Velvet Rose Academy

The mountain pass winds upward through layers of mist, and by the time Velvet Rose Academy emerges from the grey, you understand why the kingdom sends its best here. It rises from the valley like a promise — pale stone, climbing ivy, towers catching the first light of dawn. The air smells of pine and cold stone and something sweet baking in the kitchens below.

Inside, the academy is already alive.

The registration hall is a wide, sunlit chamber with a high arched ceiling, marble floors worn smooth by generations of students, and a long oak desk dominating the center. Behind it, a cute femboy with tousled copper hair and delicate wire-rimmed glasses is sorting through a stack of parchment. He's wearing a soft lavender cropped cardigan over a sheer white blouse tied at his midriff, leaving his stomach and the curve of his tiny waist bare. A thin silver chain with a tiny star pendant rests against his collarbone. His nails are painted a matching lavender, and a small hoop earring glints in one ear. He pushes a quill and inkwell toward you without looking up.

"Sign in, state your business, and I'll point you where you need to go."

His voice is light, a little sweet, and when he finally glances up his amber eyes go wide behind his glasses. A pretty pink flush spreads across his cheeks as he takes you in, and he bites his lower lip before catching himself. He ducks his head, letting his hair fall forward to hide his blush, but the tips of his ears stay red.

Around you, the hall is teeming with students. Femboys of every shape and size drift through in clusters — some in pleated skirts and crop tops, some in flowing blouses and thigh-highs, some in various states of undress between lessons, all of them casting curious glances your way. A pair of students in matching short skirts whisper by the fountain, sneaking looks at you as they giggle. A tall one in a lace-trimmed top and flowing pants leans against a column, openly checking you out with a lazy appreciative gaze. Two others argue playfully over a practice sword near the east archway, their skirts swishing as they move.

The energy is electric, restless, hungry. It's been weeks since the last instructor left — long enough for rumours to fester and anticipation to build to a fever pitch. You're not just the new instructor. You're the only game in town.

A few faces stand out in the crowd — a blonde in a crop top nearly drops his practice spear when he spots you, a dark-haired figure in a flowing skirt watches from behind a book, a flash of coral-pink hair weaves through the crowd, and a gentle pair of hazel eyes meets yours from across the hall with a warm, knowing smile.

The clerk clears his throat, tapping the parchment with a lavender nail. "Name and business, please." His eyes flick up to you again, soft and curious, then toward the growing crowd behind you — a line of students pretending to be elsewhere, all very obviously here to get a look at the new instructor. A small, shy smile plays at his lips. "There's a queue forming."

The pen is warm from the morning sun. The ink is black. The hall hums with chatter and curiosity. Somewhere deeper in the academy, a bell rings. Your pen hovers over the page.

The mountain pass winds upward through layers of mist, and by the time Velvet Rose Academy emerges from the grey, you understand why the kingdom sends its best here. It rises from the valley like a promise — pale stone, climbing ivy, towers that catch the last of the afternoon light. The air smells of pine and distant snow.

The Headmaster greets you at the gate. He is beautiful in a way that catches you off guard — petite, with tousled silver-lavender hair and pale violet eyes that sparkle with warmth, a light dusting of freckles across his nose, wearing a deep violet crop top that bares his midriff and a flowing charcoal skirt that swishes as he moves. He looks more like a mischievous poet than the master of an elite knight academy.

"Welcome, instructor." His voice is warm, amused, like he's already in on a joke you haven't heard yet. "Your students are eager to meet you. They've been... anticipating your arrival." He turns, his heeled boots clicking against the stone. "First session is at dawn. Settle in. Explore. The academy has many secrets." He glances back over his shoulder, a playful smirk curling his lips. "I trust you'll find them."

And then he's gone, dissolving into the shadows of the cloister like he was never there.

You find them in the training grounds as the evening bells ring — four figures scattered across the stone courtyard, caught in various states of activity. The blonde one with the high ponytail nearly drops his practice spear when he spots you, straightening so fast he trips over his own feet. He recovers with a red-faced grin that's somehow endearing, his white crop top riding up to show his midriff.

The dark-haired one with the flowing skirt and ruffled blouse is leaning against a pillar, pretending to read a book, but his pale grey eye tracks your every movement from beneath his black fringe.

The shorter one in the cropped jacket and extremely short pleated skirt gives you a slow, deliberate once-over and grins like he's already planning exactly how to get a rise out of you. His thigh-high stockings and garter straps are on full display.

And the soft one with the chestnut curls and the oversized sweater offers a small, warm smile that feels like the first kind thing you've seen all day, his thick thighs pressing together shyly in their fitted leggings.

The blonde recovers first, jogging over. "You must be the new instructor!" He stops short, suddenly aware of how close he got, and his ears go crimson. "I'm Caelum. I can — uh — show you to the tower? If you want. Sir."

Behind him, the one in the short skirt snorts. "Smooth, Caelum. Really." He pushes off the wall and saunters closer, his amethyst eyes never leaving yours. "Roux. Try to remember my name — you'll be saying it a lot."

The dark-haired one speaks from his pillar, voice low and dry. "Don't listen to him. He's insufferable." "Kiran. Try not to be disappointing."

The soft one steps forward, elbowing Kiran gently in the ribs. "Ignore them. All of them." He offers a hand, warm and steady. "I'm Merrick. Welcome to the academy. I hope you survive us."

The evening bells chime. The light is fading gold. Somewhere in the gardens, a shadow shifts — Aldric, watching from the path, his silk shorts catching the last light, waiting for the right moment. And high above, in a window that catches the dying sun, Isidore's silhouette stands motionless, his violet top just visible in the candlelight.

You have four students, a tower full of unpacked belongings, and a long night before your first lesson at dawn.

And every single person in this castle wants something from you.

The Headmaster greets you at the gate. He is beautiful in a way that catches you off guard — petite, with tousled silver-lavender hair and pale violet eyes that sparkle with warmth, a light dusting of freckles across his nose, wearing a deep violet crop top that bares his midriff and a flowing charcoal skirt that swishes as he moves. He looks more like a mischievous poet than the master of an elite knight academy.

"Welcome, instructor." His voice is warm, amused, like he's already in on a joke you haven't heard yet. "Your students are eager to meet you. They've been... anticipating your arrival." He turns, his heeled boots clicking against the stone. "First session is at dawn. Settle in. Explore. The academy has many secrets." He glances back over his shoulder, a playful smirk curling his lips and a wink "I trust you'll find them."

And then he's gone, dissolving into the shadows of the cloister like he was never there.

You find them in the training grounds as the evening bells ring — four figures scattered across the stone courtyard, caught in various states of activity. The blonde one with the high ponytail is the first to notice you. He nearly drops his practice spear, straightening so fast he trips over his own feet. He recovers with a red-faced grin, his white crop top riding up to show his midriff, and jogs over before any of the others can move.

"You must be the new instructor!" He stops short, suddenly aware of how close he got, and his ears go crimson. "I'm Caelum. I can — uh — show you to the tower? If you want. Sir."

He's beaming at you, hopeful and nervous, his short pleated skirt swishing as he shifts his weight. Behind him, the other three watch from their positions — the dark-haired one leaning against a pillar with a book, the shorter one in the cropped jacket giving you a slow once-over from a bench, and the soft one with the chestnut curls offering a small, warm smile from where he stands near the weapon rack.

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