Alina, Faya, and Mirabelle, the priestesses of Lieselotte, goddess of home and family, clustered together, buzzing with excitement.
Darken O’ Mighty, self-proclaimed Master of the Dark Arts, exchanged parting words with his team, making dramatic flourishes as if embarking on some grand quest.
Weylan, Selvara and Ulmenglanz had already said their goodbyes to Malvorik, Trulda, and Skorr earlier that morning over breakfast. Now, they stood side by side on the stone platform, their teleportation tokens in hand.
Next to Ulmenglanz was a big clay pot with a single elm sapling. No one felt the need to comment on a dryad bringing a baby tree with her.
A pulse of magic surged through the air as the tokens activated. In the blink of an eye, the world shifted. The dizzying sensation of movement without motion lasted only a breath before it faded, and they found themselves somewhere new.
Weylan steadied himself as his vision cleared. They were atop a shallow hill, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the land. A crisp breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and old parchment, and before them, Wildeguard Academy loomed. A fortress of knowledge nestled at the edge of the untamed Wildewood.
They had arrived.
A breeze seemed to weave through Ulmenglanz’s hair as it changed from the yellow of summer wheat to the deep red, warm chestnut, and golden-brown hues of autumn.
Weylan let out a low whistle. “Wow. I didn’t know your hair changes with the weather.”
The dryad gave her head a quick, effortless shake, sending her hair flying in a soft, tousled arc before it settled back around her face. She breathed deep, then smiled. “I’m a dryad. I change with the seasons. Autumn is farther advanced up here in the north.”
He nodded, still stunned a bit, then took in their surroundings.
The spawn point of Wildeguard Academy was platform of engraved stone, its runes softly glowing with residual magic. Two imposing guard towers flanked the area, sharp silhouettes against the sky. Though clearly defensive structures, it was difficult to determine whether they were there to protect the arrivals… or the academy from the people arriving.
Down at the end of the hill, the academy grounds stretched out, a sprawling campus set against the backdrop of the majestic Wildewood. Grand towers and sprawling halls rose in elegant formations, their enchanted stone and timber gleaming under the sunlight. The academy blended into the landscape in harmony, its high walls entwined with ivy and its pathways lined with trees.
Mirabelle, one of the priestesses, spun on her heel, taking in the campus with wide eyes. “This place is huge! We’re actually here. Wildeguard Academy!”
Alina smirked. “Think they’ll give each of us her own room, or will we have to share?”
Faya batted her eyes at Weylan. “I’d be more than willing to share…”
Weylan gulped, but wasn’t as surprised as the first time she tried her flirty banter. “Well, only if your two friends agree.”
Mirabelle, who’d pulled out a map to compare landmarks hadn’t really listened. “Fine, ok…”
Alina looked from one to the other, then shrugged. “We can always throw him out and exchange him for a cuter boy if he fails to satisfy our needs.”
Now Weylan’s cheeks started to glow like those of a hoarderscale that had just eaten a campfire.
Ulmenglanz loomed up behind them like a silent force of nature, her autumn-colored hair catching the sunlight as she crossed her arms. "If you’re done flustering Weylan before we’ve even set foot on campus," she said sternly, "perhaps we should find out where we’re actually supposed to be going?"
Faya gave an exaggerated sigh, linking her arm with Mirabelle’s. "Fine, but let it be known that we had first dibs on the charming rogue before he gets stolen by some academy noble."
Weylan sighed, rubbing his temple. "Right. So glad to be treated like a communal pet."
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"Well, we could get you a collar with our names on it," Alina mused. "Might help prevent misunderstandings."
"Do I get a say in this?" Weylan asked dryly.
Faya grinned. "Nope."
Before he could formulate a proper protest, a new voice interrupted.
"You lot always like this, or just excited for school?"
They turned to see a young woman, likely another student, approaching with a confident stride. She had cropped black hair and an amused expression.
"Depends," Mirabelle said cheerfully. "Are you here to give us a tour or challenge us to one of the duels Wildeguard Academy is famous for?"
The student smirked. "That depends as well. Are you a bunch of clueless first-years?"
Weylan exhaled and straightened up. "We're here to enroll."
"Figures," the student said, shifting her satchel higher. "Name’s Calla. I’m a senior. They stuck me with orientation duty. Please at least try not to embarrass me by getting killed by triggering the lightning moat or getting eaten by monsters. I can’t afford any demerits on my grade points if I want to get the artifact I’m aiming for at the end of the semester.”
Mirabelle tilted her head. "You are referring to the rewards students get according to their accomplishments? I read about that."
Calla nodded. “It’s a bit more variable and random for first terms and guest students, but seniors get a list of all available artefacts and the necessary point score. I need full marks so I can get the Cloudwalker-boots.” She winked all of them together. “Come on. First stop is administration. You’re not official students until the paperwork is signed in blood, tears, or whatever else they’re asking for this year. You’ll also get your schedules, dorm assignments, and an overview of the rules. Try to keep up. There’s a lot to cover."
Exchanging glances, the group fell into step behind her.
Selvara, sitting on Weylans shoulder in raven form, looked at the clay pot with the elm sapling Ulmenglanz was carrying and tried to reach out to Malvorik. She felt the faintest of whispers, then silence. She sighed, which made a strange sound coming out of a raven. It had been a long shot trying to establish a spell that could reach across half the continent.
As the group approached the edge of Wildeguard Academy’s grounds, the air around them subtly changed. The wind felt heavier, charged with latent magic, and an unseen force prickled against their skin. Ahead, the boundary of the academy was marked by a series of bluish metal poles, each adorned with clusters of sparkling blue quartz crystals. The poles stood at even intervals, humming faintly with contained energy.
Ulmenglanz was the first to pause, tilting her head as though listening to something only she could hear. “These aren’t just for show,” she murmured, running a careful hand over the air just short of the nearest pole. Static crackled at her fingertips, and she withdrew her hand immediately. “Definitely a protection ward.”
Their student guide turned back to them with a knowing smile. “Good instincts,” she said, folding her arms. “These boundary markers are called the lightning moat. They aren’t just to keep things out. They also prevent anyone unauthorized from leaving. Do not step beyond them without a guide or without the amulets you’ll receive at administration.”
Weylan raised an eyebrow. “What happens if we do?”
She sighed, rubbing her temples as though tired of answering the question. “Depends on how far you get. The moat will start with some warning sparks. If you push too far…” She hesitated. “Well, let’s just say you won’t like what happens next.”
Alina snorted. “Sounds like a challenge.”
The guide shot her a flat look. “It’s really not. We don’t call it the lightning grill for nothing.”
Mirabelle, frowned. “Wait. What about people respawning at the academy’s spawn point? It’s outside the barrier.”
The guide gave her an innocent smile. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? They actually have to wait for one of us instead of just waltzing into the academy.”
That earned her a long, cautious silence.
Weylan exhaled, glancing back at the towers flanking the spawn point. They were built like proper fortifications, their reinforced stonework too heavy-duty for mere decoration. The guards posted at their watchpoints were well-armed, though they stood relaxed, keeping an idle eye on the arrivals.
With a final wary glance at the shimmering poles, the group stepped forward, on to the academy’s grounds, and into whatever awaited them at Wildeguard.
* * *
Far to the south, beyond the borders of the United Kingdoms and deep beneath the city of Mulnirsheim, Trulda stood shifting her weight impatiently near the roots of the dryad’s birthtree. The rune-etched steles surrounding the tree hummed softly, flickering with muted light as the dungeon adjusted the resonance enchantments.
Skorr leaned against the cavern wall beside her, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the glowing circuits threading through the stone.
“Well?” Trulda finally snapped, arms gesturing wide. “Can you hear her or not?”
The light above dimmed momentarily, then brightened again as Malvorik answered. Calm, composed, and just slightly annoyed.
Trulda squinted. “Wait. Are you saying it could’ve exploded?”
Trulda opened her mouth to argue, but Skorr gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s always the risk of a violent reaction if you’re using alchemy,” the duskgnome said with a shrug. “Especially when combining it with regular enchantment.”
Trulda muttered something under her breath, but didn’t press further.
Malvorik’s voice returned, now contemplative.