I step out of the bathroom, trailing wisps of steam that curl before dissolving into the cool dorm air. A towel hangs heavy around my shoulders, my hair still dripping faint constellations onto the floorboards.
The bed beckons—its quilted blue coverlet smooth and untouched, the academy crest stitched neatly at the foot. For the first time since arriving in this world, I'm going to allow myself to stop. No protocols, no incantations, no calculating how many disruptions exist in the story. Just the slow exhale of a body finally yielding to gravity as I sink into the mattress.
Outside, the wind murmurs against the tower's ancient stones. Somewhere beyond my window, students laugh as they hurry to evening lectures, their boots scuffing the cobblestones in a rhythm that already feels familiar. But here, in this quiet corner of Sylvas House, there's only the creak of bedsprings and the distant chime of a clocktower marking the hour.
My fingers trace the edge of the blanket—rough spun linen, dyed the color of a twilight sky. It's strange how something so ordinary can feel like an anchor. In this moment, the weight of theories and elemental attunements slips away. I'm not a mage, not a protagonist, not even a stranger in a strange land. Just someone tired, finally getting the chance to rest…
.
.
.
The chime of the academy's evening bell yanks me from sleep—a deep, resonant tolling that vibrates through the floorboards. I look outside and see the sun setting, Checking the time its already 6pm. I slept for about four hours. And yet my body still feels heavy with residual exhaustion. The last amber light of dusk slants through the stained-glass window, painting the walls in fractured hues of crimson and gold. I do remember the welcome dinner. I need to rush.
I drag myself upright, the uniform hung in the wooden closet. The fabric is cool against my skin, the silver embroidery along the cuffs catching the fading light as I fasten the buttons with practiced motions. A quick glance in the mirror confirms I look presentable—mostly. My hair is still damp at the ends from the shower, stubbornly refusing to lie flat despite my attempts to smooth it down.
The hallway outside is alive with the murmur of voices and the rhythmic thud of footsteps as students stream toward the dining hall. I fall into step with the crowd, my shoulders brushing against others in the narrow corridor.
For the first time since arriving, I feel the faintest sense of security—just another random student among many, drawn by the promise of a hot meal and the low hum of evening chatter. If a spell was about to be cast on us soon, the probability of the spell being directed at me would be less than 1 in a 100. No matter how twisted my logic is, that though relieves me.
The stream of students flows like a river toward the House of Ignis, its towering housing glowing faintly against the twilight sky. The dining hall's proximity to the fire mages' domain makes perfect sense—where else would the kitchens be, if not nestled beside those who command flame itself? The academy's layout is nothing if not intentional.
The Gym, a fortress of stone and iron, stands closest to House Goran—Earth mages sculpting both land and body with equal fervor.
The Sport Facilities, its glass-domed pools shimmering under enchantment, belong to House Nereza, where Water mages move with liquid grace even on dry land.
And now, the Dining Hall, its very foundations warmed by the perpetual heat of Ignis's successors.
The scent hits me before I even cross the threshold—roasted meat glazed in honey and herbs, fresh-baked bread with crackling crusts, and beneath it all, the smoky whisper of fire-charred wood. My stomach growls, a visceral reminder that magic burns calories as fiercely as any forge.
The queue stretches in a serpentine coil, students shuffling forward with trays in hand. Behind the serving counters, chefs, former fire mages in crimson-edged robes tend to simmering cauldrons and crackling grills with practiced ease. A flick of their wrists adjusts the flames; a murmured incantation keeps the soups at perfect temperature. Efficiency and showmanship, hand in hand.
I take my place in line, eyeing the day's offerings:
Ember-Seared Ribs — still faintly glowing, the fat rendered into caramelized perfection.
Stone-Baked Flatbread — blistered and chewy, dusted with ash salt.
The Daily Catch — a Water Mages comfort food, the fish so lightly cooked it practically melts.
An Earth Mage ahead of me sighs as her bowl of tide fruit soup floats into her hands, the broth swirling lazily.
The hall is a living mosaic of elemental allegiance.
Ignis tables cluster around central braziers, fire mages casually toasting skewers over open flames between bites.
Goran's enclave is a mountain of muscle and meat, earth mages stacking their plates like they're fortifying for siege.
Nereza's corner ripples with laughter, their meals half-submerged in floating orbs of water—because why not?
And then there's us.
The Sylvas tables sit where the high windows let in the evening breeze, napkins and loose leaves of parchment perpetually threatening to take flight. I am directed to a spot where the entering cohort of students will be sat.
As for the food. I personally chose the Ember-Seared Ribs.
The first bite of ribs, a revelation—smoky, succulent, the kind of rich that makes you close your eyes for a second too long. Even the fire mages' loudness can't ruin this. Around me, the hall thrums with energy:
A Goran student arm-wrestles over a bread loaf.
A Nereza duo float their shrimp through a maze of floating broth.
Someone at Ignis' table has literally set their own sleeve on fire and is laughing about it.
I lean back, licking honey from my thumb. The academy might be a den of rivalries, absurd traditions, and elemental posturing—but damn if it doesn't feed you like a king.
But, focus Isaac. The thought cuts through my contentment like a blade. They'll be arriving soon. And right on cue—