The Luna Academy

The Ceremony of Power

Loud bells ring, followed by the thunderous roar of footsteps flooding the hallway as the mass exodus pours out of the building. I wait until the noise settles, then c***k open the door and peek my head outside. A few stragglers linger behind, so I slip in with them, trailing a trio deep in conversation.

We follow the flow of people into the main building, toward the auditorium. Before going inside, my eyes scan around for escape routes. The place isn’t guarded at all, which makes sense considering it’s in the middle of nowhere, but I still want a plan in case things go really wrong.

The building itself has many places I can escape out of if I can’t leave through the front door for some reason. The windows on the first floor are made of glass, and during the tour, I’d taken note of some of the exit locations inside. If I had to, I could leave through the service doors or the area that leads to the outdoor garden, where herbalists learn how to farm their own plants.

At the great wooden doors leading into the auditorium, the people ahead of me slip inside without hesitation. I linger, casting one last glance around before stepping into what I’d assumed—based on this morning’s tour—would be a mostly empty hall. Earlier, when I first stepped into this cavernous room, with nearly a thousand seats surrounding what is literally the epitome of center stage, it felt absurdly out of place.

Elder Yona’s small demonstration of mist and glitter to a handful of us in the front rows had looked laughably out of place against such a vast backdrop. I even remember wondering why they needed so many seats and why they were placed so far from the stage. But now, near midnight, the same auditorium is abundant with life.

Bright lights blaze overhead, pouring down on a sea of faces, with nearly every seat filled. The air feels thick and heavy with excitement. The noise echoes so loudly, I can’t focus on a single sound. My legs lock, heavy as stone. Instinct screams at me to run. Powers or not, this is way too much for me to handle. And now I’m supposed to stand before all these people and perform? The moment I turn to slip away, someone jostles me forward, pushing me into the current of bodies filling up the room.

I catch sight of a seat at the end of an aisle near an exit, fifteen rows up on the third level. I make my way toward it, squeezing past a couple who seem more interested in each other than what’s going on around them. I slump into the chair and keep my head low, waiting for the perfect chance to escape.

Minutes later, the lights slowly dim all around us until they are completely off, leaving only the spotlight shining directly on center stage. The crowd grows silent, allowing the sharp click of heels against marble to be heard. My eyes are drawn to the woman making the noise as she walks toward the platform.

My breath catches, captivated by her devastating beauty that’s impossible to ignore, making it hard to form a single thought. She glides forward with effortless grace, turning heads with every step. The dark purple gown she’s wearing glimmers under the glow of the spotlight. Her hair, a nearly white blonde, frames her diamond-shaped face and spills over her shoulders, highlighting her collarbones and the massive violet gemstone nestled in silver at her throat.

When she speaks, her voice is soft yet carries with crystalline clarity, even from all the way up here, “Greetings, gathered apprentices. I am Headmaster Lyra, and it is my solemn honor to welcome all of you this night. Each of you sits here because within you burns a spark, be it the gift of magic or the strength of the shifter’s blood. That spark has been bestowed upon you by fate itself, and you are summoned here to see it shaped, refined, and made worthy. Know this… What you carry is both a blessing and a burden. Power is never given freely. It demands discipline, resilience, and courage. These virtues shall be tried before the eyes of your peers, and before the legacy of those who came before you. Some shall falter. Some shall rise. Yet none shall leave unchanged. We, your masters, await the unveiling of your gifts. Now, let the demonstrations commence.”

The spotlight snaps off, plunging the auditorium into complete darkness. Thunderous applause erupts around me, shaking the seats and rattling me to the core. The lights flicker three times, each flash dimming the roar of the mass, until silence falls like a held breath. Then a single beam ignites, blazing down upon the platform.

The haughty blonde I trailed behind earlier appears center stage. The masses explode in cheers once more as the blonde struts in a slow circle, waving with a wide smile and tossing kisses into the sea of faces. She basks in their adoration, soaking it up as if the applause is her true magic. After completing her lap around the circular stage, she stops dead center.

“I’m Emily from the Silver Light Coven,” she introduces, then proceeds to close her eyes, which causes everyone to go silent.

A pale blue glow blooms from her chest, swelling until it completely wraps her in its hue. Droplets of water pop into existence around her, catching the light like tiny jewels. They gather in her palms, swirling together until she spins them into a ribbon of liquid. She twirls it around her body like a dancer’s sash before flinging it skyward, where it bursts into a flurry of snow. The audience erupts with cheers, and to my surprise, I clap along, enraptured by her powers.

She continues, shifting water through every form—mist, ice, steam—her skill dazzling, her arrogance somewhat forgotten because now, even I have to admit she’s more than just a stuck-up snob like I initially thought. Emily takes a bow, causing darkness to swallow the stage whole as the crowd booms in excitement.

When the lights return a few seconds later, a tall man stands in her place dressed in a dark gray shirt.

Unlike Emily, he stands in place, shooting a smirk at us before announcing himself, “Hello, all. Mostly the ladies. I’m Michael from the North Ridge Pack.”

He then proceeds to slowly unbutton his shirt as he kicks off his shoes, earning squeals from the girls in the audience until they turn into full-on screams when he drops his pants. I avert my eyes, not wanting to stare. Michael drops to all fours and shoots the girls seated in front of him a half-c****d smile, then in the blink of an eye, his body twists and reshapes until a massive wolf crouches where he once stood.

“Ugh. The good ones are always wolves,” someone mutters behind me.

“To bad we won’t see any until after we finish apprenticeship,” another whispers. “She-wolves really have it made.”

“Please,” a third scoffs. “I’d take a male witch over a filthy dog any day.”

The wolf throws back his head and howls. The sound crashes through the auditorium, making my bones tremble while sending chills down my spine. He tears into the objects being conjured near him, crushing them with brute force and sharp teeth, making the people go wild.

This is my chance.

While the room is distracted, I slip into the aisle, creeping toward the exit, avoiding the individuals outside talking or secretly making out in a corner. Once hidden from view, I sprint to the heavy doors. When my hand presses against the wood, I suddenly freeze as I am transported to a place where a bright spotlight shines down directly on me.