Готов перевести всю сцену на английский с сохранением твоего стиля и предпочтений — диалоги через дефис, живая речь, лёгкая подача. Начинаю:
Evening. Dormitory.
Aya was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, a plate of cookies on her knees and a mug of something Mirael had called "chocolate brewed by a half-succubus recipe." It tasted like it. But pleasantly so. And honestly, better not ask for details.
Mirael sprawled on the bed, surrounded by pillows, wearing fluffy socks with raven claws. On the table beside her lay scattered charts, a list of subjects, and someone's forgotten ring that seemed to blink in sync with her voice.
– I still don't get it, – Aya muttered. – I thought it was a normal system: year one, year two, year three... But today I saw someone in class who looked older than our professor. And acted like he'd been living here for a decade.
– Yep, – Mirael nodded, stuffing a cookie into her mouth. – Because the normal system is for normal schools. And this place is not exactly a "school." More like something between an academy, a monastery, and a magical lab with hints of a psych ward.
Aya snorted.
– Very inspiring.
– Look, – Mirael sat up, putting her mug aside. – We don't have "classes" in the usual sense. Everything's built around prep levels and control ability. Roughly: Class A – stable, trained, not likely to accidentally set the library on fire. Class B – still learning control, allowed to practice. Class C – newbies, unstable, or… people like you.
– Thanks, – Aya muttered, glancing sideways.
– Don't take it wrong. I was in C too. Three months. Until I stopped crying every time an ancient book tried to eat me.
– So… it's also about access level?
– Yeah. And it's not age-based. We've got seventeen-year-olds here, and thirty-year-olds too. Some enroll right after school, some after awakening at forty with two divorces behind them.
– Wonderful. I thought seniors were just a couple of years older.
– Some are older than the professors, – Mirael chuckled. – Especially the reincarnated spirit types. There's one guy, Loen, looks twenty but his file says "age: before the temporal loop event." No one knows what that even means.
Aya fell silent, digesting that.
– What about the dorms? All lumped together?
– Kind of. But there are wings. Ours is for newbies and the unstable. As in, people without a stable form, channel, or control yet. Also, it's the fun wing, because someone's always either crying or blowing something up.
– And the older ones?
– Quiet and dull. Orderly as a librarian's drawer. But the hot water always works. We have to make offerings to the boiler.
– Excuse me?
– Literally. I once left a scarf with embroidery in there. Been fine ever since.
Aya smirked.
– So I'm an "unstable newbie from the wing of weirdos." That's convenient.
– Well… for now, yeah, – Mirael shrugged. – But trust me, no one here stays what they started as. The academy loves flipping things upside down. Today you're the "dangerous new girl," and a month later you're a guest at the mental contact professor's wedding. We've seen it all.
Aya squinted.
– Was that an example or…?
– Real story. I'll show you the album later.
– Please don't.
Mirael giggled. Then she added more seriously:
– Just don't think you're an outsider. We're all new to something here. Even the ones who look like divine offspring of ancient temples. They just accepted a bit earlier that the world's gone mad and decided to go with the flow.
Aya nodded. Slowly. But not mechanically. Like it actually helped.
– Okay. Cookies with demonic cocoa, classes without age gaps, a boiler that eats scarves, and neighbors who might turn into ink under the full moon. Totally normal.
Mirael smiled, lifting her mug.
– You definitely won't be the weirdest here. Even if you try.
The silence that followed was soft, not oppressive. Just cozy.
Aya was about to ask why someone had drawn a smiling dragon map on the ceiling… but that's when Mirael's phone beeped.
She looked. Froze.
Her eyes widened slightly, pupils lit with mischief. Then she jumped to her feet.
– So… I'll just… quickly check something.
– What? – Aya narrowed her eyes.
– Nothing! Be a darling, stay put. Back before the end of the age, promise.
And she slipped out like a glitter-tailed hurricane, not even closing the door — it just wobbled from the energy she left behind.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Then all the notifications went off.
On the board in the hallway, glowing runes appeared. Every screen, from tablets to phones, displayed the same message:
"Predisposition diagnostics. Tonight. Voluntary (mostly). No age restrictions. Possible side effects: identity crisis or uncontainable joy. Location: Hall of the Star Edge."
Mirael burst back into Aya's room without knocking, a storm of sparkles and hype.
– Get changed, – she ordered. – We're going to find out if you're a forgotten child of the gods. Or at least a part-time dragon enthusiast.
Aya looked at her without moving from the bed.
– Can I just pray to the heating and go to sleep?
– You cannot. You're in the academy. You don't sleep here. You awaken. And sometimes combust.
– I already combusted. In geography. That was enough.
– That was emotional. This'll be… ritual.
The hall used for the "game" was an old lecture room, now looking more like an inverted planetarium. Glass dome, shimmering floor, soft cushions that seemed tailored by elves for binge-watching dramas.
In the center — a circle. Magical. Glowing. Trembling. And something inside it pulsed.
– So! – announced the instructor, a fairy with a voice like a commercial announcer. – The game's simple. Step into the circle, focus, and it'll show basic signals. This is not a race identifier. It's a resonance. Your resonance with magical density. Everything's anonymous. Mostly.
– Mostly? – Aya echoed.
– If you start singing in Old Lunar or grow a tail – well, we'll deal with it.
Upperclassmen went first.
One stepped in — above him flared the symbol of a horn and flame.
– Half-demon, – someone whispered behind them.
The next girl's eyes reflected the world like water. Dancing ripples lit above her.
– Naiad. Or a water elemental hybrid, – Mirael whispered, scribbling furiously in her notebook.
Then came a student over whom the symbol hovered… trembled… and disappeared.
– Oh, – said the instructor. – One of the undefined. Note that down. Possibly an unawakened oracle or archived spirit.
– An accountant? – Aya muttered grimly.
When they called her name, Aya rose like a talent show convict.
The circle glowed softly. She stepped in, stood at the center. Clenched her fists.
– I. Am. Just. Getting checked, – she whispered to herself. – It'll say: "Normal human. Anxiety level above average. That's it."
But nothing happened.
Then… a flicker. Lightly. Like the air got heavier.
And… everything got quieter.
The circle didn't flare. It hushed. As if… listening. The air pulsed near her. Once. Twice. Three times.
– That's… – someone started.
But the instructor raised her hand.
– Silence.
The light gained no shape or color. It started… retreating. As if even the circle didn't know what to make of her.
Then a flash. Sharp, like a needle. And nothing.
Aya blinked. That was it. No horns. No fire. No tentacles. Not even a glow.
– Um?
The instructor made a note in her book. Without looking.
– Interesting. Very rare. A clear non-resonance.
– Is that bad?
– It's… curious.
Let me know when you're ready for the next scene — breakfast chaos, fan theories, and Kaden's glorious reappearance.