The individual rooms were sparse; four sets of narrow beds lined the chamber of the lower-ranked quarters, and double beds for the upper-ranked quarters. Officers had a single bed with an attached bathing chamber. A single trunk sat at the foot of each bed, warded with personal sigils and sealed with Academy-issued locks. Bare stone walls surrounded the room, broken only by a sigil plate mounted above each bed and etched with the cadet’s elemental mark once it was earned. A writing desk stood in the corner. An iron wall hook beside it held the cadet’s uniform and cloak. There were no mirrors. No luxuries. No softness. Magic thrummed faintly through the walls. Outside the thick door, voices echoed down the corridor along with the sound of boots on stone. A distant bell called curfew every night.
Thaelyn followed Iri through the winding corridors of the second level, her legs heavy from the day’s climb.
"Here we are," Iri said, pushing open the dormitory door with a shoulder. "East-facing.”
The room inside was warmer than the hall. A girl balanced barefoot on one of the beds, trying to string a garland of pressed leaves above her headboard. She was tall and slender, with porcelain white skin. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell into her eyes and brushed over a smattering of freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her green eyes were bright with mischief and intelligence. She had the kind of figure that turned heads, lithe but curvaceous, elegant, and strong.
"Blast it all," she muttered as she overreached.
Thaelyn lunged forward. "You’re about to fall."
"Oh. You’re not the roommates they threatened me with earlier. Unless one of you snores like a beast and talks of plant varieties."
"Not that I know of," Thaelyn said, smiling.
"Perfect. You pass. Feyra Solen, from Caldra’s Rise."
"Thaelyn Marren." Thaelyn offered a small, amused smile. Her features were striking in a quieter way, sharp-boned and thoughtful. Her eyes, a soft blue-gray, missed nothing. Her skin was pale, hair golden, almost white. She had faint calluses on her fingers from years of work in the blacksmith’s forge.
"I’m Irielle Vale; call me Iri." Iri was tall and composed, with sun-kissed bronze skin and thick, dark auburn hair cut in long layers that brushed her shoulder blades. Her golden-brown eyes were intelligent and wary. There was a grace to the way she held herself. Iri had the look of someone who didn’t trust easily, but when she did, it would be with everything she had.
Feyra’s eyes gleamed. "From Veylar’s Reach?"
Before Iri could reply, the door creaked open again. A striking girl stepped into the room, carrying a potted plant in one hand and a satchel in the other. Her skin was a deep, gleaming brown like polished mahogany, contrasting beautifully with the long, flowing strands of flaxen blonde hair that fell freely to the center of her back. Her eyes were impossible to ignore, one a vivid green, the other a dusky violet. High cheekbones gave her the bearing of a noble, and her posture radiated silent command. She was beautiful.
Iri whispered to Thaelyn, "Is she part Fae?"
"You must be our fourth," Thaelyn said.
"Vaeryn Malet.” She placed the plant down gently.
"So, tell me your backgrounds," Feyra drawled.
"Blacksmith’s daughter," Thaelyn said, brushing her braid over her shoulder. "I grew up in an isolated mountain settlement where magic was rare. I had dreams of coming here to work hard and escape the smallness of my life, which has always felt like a cage. I spent my life helping in the blacksmith forge, making the realm's weapons. I hoped I was meant for more. I knew that if I could master an element, I could rise above what I am."
"I was the middle child of six," Feyra replied. "I grew up on a small farm. I was always getting in trouble."
Vaeryn, stretched out on her bunk, didn’t even blink. "I can kill a man with a garden spade."
There was a beat of silence before Iri snorted so hard she nearly choked. "Is that a confession or just a fun fact?"
Vaeryn raised one brow, the mismatched green and violet of her eyes glinting in the lamplight. "Depends on who’s asking."
Thaelyn laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. "All right, dangerous one.”
"I’m from Forest Enclave," Vaeryn said. "My grandmother was a matriarch. She taught me a lot about plants and how they can be used to heal or for more nefarious purposes.”
Iri’s smile softened. "Veylar’s Reach. Salt in the air, gulls screaming at dawn, and ships coming in from everywhere. My father worked in the shipyards. I thought I’d be a fisher, not part of this academy, until my brother found it."
Thaelyn propped her chin in her hand. "What about you, Feyra?"
"Storm country," Feyra said easily, though something flickered in her eyes. "Caldra’s Rise. Before you ask, yes, my mother named me after the Goddess of Love. Lightning struck our fields every other week, and people said it was a curse. She said it was the God of Lightning saying hello to me. I don’t know what I’ll become or what magic I’ll manifest, but I’m excited to find out.”
They looked at one another. Feyra with humor, Iri with wide-eyed honesty, Vaeryn with something like silent understanding, and Thaelyn had something to prove.
"Think they’ll throw us into combat fast?" Feyra asked.
Vaeryn straightened a lantern. "The realm needs trained soldiers.”
