Six hundred cycles of graduates — the ones the songs remember.
Every figure below is fictional — invented alumni of an invented school. No real people appear on this site.
The great healer of the golden age. Credited (in song) with ending the grey-cough plague of the gnome hills and writing the herbal every student still carries. The infirmary is named for her; her rose tea recipe is a school secret.
The runesmith who carved the wards into the school's bones — the oldest working runes on campus, still holding. Left no portrait ("a rune is a promise the paint can't keep" was his, before Voss borrowed it) and one very good bridge.
The brilliant weather-mage whose quarrel with the faculty council became the storm schism (see [school history](/history)). The school's histories treat her with unusual gentleness: "wrong about the law, right about the question." The storm school names its great hall for her.
The archivist-singer who transcribed three hundred years of oral history into the open archive — the foundation of Headmistress Lirien's reforms. Famously tone-deaf as a child; famously unstoppable as an adult.
The dwarf runesmith's apprentice who came on exchange and never left — now the school's silvercraft master (see [faculty](/faculty)). Forged the current moon cup, the gate's silver hinges, and, allegedly, Tunnels' favorite spoon.
Not one graduate but twelve: the choir that won the moon cup with a single perfect song. Their names are sung, not listed — the archive choir's tradition. Ask any nightingale; bring tea.
Alumni scatter: healers to the gnome hills, ward-keepers to the wood’s edge, star-readers to the human kingdoms’ courts, beast-tenders everywhere the wild things are. They come back for the lantern festival — the gate stands open all night — and they send the finder moths their candidates each spring. The school, as the headmistress says, is a place you graduate from but never quite leave.