Came Like A Postcard

A LITTLE girl fell to the ground for no apparent reason. She hit the grass with both knees first before her palms struggled to support her entire body weight. 

The impact didn’t feel that hard, but it was enough to startle her, leaving her momentarily confused before she realized what had actually happened to her. With long, wavy brown hair framing her face, Seraphine looked up and surveyed her surroundings.

Only then did she realize she was in her backyard. The grass was growing a little too tall around her feet, the small flowers her mother had planted were swaying in the breeze, and the laundry hanging on the side of the house was gently fluttering in the afternoon light.

Her brow furrowed even deeper as she turned toward the back door, then looked back at the spot where she had fallen, as if hoping to find footprints or some other mark in the grass that might explain how she’d ended up there.

Unfortunately, she found nothing.

Where her body had just landed, there was no hole or sign that someone had just pushed her. Even the wind around her was much calmer, as if her sudden appearance were as natural as a leaf falling from a tree.

She was absolutely certain that just moments earlier she had been inside the house, sitting on the floor of her own room with some papers and colored pencils scattered near her feet. She had absolutely no memory of ever walking out, opening the back door, going down the stairs, or even taking off her shoes. She only remembered her room, lit by sunlight streaming through the window—then suddenly it turned into cold ground, wet grass, and the pain in her knees.

“Seraphine!”

Her mother’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. She ran down the back stairs, lifting her skirt as she ran so it wouldn’t hinder her steps, while her other hand reached out, as if her daughter might vanish again or do something strange if she wasn’t grabbed immediately.

The twelve-year-old girl stood up from where she’d been sitting in the grass, brushing the dirt still clinging to her knees as she watched her mother draw closer.

“When did you run out here, honey?” she asked, once she’d managed to crouch down in front of her and examine Seraphine closely.

“I don’t know,” the little girl replied, raising both her hands to show that she was all right, even though she was just as confused. “But at least I’m okay—just a little scrape on my knee.”

Mrs. Valence didn’t seem to trust her own daughter’s word, so she decided to examine her herself. She brushed aside Seraphine’s messy hair and checked the back of her head, moving down toward her neck to make sure there were no hidden injuries. Her fingertips paused as she felt a thin chain against the girl’s neck.

She pulled it out slowly.

The afternoon light reflected a silvery glint off the chain. It was woven from an extremely fine metal mesh that, at first glance, resembled strands of frozen light, while the center held a very dark maroon oval stone. In the shadows, the color looked almost black. But when caught in the light, a deep red hue emerged from its depths, like embers covered in ash.

“Where did you get this, Sera?” he asked, turning the dark maroon stone pendant over and discovering a star symbol at its center.

Upon closer inspection, the star symbol in the center of the stone resembled a crack whose branches spread throughout the crystal, while a faint mist moved within the stone as if pulsing in time with the wearer’s heartbeat.

“I don’t know, Mum.”

Seraphine finally replied.

She truly had no idea what was happening to her. She, too, examined the necklace she’d just acquired. Strangely, the necklace didn’t really feel new against her skin.

“As far as I remember, I was in my room, surrounded by my colored pencils,” Seraphine began to explain. “Maybe I fell asleep, and when I opened my eyes, I’d already fallen here.”

Her mother didn’t answer right away. Her gaze shifted from the necklace to Seraphine’s clothes, then down to her bare feet. After making sure there was nothing else out of the ordinary, the woman stood up and held out her hand.

“If this is another one of your strange incidents, at least this time you’ve come up with something you can actually wear. Now, come inside—someone’s come looking for you.”

Ever since she was a child, Seraphine had always been surrounded by the strange. It wasn’t just nightmares or a child’s overactive imagination—it was far more real than that. She always had strange, inexplicable dreams—not just vague visuals that vanished upon waking, but something that left a mark on her body and mind. Once, she dreamed of running down an endless road, and when she woke up, her legs ached as if she’d just run a marathon.

She also clearly remembers another strange incident that happened in her room. Her father even laughed at her, claiming that the time her room had turned completely black was simply the result of old paint peeling and being exposed to sunlight for too long. Yet she remembers it clearly: her room had truly transformed. The walls, ceiling, floor—even the doorknob—had suddenly turned black as if scorched, without the slightest hint of a burnt smell. Even the sounds inside the room vanished as if absorbed by a vacuum. She’d been locked inside for several minutes, even though there was no lock on the door.

Yet her father repainted the room a crisp blue. As if none of it had ever happened.

Seraphine took her mother’s hand, but her other hand remained clenched around the pendant pressed against her chest.

“Looking for me? Who’s here, Mom?”

Her mother led her toward the house. Every now and then, the woman would glance back, as if to make sure Seraphine was still walking beside her and wouldn’t vanish from the yard again.

“He said he’s a professor from an academy. I didn’t really understand his explanation because he’s only willing to discuss everything after meeting you.”

Her brown eyes sparkled as she looked at her mother. “A professor? Is that the kind of person who’s always tinkering with chemicals, Mum? Or is he a scientist who studies strange phenomena?”

It was very rare for anyone to come looking specifically for her, let alone someone who called himself a professor. The kids at school usually avoided her because Seraphine read too much, corrected answers too often, and was seen as someone who didn’t know when to stop talking about things others found boring.

Seraphine never understood why loving books was considered strange. Her father always said that books were a gateway to places she couldn’t yet visit herself, and that knowledge would remain useful even when almost everything else was lost. Seraphine held onto those words whenever she began to feel lonely. If the other kids didn’t want to listen, there were always pages willing to wait.

Her mother let out a short laugh that still sounded strained. She opened the back door and let Seraphine go in first.

“I think you’ll have to ask him yourself. Just looking at his clothes makes it hard for me to explain what he does for a living.”

They passed through the kitchen and walked toward the small living room with its pale peach-colored walls.

Mr. Valence was already sitting on one of the sofas with his back slightly too—forced—to remain straight, a habit that always surfaced when he tried to be polite to guests who made him feel uncomfortable. Across from him sat an elderly man whose hair had turned white and who sported a beard long enough to reach his chest, which was also white. 

Seraphine frowned when she saw what the man—or, as Mrs. Valence called him, “a professor”—was wearing. He was wearing a long garment—or perhaps a robe?—Seraphine wasn’t sure, and it was a striking blue adorned with bright yellow stars. His face was wrinkled in places, and behind his glasses, he had very bright blue eyes.

“Well, that’s my daughter you’re looking for, Sir,” said Mr. Valence kindly.

The professor turned his head as Seraphine entered the room.

For one very brief second, all the calm on his face vanished.

Seraphine continued to observe the elderly man in front of her with a scrutinizing gaze. To her, his face seemed so familiar, as if the old professor had once been a part of her life. Or perhaps in some of her dreams? But she had truly seen him so vividly, and the memory still felt so fresh.

“That’s a lovely necklace, Miss Valence,” the old professor began.

Seraphine smiled politely at him. “Seraphine, Sir. If you call me Miss Valence, it’ll sound like you’re calling my mother.”

“Seraphine,” Mrs. Valence hissed warningly.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Seraphine said politely.

The professor smiled gently at her. “It’s all right, Seraphine. May I see the necklace?”

Her eyes fluttered. Again. Then once more. Her feelings were all over the place when that question was asked. Why did she suddenly panic when that old man asked to borrow her necklace? Why did she suddenly not want anyone to take her necklace—which she’d accidentally enchanted—away from her?

“Come on, sweetheart, give it to him; he just wants to see your work,” Mr. Valence coaxed gently.

Seraphine glared at the flamboyant professor and said curtly, “But you won’t take it from me, will you?”

The professor studied her through his bright blue eyes, which seemed intimidating this time, causing Seraphine to shudder involuntarily. Could he read her mind? she wondered nervously.

“I’ll give it back, Seraphine,” he said finally.

Reluctantly, Seraphine found the clasp holding the necklace together and unfastened it, offering it to the professor, who immediately accepted it and held the stone pendant. He closed his eyes as he held the stone-set pendant, and a smile slowly touched his thin lips. Seraphine wondered what the professor was trying to find out from her necklace, since it was surely just an ordinary one that she had accidentally enchanted.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes again, now smiling genuinely at her as he handed the necklace back. Seraphine hurriedly put it back on—her mind told her to—and glared at the professor with a clearly annoyed expression.

“Your magic is very advanced, Seraphine,” he said.

All three Valences widened their eyes upon hearing the word “magic.” Mr. Valence furrowed his brow as if trying to make sure he hadn’t misheard, Mrs. Valence looked even more confused, while Seraphine felt that the statement merely confirmed something she had actually known for a long time without ever truly understanding it.

“Forgive me,” the professor continued, “but Seraphine Valence is a witch, and her name has been on my school’s roster since she was born.”

Her father was the first to find his voice. His body leaned slightly forward, while his hands were clasped on his knees with unconcealed anxiety.

“Excuse me, Professor, but you keep using that word as if we’re supposed to understand it. When you say ‘magic,’ what exactly do you mean?”

The eccentric professor didn’t seem bothered by the question. He leaned his walking stick against the side of his chair, then clasped his hands on his lap before looking at the three people in front of him in turn.

“The world you currently see is not the only layer that makes up reality. Ordinary hands cannot touch the other layers that surround every object, place, or living creature. We call that layer the Veil.”

Mr. Valence’s eyes instinctively scanned the room around him, as if hoping the layer in question would become visible if he looked closely enough. But he found no changes in the walls, windows, or furniture, which only deepened his confusion regarding the elderly professor’s explanation. 

“The Veil is not another world, nor is it a place hidden behind walls,” the professor continued. “It is right here, occupying the same space as we do, but operating under different laws. Thoughts, will, emotions, memories, and matter leave vibrations within it, even though most people are never aware of its existence.”

“So, the people who can touch it are people like you?”

The professor immediately gave a slight nod. His expression betrayed a hint of pleasure that Seraphine had immediately grasped the core of his explanation.

“More precisely, it is a connection we can establish. A person’s ability to sense and influence the Veil is called Resonance, while those who possess this ability are called Resonants.”

Her mother furrowed her brow and looked back at Seraphine.

The woman’s hand unconsciously moved to touch her daughter’s back, as if to ensure that this change in terminology hadn’t altered the child sitting beside her.

“So Resonance is what we’ve been calling magic all this time?”

The professor nodded, but his gaze suggested the answer wasn’t that simple. He raised his right hand to chest level and turned his palm upward.

“The fundamental ability is Resonance, not preformed magic. You can imagine the Veil as the surface of a lake, while Resonance is humanity’s ability to touch the water. Simply touching the water is enough to create ripples, but if we want those ripples to move in a specific direction, then we must know how to do it and where on the surface to touch.”

Two golden lines suddenly emerged slowly from beneath the skin of the professor’s wrist. The light was as bright as the colors he was wearing, branching out toward his palm, then following each finger in a neat and symmetrical pattern.

“Well, do you see these golden lines?” he asked. “These are the Arc Lines that carry Resonance. All Resonants have them, although in children the lines usually can’t be seen unless their magic is active.”

“So, are Arc Lines like our blood vessels?” asked Seraphine, examining her own arm, which still bore traces of light from when she’d been lying on the ground.

“Their function is similar, but they carry different things,” replied the eccentric Professor. “Blood vessels carry blood to keep the body alive, while Arc Lines channel Resonance from your magic reserve to the parts of the body used to manifest it. We call that reserve the ‘Reserve.’”

Seraphine turned both her palms upward, examining her skin as if the Arc Lines might become visible if she knew exactly where to look. A faint warmth suddenly arose from her fingertips and moved toward her wrists, but no light accompanied it.

The Professor noticed the subtle change in her expression. He studied Seraphine’s hands for a few seconds before continuing in a calmer voice.

“Everyone’s Reserve is different. Some are able to store large amounts of Resonance but have difficulty controlling it, while others have a smaller Reserve but can shape magic with extraordinary precision. A Resonant’s power isn’t determined solely by the size of their Reserve, but also by how well they understand the limits of their body.”

Mr. Valence still seemed to be trying to make sense of all these terms. He pointed at the Professor’s hand, whose Arc Lines were still faintly glowing.

“In that case, how does that ability manifest into something tangible? How does someone make an object move or change the color of a room?”

The Professor raised his left hand until it was level with his right. His index and middle fingers met, his thumb pressed against the base of his ring finger, and then his wrist slowly rotated toward the table.

“Magic doesn’t require specific words or objects to channel it. Resonants use a series of hand gestures called Forms to give shape and command to Resonance.”

When the movement was complete, the golden Arc Lines on both his hands glowed brighter.

A small spoon on the table rose a few centimeters off the surface, spun slowly in the air, then moved toward Professor Veyne’s palm before landing without a sound.

Mrs. Valence gasped in surprise. Her father froze, his gaze fixed on the spoon, while Seraphine leaned forward so far she nearly slipped off the back of the sofa.

The professor set the spoon back down. The light on his Arc Lines gradually dimmed after the Form was released.

“Hand movements determine the structure of magic, the mind determines the purpose, and Resonance provides the energy to bring it into being. If any one of these three is off, the result can be weak, deviate from the original intent, or even backfire and harm the caster.”

Seraphine raised her hand and tried to mimic Professor Veyne’s finger positions. She could only recall part of the movements, but when her thumb touched the base of her ring finger, the spoon on the table suddenly began to vibrate.

Her mother immediately grabbed her wrist.

“Sera, don’t try that now. We don’t even know what could happen.”

Seraphine reluctantly lowered her hand. Her eyes remained fixed on the spoon that had just moved, while excitement slowly replaced the confusion on her face.

“I almost did it.”

The professor observed the spoon, then looked at Seraphine with a seriousness that caused the girl’s excitement to subside slightly.

“And that’s exactly what I meant when I said your magic has advanced so far. You’re able to grasp part of a Form’s structure just by seeing it once, even before understanding how to stop the flow of Resonance.”

Seraphine looked at her hand again. She didn’t feel any pain, but her fingertips were now throbbing softly as if she’d just gripped something too cold.

“If I managed to move it, why is that considered dangerous?”

The professor leaned forward slightly. His tone didn’t sound threatening, but it was firm enough to make Seraphine stop trying to repeat the movement.

“Because opening the flow is much easier than closing it. Resonance that’s continuously forced through the Arc Lines can leave an Arc Burn, damage the pathways, or deplete the Reserve until the body loses consciousness. In the worst-case scenario, an unstable Form can draw too much energy from the Veil and shatter before it’s released.”

Seraphine’s mother immediately looked at her daughter’s hand with concern. Her fingers gently stroked Seraphine’s wrist as if the injury the Professor had described might already have formed, unseen.

“Is that what’s been happening to her all this time? Seraphine has never made hand gestures like that, but objects still move when she’s angry or scared.”

The professor nodded in understanding. He leaned back in his chair, giving them a moment after his explanation had made Seraphine’s parents even more tense.

“In children, Resonance often appears before their minds are capable of forming a Form. Intense emotions act as temporary commands, and then the Veil responds to desires they haven’t even had a chance to voice. We call it Manifestation—or a spontaneous magical accident.”

“So when I wanted a book and it moved on its own, I was actually pulling it toward me with Resonance?”

“Yes, but you did it without a Form and without conscious control,” the professor explained. “Your desire provided the direction, while your emotions forcibly opened the Reserve. The result might have been what you wanted, but that method is unstable and hard to predict.”

“But no one in our family is a wizard. How could Seraphine have—what do you call that kind of wizard?”

The Professor chuckled softly, aware of the many unfamiliar terms in his explanation. “Yes,” he said, stroking his long white beard. “There are a few students who share the same status as Seraphine. We call them Unbound because they have no active connection to the Veil in their lineage, and when an Unbound has a descendant who can connect to the Veil, we call them Firstbound. Which means—” he paused for a moment, fixing his blue eyes on her brown ones “—Seraphine is the first Resonant recorded in her family line.”

Seraphine’s father nodded slowly, though his face still held many unanswered questions. Her mother, on the other hand, looked at her daughter with a mixture of relief and worry, as if the explanation had soothed one fear only to unleash dozens of new ones.

“Will that ability continue to grow stronger?”

The professor nodded. His hands clasped once more above the head of his staff, while the tone of his voice grew more serious.

“As a child approaches adolescence, the Arc Lines develop more rapidly, and the Reserve begins to store larger amounts of Resonance. Manifestations typically become more frequent, more powerful, and more unpredictable. Without training, a child could injure themselves or others even if they never intended to.”

Seraphine didn’t look afraid. On the contrary, she looked at the professor with rapt attention, as if each warning only sparked new questions she wanted answered immediately.

“So you’re going to teach me how to control it?”

“Yes,” the professor nodded. “Through Veyl Academy.”

His hand had already produced a small metal disc from the pocket of his robe. He placed it on the table and ran two fingers over its surface. The disc unfolded into several thin, spinning rings, then projected an image of a stone castle into the center of the living room.

Veyl Academy stood on a rocky plateau jutting out into the lake. Tall towers soared between arched bridges and the castle’s wings, while mountains framed the valley behind it. Blue, maroon, green, and silvery-gray lights flickered across parts of the structure, marking the four towers that stood surrounding the main complex.

For some reason, Seraphine felt a tightness in her chest, as if she had seen the place before, even though she knew she had never actually been there.

“Veyl Academy was founded to provide a safe environment for young Resonants,” explained the professor. “Its primary goal isn’t to teach how to produce as much magic as possible, but to ensure a student understands themselves before attempting to influence the Veil.”

The image of the castle rotated slowly. Seraphine could see a vast courtyard, stone bridges, greenhouses, training buildings, and a tower standing slightly apart from the main part of the academy.

“So, in their first year, they won’t immediately practice how to form a Form. They’ll first learn to recognize Arc Lines, manage the Reserve, and master Basic Forms. They learn to safely open and close the flow of magic, maintain concentration, recognize the body’s limits, and stop a Form before losing control. A student must be able to light a single flame and extinguish it properly before being allowed to create fire. They must also be able to move a stone without shattering the table on which it rests.”

Seraphine’s father looked at the academy’s projection, then turned back to the professor.

“How long do students study there?”

“The main program lasts six years, beginning when a child’s Arc Lines are deemed sufficiently developed to receive formal training,” the professor replied. “Seraphine has reached that age; in fact, her Resonance shows progress that should only appear after several years of training.”

The professor then took a bluish-black envelope from inside his robe. The name Seraphine Valence was written in silver ink on the front, while the seal on the back depicted four shields surrounding a tower.

“Inside is your acceptance letter, a list of first-year supplies, an explanation of Veyl’s basic rules, and a temporary pass to enter Crowmere. You and your parents will need these before the school year begins.”

The excitement on Seraphine’s face gave way to confusion. She pulled the envelope closer, but didn’t open it right away because a new name had completely captured her attention.

“Is Crowmere part of Veyl Academy? Is it located near the academy?”

Professor Veyne shook his head slightly. He reached for the walking cane that had been leaning against the side of his chair, then rotated it so that the circular silver handle was positioned directly above the floor.

“Crowmere isn’t part of the Veyl territory. It’s one of the largest Resonant districts in North America and the place where most students obtain their supplies before heading to the academy.”

Mr. Valence furrowed his brow. He looked as though he were going over all the place names he knew, but couldn’t find Crowmere among them.

“I’ve never heard of a place called Crowmere. In which state is that district located?”

“New York,” the professor replied. “More precisely, in the heart of New York City.”

“In the middle of New York City?” his father repeated. “A district large enough to provide for the needs of all magic students is right in the middle of the city, yet no one has ever discovered it?”

The professor didn’t seem offended by the skepticism. Instead, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he’d heard similar questions from many Firstbound families.

“Crowmere is discovered every day. Thousands of people pass through its gates, see its buildings, stand on its steps while waiting for transportation, and even use its front entrance to shelter from the rain. They just don’t realize what they’re actually looking at.”

Seraphine leaned forward. Both her hands were now resting on the envelope, while her curiosity made her momentarily forget the strange sensation that had arisen when she recognized the Drake emblem.

“How can someone discover a place without realizing they’ve discovered it?”

The professor raised his staff and tapped its tip once on the floor. A golden resonance rippled through the black wood before forming a thin circle of light on the carpet; from the center of that circle emerged an image of a city street filled with vehicles, pedestrians, traffic lights, and rows of tall buildings.

Amid the tightly packed modern buildings stood a dark gray stone church. It wasn’t particularly large compared to the surrounding structures, but it was clearly much older. Two short towers flanked the front, stained-glass windows adorned the walls, and a dozen stone steps led visitors up to three tall, closed wooden doors.

“To the people of Unbound, this building is known as Saint Orison Church,” explained Professor Veyne. “It’s listed in the city records—it has an address, a construction history, a maintenance schedule, and all the other documents needed to ensure its existence doesn’t arouse suspicion.”

Mrs. Valence stared at the image of the church floating above the carpet. Several people in the projection could be seen walking past the building without paying it any particular attention.

“Is the church just a cover?”

“Not exactly,” replied the professor. “The building actually exists, and its outer sections are indeed accessible to the Unbound. They’ll find a simple worship hall, rows of wooden benches, a few administrative offices, and doors that, to their eyes, seem to lead only to storage rooms or stone walls.”

He moved two fingers to bring up an image of the church rotating slowly, then the front split into two layers occupying the same space. The first layer still showed the quiet, old building, while the second layer revealed something entirely different.

The church’s towers soared much higher than they had appeared before. The stained-glass windows transformed into rune panels radiating blue and gold light, while the three wooden doors at the front widened into an arched gateway adorned with silver lines. Behind that gate lay not a church hall, but a long, cobblestone path sloping down toward a cluster of buildings, bridges, clock towers, shops, and narrow alleys radiating thousands of lights.

Seraphine unconsciously sat up slightly from the back of the sofa. Her eyes widened as she took in the hidden city stretching far beyond the church’s dimensions.

“Is all of that inside that building?”

A shake of the head was the professor’s main response. He then shifted the position of his two fingers, causing the projection to show luminous lines folding and overlapping around the building.

“The interpretation is a bit different when compared to ordinary space. Saint Orison Church serves merely as a Threshold—the point where the city’s space meets the realm folded into the Veil. Crowmere occupies a section of space bound to that building, but its internal dimensions aren’t subject to the external ones.”

Mr. Valence looked at the church, then at the vast city beyond its gates. The furrow on his brow deepened as he tried to imagine how two different scales could coexist in the same place.

“So Crowmere is in another world?”

“No,” replied the professor. “Crowmere remains in New York. Its sky follows New York time, its air comes from the same city, and all its exit gates lead back to that area. Its space is simply folded so that it can hold far more than is visible from the outside.”

A sheet of paper was lifted from the table, and both sides were folded until they were almost touching. He placed a finger on each end, then pointed out the distance between them, which was now very short.

“Imagine space as this sheet of paper. The Unbound people only perceive the open surface, while the creators of Crowmere pull a portion of space, fold it into the Veil, and then lock that fold within a single building. The result is a city with streets, districts, and thousands of inhabitants, even though its entrance appears no larger than an ordinary church.”

Seraphine studied the folded piece of paper with great seriousness. The explanation sounded impossible, but after witnessing a spoon move and the air bend using Form, the line between the impossible and the as-yet-ununderstood began to feel increasingly thin.

“If ordinary people enter the church, why don’t they ever accidentally walk through the gate leading to Crowmere?”

“Because seeing the Threshold requires more than just eyes,” she explained. “The building is protected by a massive Form called the Civic Veil. That Form reads the Resonance of everyone who approaches the door. Those without Arc Lines will only see the part of the building that corresponds to the Unbound world.”

He then moved his palm over the projection, showing a pedestrian climbing the church stairs and opening the central door. When it opened, a simple hall came into view, with wooden benches, stone walls, and sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass windows.

A few seconds later, another figure climbed the same stairs. When that person touched the doorknob, a line of light appeared along their wrist. The same door opened, but instead of revealing the interior of the church, it led to a bustling street with moving store signs, floating lights without supports, and narrow trains gliding along silver tracks without being pulled by any animals.

“A Resonant would see that building differently,” the Professor continued. “The runes on its windows would be visible, the sound of its bells would have a second tone, and the central door would reveal the Threshold to Crowmere. Two people could stand side by side on the same staircase, open the same door, and yet see different destinations.”

Mrs. Valence looked at the projection with renewed concern. As someone without Arc Lines, the matter was far more practical for her than it was intriguing.

“In that case, how can we get in? Seraphine certainly can’t shop for all her school supplies by herself.”

“That’s what the pass I’m carrying is for.”

She reached for the bluish-black envelope in front of Seraphine, but this time she didn’t take it. She simply asked Seraphine to flip the envelope over so that the seal of four shields on the back faced upward.

After Seraphine did so, the professor’s index finger touched the center of the seal. Golden Arc Lines flared along his finger, then a faint Resonance flowed into the silver ink. The four shields glowed one by one before new lines appeared around them, forming three small circles that hadn’t been visible before.

The first circle was touched, and a faint glimmer of light rose from the paper, moving toward Seraphine’s hand and encircling the inside of her wrist like a bracelet made of silvery mist. The light lasted only a few seconds before seeping beneath her skin and leaving a small mark resembling an arched doorway.

Seraphine raised her hand toward her face. The mark looked like pale ink, but it felt warm and pulsed in sync with the pendant around her neck.

“It’s called a Gate Mark. This mark proves that you have official business in Crowmere and can cross the Threshold until the start of the school year.”

The Professor then touched the other two circles, and the same light immediately moved toward Mr. and Mrs. Valence, forming similar marks on their wrists.

Mr. Valence rubbed the mark with his thumb. The light beneath his skin didn’t fade even when touched.

“Does this mean we have magic?”

“No. The Gate Mark doesn’t create Arc Lines and doesn’t grant you the ability to use Resonance. The mark simply carries a temporary signature that the Civic Veil will recognize as guest authorization.”

Mrs. Valence turned her hand over to view the mark from a different angle. Her face still showed concern, but now a sense of curiosity was slowly beginning to balance out her fear.

“Can other people see it?”

“Only Resonants and people who’ve received a mark from the same permit. To other Unbound people, your skin will look normal. The mark will also disappear on its own when the permit’s validity period ends.”

Seraphine gazed at her Gate Mark in awe. She tried rubbing it, pressing it, then covering it with her other palm to see if the light would still shine through her skin.

“Then how exactly do we get in?”

The projection of the church, still displayed, was zoomed in by the Professor until the front staircase and the three wooden doors became clearly visible.

“You must come to Saint Orison Church between 9:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. Use the middle door—not the one on the right or the left. The side doors actually lead to the part of the church used by the Unbound.”

Seraphine nodded quickly, committing every instruction to memory.

“When you reach the middle door, place the wrist with the Gate Mark on the doorknob for three seconds. Don’t pull it open right away, even if the metal feels warm. The Civic Veil is reading the signature on your mark. The one who must open it is the primary permit holder—Seraphine. Once the Threshold recognizes Seraphine’s mark, the two accompanying marks will also activate as long as you remain within a few steps of her.”

Seraphine’s parents immediately turned their gaze to their daughter. The realization that their twelve-year-old child would be the sole reason they could see a hidden city did not seem to put their minds at ease.

“Once the mark is recognized, you’ll hear the bell ring twice. The Unbound people nearby will only hear a single, ordinary chime. On the second chime, the carving in the center of the door will transform into the symbol of a crowned raven.”

A black symbol appeared on the door in the projection. The raven spread its wings, while a slender crown hovered just above its head.

“Why is the raven wearing a crown?”

Seraphine’s question made the professor fall silent for a moment. The change was subtle, but enough to indicate that the next answer wasn’t merely an explanation of the symbol’s form.

“Crowmere is under the supervision of the Crown Council,” he said finally. “The crowned raven is the symbol of the Crowe family—a family that has held significant influence in the Resonant government for several generations.”

Mr. Valence looked again at the name “Crowmere” on the acceptance letter. The phonetic similarity between the two was too obvious to be a coincidence.

“Was Crowmere named after that family?”

“Actually, the name has undergone numerous changes,” the Professor replied cautiously. “The name Crowmere was reestablished after a major restoration project funded and overseen by the Crowe family. Since then, their crest has been used on gates, trade permits, security systems, and nearly all public facilities within the district.”

The answer was neither a criticism nor a compliment. However, from the calm tone of his voice, Seraphine was certain it sounded too contrived—as if the professor fully understood that the Crowe family carried a weight that couldn’t be fully explained during a first meeting.

Seraphine stared at the raven on the door. As the projection shifted, the emblem opened its eyes and turned directly toward her before reverting to an ordinary carving.

“After the emblem appears, what should I do?”

“State your full name and the purpose of your visit. Say that you are a new student at Veyl who has come with the academy’s permission. Don’t lie to the gate, and don’t try to use someone else’s name—the Threshold reads Resonance, not just your voice.”

Seraphine nodded, then repeated the instructions to herself.

“Once the door opens, step through without pausing on the threshold. The shift in space may cause dizziness, ringing in the ears, or a sensation of falling for a few seconds. It’s actually perfectly normal.”

You must keep walking until both feet touch the black stones on the inner side.”

Mrs. Valence immediately tensed up.

“A feeling like falling?”

“Your body is just adjusting to the different dimensions of the space. You’re not actually falling. However, stopping right inside the Threshold can disrupt others who are passing through and make their adjustment feel worse.”

Seraphine, on the other hand, seemed even more excited. The idea of entering an ordinary church and finding an entire city behind its doors felt like something straight out of a book, but the warm Gate Mark on her wrist proved that the place was truly waiting for them.

“What should we buy there?”

The professor waved his staff, and the projection of the church shifted to a view of Crowmere’s main street. Tall buildings lined both sides of the cobblestone street, store signs hung in the air without chains, and shop windows displayed books that turned their own pages, uniform fabrics that resized to fit the person in front of them, bottles filled with light, Form gloves, rune metals, and various objects Seraphine couldn’t yet identify.

“Everything on the list is available in Crowmere. You’ll need a basic Veyl uniform, training shoes, textbooks, stabilizing gloves for Basic Forms, rune writing tools, a set of conductive metals, and some personal gear that can only be used in environments with an active Veil.”

Seraphine’s eyes darted from one shop to another. Her curiosity seemed unable to decide which item to focus on first.

“Can I buy other books that aren’t on the list?”

The professor glanced at her parents, then back at Seraphine. A faint smile appeared on his face, as if he’d already known that question was coming.

“As long as your parents are willing to pay for it and the book isn’t in the restricted section, the Veil won’t stop you.”

Seraphine immediately turned to her father and mother. Her parents recognized that look as the beginning of a request that would likely cost far more money than the official supply list.

Her father let out a long sigh, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“We haven’t even decided yet if you’re going to that academy.”

Seraphine looked down at her acceptance letter, the Gate Mark on her wrist, and the projection of Crowmere still hovering in the middle of the living room. Then her fingers touched the maroon pendant on her chest once more.

The stone grew warm as she gazed at the hidden city streets.

Amid the small crowd in the projection, a figure with black hair flashed by, dressed in maroon and gold. His face was hidden, and the image vanished around a corner before Seraphine could study it any longer.

Seraphine looked up at her parents. The excitement in her eyes was still there, but beneath it lay a conviction far deeper than a child’s mere curiosity about a new place.

“I want to go to Veyl,” she said firmly. “And I want to see Crowmere.”

The professor showed no surprise. He simply looked at Seraphine with a gentle sadness that no one else in the room could understand, then waved his wand to extinguish the projection of the city.