The first light of dawn broke over the southern valley like liquid amber spilling across an emerald sea.
At the base of the Floating Mountain, the grand ascent docks looked like a bustling, joyous city of ten thousand voices. Hundreds of sky cloud ferries—guided by the gentle water-currents of Xiao Long’s rain arrays—glided smoothly between the valley terminals and the mountain plateau. He carried a nonstop stream of travelers upward into the morning sky.
There had never been a crowd like this assembled in the history of the realm.
Walking side-by-side toward the registration pavilions were ten thousand newly arrived students.
In the front walked former royal conscripts from the Golden Sun Empire, young men who had traded their rusted iron pikes and dented breastplates for simple gray traveling packs. Beside them walked young noble scions from the seventy-two traditional sects, their ornate silken sword sheaths packed away in cedar trunks. Their eyes were wide as they looked around without their customary bodyguards.
Mingled among the humans were thousands of beastfolk youths. Broad-shouldered bear beastmen cubs carried heavy wooden desks under their arms like giant toys. Nimble fox maidens adjusted woven bamboo satchels filled with wild dried herbs. And young wolf-kin scouts walked with padded, silent footsteps. Their intelligent ruby eyes took in the grand pavilions with quiet wonder.
