belt with a steel dragon-shaped buckle sat firmly at his waist.

​Led by Alex, the fifty students followed this iron-clad figure into the Left Wing, a stronghold of obsidian and reinforced metal. Their representative didn't offer a gentle welcome or a tour of the scenery. Instead, he reached the end of a torch-lit corridor and kicked open the massive, dark-iron slab leading into the dorms. The boom of metal hitting stone jolted the tired students.

​"Your room is your fortress," the representative said, his voice a low rumble. He gestured to the rows of obsidian doors, each etched with a dormant, hungry rune. "There are no keys in this wing. These doors only open if you can project enough raw intent to trigger the mechanism. If you’re weak, you sleep in the hall. If you're cold, you find the fire within." He said.

"WELCOME TO D'ELNAKI CLASS FRESHMAN " The representative added before he left the hall.

​By sunset, the separation was absolute. In the Right Wing, the Aeilmestys settled into silent, starlit reflection. In the Left Wing, the sound of iron clashing and the roar of the D'elnaki braziers signaled that for Alex and the others, the true test of survival had just begun.