There was a place nestled high atop a misty hill — Istara Academy — where students from across countless realms and races gathered to study magic, history, and the burdens of destiny. Before they could face the weight of inheritance from their clans and bloodlines, they came here — to learn, to train, and to survive.

  You could find all kinds of fantastical beings here: full-blooded elves, halfling mages, elemental hybrids, sirens with their voice-charms sealed, even demonfolk under contract. Students of every origin worked hard to master their craft, dreaming of honor, legacy, or maybe just graduation.

  And at the very heart of the Academy, stood two figures — as different as winter and wildfire.

  He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was in a flat, emotionless tone that could freeze a gossip mid-sentence. His footsteps were quiet, steady. His battle stance flawless. His expression never changed — not during duels, lectures, or even student meltdowns.

  Some students admired him — mostly the dreamy-eyed girls who whispered about his long silver hair and graceful sword-work. Others feared him, especially those who failed his weekly quizzes. A few saw him as a mystery wrapped in frost: The Frozen Tower, The Man Without a Smile.

  Of course, being an elf over a thousand years old came with its own archive of unspoken stories. No one dared to ask.

  On the complete opposite end of the social spectrum — was Princess Eiru of the Fire Mountain Dragon Court.

  The only daughter among her siblings, Eiru was born with dragon blood in her veins, and it showed. Long horns peeked through her wild hair, and a draconic tail lashed behind her whenever she got irritated — which was often.

  Fiery. Loud. Stubborn. But popular.

  She didn’t get along with boys, hated being underestimated, and had absolutely no tolerance for bad taste. Yet, she was loyal to her friends, brave to a fault, and quick to throw punches if anyone dared insult someone she cared about.

  She’d literally scorched the front gate of Istara on her first day.

  Her personality was flame incarnate. Her grades? A different matter.

  Especially when it came to History Class.

  “Did you hear? The Ice Professor and the Fire Princess clashed again over school projects!”

  “One glare from each and the air literally smoked.”

  “Whose genius idea was it to put them in the same Academy?!”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Rumors were always flying, especially whenever they got assigned the same group. Students even took bets on when they’d have an official showdown in the battle arena.

  To most, it was entertaining.

  To Irwen?

  Eiru was just… another loud student.

  He’d seen her many times: laughing in the halls, flipping across training grounds, arguing with teachers over points deducted from tests.

  She was like wildfire, unpredictable and loud — but he felt nothing.

  Not because he wasn’t paying attention.

  But because he couldn’t feel.

  Irwen was born with dangerously heightened emotions — too intense to control. To survive, he sealed them away using a deep-core ice enchantment. His magic froze not just his mana, but his capacity to feel.

  No joy.

  No rage.

  No love.

  Only logic.

  To him, emotions were dangerous variables. Chaos waiting to happen.

  Until one day.

  He had just returned from one of the most difficult missions in years — a solo journey into the far North, where he retrieved a long-lost relic buried beneath ancient ruins:

  The Wand of Souls.

  It was said to have once belonged to the First Enchanter — a weapon, a key, a mystery. He hadn’t even had time to study it properly, heading straight to his dorm to catalog it before handing it to the Headmaster.

  He turned the corner.

  “WATCH OUTTTTT!!”

  BANG—

  He crashed head-on with someone.

  The wand slipped from his grip and struck the stone floor.

  A pulse of energy rang out — ancient, raw, and unstoppable.

  Eiru sat up, rubbing her head and already bristling.

  “What is your problem?! Don’t you know how to—”

  Then the wand flared.

  Brilliant ancient runes ignited in mid-air, forming a glowing sigil above them. For one breathless second, the world stilled.

  And then—

  Everything changed.

  The air felt… wrong.

  No, different.

  Their auras had shifted.

  Irwen blinked.

  And found himself staring at… himself.

  “…What.”

  He looked down.

  His body was gone.

  In its place: slim limbs, flushed skin, warm breath. A heartbeat too fast. Emotions buzzing under every inch of skin like wildfire.

  Eiru.

  He was in her body.

  Eiru opened her eyes and saw the same.

  She sat up, looked down — saw academic robes, felt unfamiliar weight, and saw his face reflected in a window pane nearby.

  She screamed internally — then externally.

  “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU IN MY BODY?!”

  Irwen, now inhabiting her form, looked down at his—her—hands.

  Warmth. Energy. Chaos. Feeling.

  He breathed in.

  And for the first time in centuries, he felt alive.

  “So this,” he whispered, awestruck, “is how you see the world…”