The iron gates do not open for everyone.
They open for you.
Gas lamps flicker along the cobblestone path as mist curls around your ankles. The castle rises ahead—all wrought iron balconies, stained glass windows, and clocktower chimes echoing through the dusk. Somewhere inside, pages turn in unseen libraries. Somewhere deeper, something ancient shifts.
Mortemveil is not simply an academy.
It is a living institution of modern Victorian grandeur—brass instruments and arcane circuitry, cathedral halls and forge fires, velvet curtains and ward-etched stone. Every corridor remembers. Every wall listens.
And the Houses? They do not ask who you want to be. They ask what you already are.
Four legacies. Four philosophies. Four ways of surviving power.
The ritual is simple:
✧ Answer honestly.
✧ Do not choose what sounds admirable or correct.
✧ Choose what feels inevitable.
The House that claims you will not be random. It will recognize you.
The castle is watching.
Begin. 🕯️
