They hadn’t been there before. I would’ve sworn it. The plaster had always been solid and unbroken. Now? Two dark wood doors stood side by side. No signs. No plaques. No crests or names.
“Grandma,” I said, already stepping forward, “were these—?”
“No,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. “They weren’t here yesterday.”
I didn’t wait. My fingers closed around the handle of the first door. It was cool, the brass tarnished. The moment I touched it, a small pulse of warmth traveled up my palm as if the door had taken notice.
It opened without a sound.
The scent hit me first—dried rosemary, lavender, something sharp and citrusy, like bergamot. The room was dimly lit by the glow of crystals arranged on wooden shelves,each one humming faintly with quiet energy. Deep purple, pale blue, earthy green, clusters of quartz, amethyst, and celestite, all carefully grouped and pulsing in slow rhythm. My chest warmed at the sight.
On the far wall hung bundles of dried herbs, tied in twine and labeled in careful script. Not just the usual ones. There was thornroot. Moon’s breath. Scorched nettle. Many I didn’t recognize.
A table sat in the center of the room, low and wide, with cards spread across it.
Tarot, yes…but not like any I’d seen before.
Each card shimmered slightly as I stepped closer. The Fool was mid-step across a crumbling bridge. The High Priestess’s face shifted between youthful and ancient. The Tower wasn’t falling. It was rising.
I reached out slowly and hovered my fingers over the cards.
“This isn’t Ardetia’s room,” I whispered.
“No,” Elira said behind me, her voice thick with wonder.
My heart kicked up, a strange mix of joy and nerves tightening in my chest.
“This is Nova’s.” I turned to look at my grandma.
“But, she’s not faculty. She never even…she wouldn’t accept—” My grandma began and stopped short.
“Perhaps the Academy doesn’t care about her job titles,” I said. “It knows who it needs.”
I looked around the room again, slower this time.
The energy was different here.
Not academic.
Not structured.
It was layered.
Living.
Each item in the room buzzed with presence, with intention. The whole space felt like it had grown out of the walls rather than been decorated. Itbelonged.
“Could I be right?” I asked quietly.
Elira’s eyes shone in the crystal light. She nodded once, and we backed out slowly, careful not to disturb anything, and shut the door.
Then we turned to the second door.
I didn’t hesitate this time.
I opened it and stepped into something that felt like the woods and a classroom had made a quiet agreement.
This space was brighter. The windows were wide to let in the light. Vines crept along the ceiling beams, and the scent of loam and mint hung thick in the air. Tables lined the room, each holding open books, ink pots, and quills arranged with casual elegance. In the corner, a chalkboard displayed neat handwriting in two languages—one human, one not.
