Calla led the group down the winding stone paths of Wildeguard Academy, past towering lecture halls, greenhouses, and sparring fields where students were already locked in intense training with wooden swords and staffs.

  The campus buzzed with activity. Young mages testing spells, scholars huddled over tomes in the study rooms, and groups of armored fighters debating combat techniques with leather clad rangers and robe wearing mages.

  The sheer scale of it made Mirabelle whistle under her breath. “This place is amazing,” she murmured, her eyes darting the floating lanterns above the pathways.

  Their path took them to a large, rectangular building nestled within a grove of old oak trees. The dormitory had high-arched windows, ivy curling around the stone walls. A small plaque near the entrance read “First Years Dormitory.”

  Calla stopped in front of the doors. "Alright, first things first. Dorm rules. No combat spells in the hallways, no experimental magic or any kind of alchemy anywhere in the dorms, no making loud noises or music after sundown, and no magical traps except to protect your own chest.”

  Weylan raised a brow. "Seems reasonable. Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Don’t piss off the book goblins. They do chores all over the academy, and if you’re mistreating one of them or even worse, a book, they’ll make your life hell."

  Before anyone could ask how goblins had been put in charge of dorm cleanliness, the doors opened with a faint creak, revealing a wide common area bustling with students settling in. The room was spacious, with cozy seating arrangements, a large fireplace crackling with magefire, and pictures of famous wizards in their moments of triumph. Staircases at either end of the hall led to the upper floors, and at the far side of the room was a massive noticeboard hung with papers pinned in several chaotic layers.

  A harried-looking student stood in the center of the hall, holding a clipboard. The moment she saw Calla, she let out a relieved sigh. "You’re late!"

  Calla sighed. "Sorry Fiona, we had a duel right during the orientation tour."

  The student named Fiona rolled her eyes before giving the new arrivals a once-over. “Welcome, new students. You’ve been assigned rooms already. Pairs and quads. If you have complaints, take it up with administration. East wing is for women, west wing for men. They used to punish people caught in the wrong wing with gender-switch transformation spells, but we recently had to change that to a paid service.”

  She held up a parchment and began reading from it. “Weylan, Valen…”

  “Just call me Aldrich, if you please.” The noble cut in instantly, his voice strained, as though he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  Fiona rolled her eyes at the interruption but didn’t argue. “Fine… Aldrich, Darken, and Erik. You’re in Quad 2C. Professor Evanesceniel personally instructed me to ensure your room assignment is not confused or changed in any way.” She gave them a pointed look before scanning the rest of the list. “The rest of you, your names are here. Rooms are upstairs.”

  Darken, standing off to the side, gave Valen a smug bow. "I, for one, am delighted to be roommates with an esteemed noble."

  Valen exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is preposterous."

  Darken clapped his hands together. "Well, roommates, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

  Ignoring the ongoing drama, Ulmenglanz turned to the priestesses, who were still marveling at the common area. "Shall we go find our rooms?"

  Faya nodded eagerly. "I hope ours has a balcony!"

  Mirabelle checked the notice boards. "Looks like we’re on the second floor. Let’s go."

  As the group split up to settle in, Calla called after them, "You lot better rest up! Orientation's just the beginning, and things only get crazier from here!"

  Somehow, Weylan had a feeling she wasn’t exaggerating.

  As Weylan ascended the staircase, he quickly found the room marked 2C on the second floor. The door had no lock and refused to budge. Frowning, he tapped the dorm key against it. A faint golden rune shimmered where the key touched, and with a soft click, the door swung open.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Inside, the room was larger than he expected. Four beds lined the walls, two on each side, with a chest at the foot of each one. Opposite the door, a row of narrow desks with matching chairs faced the windows, letting in the fading daylight. It was simple but functional. Except for one thing.

  Weylan exhaled, watching as his breath turned into a faint cloud in the frigid air. He frowned.

  Stepping back into the hall, he flagged down a passing student. “Hey, quick question. How do these rooms stay warm? I didn’t see a fireplace or an oven.”

  The student barely spared him a glance before stepping inside to take a look. He rubbed his chin. “Huh. You’re right. No fireplace. Probably why this room usually stays empty.” He shrugged. “Might want to complain to administration.”

  Weylan thanked him, but was clearly unconvinced.

  The next student walking by had caught the conversation and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.

  Weylan crossed his arms. “They forgot the fireplace? Really?”

  The student gave up and openly chuckled. “Your guide must’ve skipped that part. None of the rooms have fireplaces. Every dorm is assigned at least one student with access to fire magic. You’re supposed to heat it yourself. ‘Builds character, good training,’ and all that.” He winked before strolling off down the hall.

  Weylan turned back to find his roommates had followed closely enough to hear.

  Erik let out a groan. “They probably just forgot fireplaces in every room and later refused to admit it. I can’t help here. I specialize in ice magic. Technically, I could learn fire spells, I’m not restricted, but that won’t be happening this semester.”

  Darken, pulling his robe tighter, peeked inside. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know any spells. And judging by your proclamation in the duel, neither do you.”

  Valen threw up his hands. “Unbelievable. Why am I stuck in a room full of imbeciles who can’t even cast a basic Warmth spell?”

  Weylan crossed his arms. “Well? Can you?”

  Valen scoffed, shoving past them into the center of the room. “Obviously.” He clapped his hands together. “Heat!”

  A wave of magic pulsed outward as he slowly pulled his hands apart. The air shifted, warming instantly, like standing in the glow of a summer sun. The damp chill vanished.

  “There,” Valen said smugly. “Much better.”

  With the temperature issue resolved, the four settled on beds without argument. There was no real difference between them. Just as they were getting comfortable, two servants arrived, carrying the luggage of the two nobles.

  As Weylan casually emptied his Bag of Holding into his chest, he caught a flicker of barely concealed envy from them. Malvorik had really outdone himself. The bag he carried on a leather strip at his side, had more storage capacity than the chest in front of him. He glanced over at Darken, who tossed his small backpack into his chest and flopped onto his bed, arms lazily crossed behind his head.

  “You’re not unpacking?” Weylan asked.

  “Nah,” Darken replied, smirking. “Two changes of clothes and a portable alchemy set. That’s all I need. Anything else? I’ll just buy it here. Not much of a materialist.”

  With the dorm situation sorted, Weylan stretched his arms over his head, the exhaustion from the day settling into his bones. “Alright. Now that we won’t freeze in our sleep, I guess we should figure out what’s next.”

  Valen scoffed, tossing his coat onto his bed with practiced elegance. “Next? Some of us have already prepared for academy life. You, however, should probably try to not embarrass yourself.”

  Darken rolled onto his side, grinning. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Weylan. You already showed off in the duel.”

  Erik chuckled while he unwrapped a book from a cloth cover and stored it in his chest.

  Valen shot them all a withering glare. “That was an honor duel. A trivial formality. If you lot think I’ll let that fluke define me, you’re sorely mistaken.” He folded his arms and looked away.

  Erik glanced up from unpacking, his brow furrowed. “So… were you actually serious about that hoarderscale thing?”

  Weylan exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Yeah. That’s how Darken and I got the tokens to study here.”

  Darken’s eyes lit up with sudden realization. “Hold on. We fought the first recorded outbreak of hoarderscales in centuries and as a reward, we get sent here. Then, on our very first day, we meet someone who’s fought them before? That’s not just coincidence. That’s some next-level destiny nonsense.”

  Weylan just shrugged. “Welcome to my life.”

  Valen stopped transferring his luggage into his chest and turned to Erik. “Did you analyze their classes? Darken reads as ‘Master of the Dark Arts’. I’ve never even heard of that one. And Weylan identifies as a ‘House Servant’, level 6.”

  Weylan gave a weak protest. “Isn’t it considered rude to analyze people without consent?”

  Valen shrugged. “It’s a noble privilege to freely analyze members of the lower classes, for it is our duty to assess their abilities to better assign them appropriate tasks. But seriously, how are you already level 6? You’re not even of age, are you?”

  Weylan ignored the indirect question about his age. “I had quite a year. Wolf packs attacking our village, revenants hunting a princess, necromancers trying to wipe out the last duskgnomes, an outbreak of the hoarderscale scourge…”

  Erik interjected. “House Servant isn’t a combat class. How did you survive all of that?”

  Weylan dropped down on his bed. “Well, wit and natural charisma of course.”

  Valen rolled his eyes. “Of course… But what are you even doing here? You don’t have a caster class.”

  “I’ve been born with an advantage for using shadow magic.” He lazily waved his hands and shadows around his bed shifted and wavered.

  The noble scoffed. “The worse version of illusion magic?”

  “Yep. Just the one.”

  “Now I feel almost bad for picking on you. Almost.”

  Erik finished his unpacking. “Only noble houses use House Servants. So, which one is it?”

  “I’m working for the steward of Mulnirsheim, so indirectly, I’m probably with baron Othello. I must admit, I don’t know which house that is.”

  Valen looked up sharply. “You’re working for steward Jago?”

  “Yes? Why?”

  The noble stared at him suspiciously for a long moment, then relaxed. “No reason. I think one of my instructors once mentioned him.”

  “Any spicy stories I should know as his apprentice?”

  “I’ll think about. Maybe I remember something later.”