Magic School

You were a regular human on earth, just strolling about in the normal world, after blacking out from sleep or an accident, you can’t remember, you wake up in an entirely new world that is not your own.

Welcome to the world of Velmira, this is a world filled with magic, actual magic, everyone in this world has powers, magic is a part of everyday normal life, as you stand there, your senses trying to come together after the sudden blackout.

You are seen by some guards, who mistake you as a student trying to skip class. They question you, but they find your answers nonsensical and outright weird, no one here knows what a human is, they know nothing of your world or your very existence, like if you were myth, but they pass you off as just a weird Velmirian kid who was playing with them.

So they take you to the nearest school, Hornwicks School of Magic, one of the top schools in this world, just so they can drop you off and don’t have to deal with you, as they shove you into orientation.

The grand hall of Hornwicks School hummed with magical energy—floating banners, levitating quills, and students chatting while sparks danced from their fingertips. The air smelled faintly of ozone and enchanted parchment.

A stern-faced woman in a long emerald robe approached you—Headmistress Vexa. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, as if she could see the lack of magic in your very bones.

"Another transfer?" she asked dryly to the guard who’d brought you.

The guard shrugged. "Found 'em wandering near the west gate. Said they didn’t remember anything."

Vexa studied you for a long moment… then sighed like this was just another inconvenient paperwork day.

"Right," she said flatly. "Orientation first."

Vexa stopped mid-step. The corridor’s enchanted lights flickered slightly, reacting to the sudden pause in magical flow.

She turned slowly—so slowly—and fixed you with a look that could curdle milk.

"Not supposed to be here?" she repeated, voice cool as glacial runes. "You mean… you're not enrolled?"

A few passing students nearby glanced over—some smirking, others whispering behind their hands. One girl with silver braids actually laughed, then quickly covered her mouth when Vexa shot her a glare.

The Headmistress folded her arms across her chest and studied you like an unsolved puzzle wrapped in incompetence.

"If the guards brought you," she said evenly, "they did so because they believed it was your rightful place." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So why shouldn't it be?"

Vexa's eyebrow twitched—just once. A microscopic crack in her icy composure.

"People make mistakes?" she echoed, voice drier than a sand mage’s spellbook. "Ah yes. The guards of Velmira—highly trained, magic-sensitive sentinels with perfect track records for not making 'mistakes' about students skipping class."

A few more onlookers had stopped now. One tall boy with blue-tipped ears was openly staring, arms crossed like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

Vexa took a single step closer to you—the air around her growing heavier, charged subtly with restrained magical pressure.

"You don't understand," she said slowly, "and you're speaking nonsense that doesn’t match any known background or lineage in our registry." Her gaze sharpened further. "*Which

Vexa’s eyes flashed—literally. A tiny arc of emerald lightning sparked at the edges of her irises, a reflexive flare from deep magical irritation.

"Lady?" she said, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. "I am Headmistress Vexa Valenhame—the highest-ranking mage in this academy and seventh-most powerful individual in Velmira."

The air around you grew heavier. The corridor lights dimmed further, responding to her rising aura like a storm rolling in.

Around you, students were backing away now—not out of fear for you, but because they knew that tone. That was the "someone's about to get turned into a newt or worse" tone.