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No one looks rested. No one looks bored. For the first time, I see the Academy clearly. The beauty remains. The dragons. The towers. The enchanted halls. But beneath all of it is expectation. Varethia does not exist to make us feel exceptional. It exists because one day, people will depend on us knowing what we are doing. The thought settles heavily.
Nyra and I separate near the residence paths. She shifts her books against her chest.
"Thank you." I say.
"For what?" She asks.
"Letting me sit with you."
"You asked me." She answers.
"I know.I'm still glad you said yes." Something warm moves through me.
"Me too." She smiles. Not brightly. Honestly. "Tomorrow?" I ask. "We should probably get lost together again."
She laughs. "I'd like that."
She walks toward the fae residences. I continue alone. The bench overlooking the eastern cliffs is empty. I sit. My shoulders ache. My hand is stained with ink. Twelve pages on magical inheritance wait to be written. Two historical accounts I believed my entire life have already been proven incomplete.
Tomorrow, combat begins. The Academy stretches around me, vast and ancient and completely indifferent to whether I succeed.
For the first time since receiving my invitation, doubt finds me. Not fear. Something quieter. More honest. What if I am not ready?
At home, I was the most prepared person in nearly every room. Here, everyone was exceptional somewhere else first. Every student arrived carrying expectations, training, family names and abilities they had spent years learning to trust. None of that guarantees anything now.
The wind moves across the cliffs. Far below, a dragon launches from one of the platforms and disappears into the clouds. I watch until it is gone. Then I open my notebook. At the top of the first empty page, I write: Inheritance is potential. Mastery is earned. The sentence feels less like a lesson now. More like a promise. I begin the assignment.
Chapter Four
By the time I wake, my hand still aches from writing. Twelve pages. The final page contains three sentences, one unfinished argument about vampire instinct, and a section I no longer understand despite having written it myself. It will have to do.
Rowan is already awake. Of course she is. She stands in the center of our room wearing half her uniform, one boot, and an expression of deep betrayal.
"My other glove is gone."
Selena turns a page without looking up from her book. "You left it in the washroom."
"No."
"You did."
"I would remember." Rowan answers.
"You said that about your boot yesterday."
Rowan looks down at the one currently missing from her other foot. "That was different." She says.
"How?"
"I found the boot."
"In the washroom."
Rowan points at her. "You're being hostile."
I sit up slowly. "Is this normal?"
Selena finally glances toward me. "No."
