Right to the edges.
I cleared my throat and stepped toward the center of the room.
The voices quieted almost immediately. Someone tapped a mug to call attention, but it wasn’t necessary. They all turned to look at me, and I felt their energy shift, curious and open.
I didn’t have a speech prepared. I didn’t need one.
“I just wanted to say something before the night ends,” I began. “I know today was overwhelming. Exciting, too, but a lot.”
A few murmurs of agreement, one theatrical groan. A smile tugged at my mouth.
“This Academy wasn’t always open. Not just the doors. Theheartof it. It’s been locked up for years. And opening it again… well, it meant more than lighting lanterns or dusting bookshelves.”
I looked around the room at every face with expressions ranging from tired to curious and hopeful.
“It means building something new. A place where your story doesn’t end when something changes in your life. Where midlife doesn’t mean ‘too late.’ Where magic isn’t something you left behind. But rather, it’s something you’re allowed to rediscover. Or claim for the first time.”
Heads nodded. Hands stilled on mugs.
“I want this to be a safe space,” I continued. “Not in the way of locked doors or high walls. Safe likewelcome. Safe like no one has to pretend they’ve never been hurt. Safe like you’re allowed to arrive messy and tired and unsure.”
A few more nods. A few misty eyes.
“There are some things,” I added, “that might try to reach into this place. Shadows from your past. People who didn’t understand your power. Choices you regret, or moments youwish you could undo. Sometimes the Academy will respond with shaking walls or students attempting their magic to deal, but we are always here to help.”
I glanced at Krina.
“But I want you to know. Old magic doesn’t define you here. You get to decide who you are. And we’ll build the rest together.”
The room was quiet before the applause erupted.
They clapped like they meant it, as if something inside them had cracked open just enough to let the warmth rush in.
And maybe it had.
I gave them a small, cheeky bow and stepped back with my heart fuller than I knew how to carry.
I didn’t linger in the room after that.
Once the noise rose again, cheerful and renewed, I slipped out through the door.
By the time I reached my bedroom, the air had thickened into stillness. My room glowed with soft lamplight, and my dad was already curled on the rug, snoring gently with his legs twitching like he was chasing gargoyles again.
I unlaced my boots slowly and lay back on the bed as the world tilted a little and steadied again.
Safe.
Not perfect. Not finished. Butsafe.
A place to begin again.
Maybe that should be part of our mission statement.
I didn’t even make it under the blanket before sleep took me.
And in that sleep, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of Gideon or shadows.
I dreamed of laughter.
