Morning arrived quietly.
There was no dramatic sunrise, no sudden shift in the air to announce that everything was about to change. Light crept into the cottage the same way it always had, pale and hesitant, brushing gently against the stone walls and wooden beams as if unsure whether it was welcome.
I lay awake long before it reached my bed.
Sylvester slept curled beside me, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded me more than anything else could. I listened to the familiar sounds of the cottage settling, the faint creak of wood, the distant call of a bird somewhere beyond the trees.
This was the last morning I would wake here for a long while.
When I finally sat up, my movements were slow and deliberate. I washed my face at the basin, the cold water sharpening my thoughts, then dressed carefully, choosing clothes that felt like myself rather than what I thought the academy might expect. The fabric was familiar beneath my fingers, worn in places from years of use.
I braided my hair with steady hands.
The letter rested on the desk, folded neatly beside my packed bag. I did not open it again. Its words had already etched themselves into my mind.
Sylvester stirred as I tied the final ribbon. "You didn't sleep," he observed.
"Neither did you," I replied.
He hopped down and inspected the bag with a critical eye. "You've packed sensibly. That's new."
I smiled faintly. "Winston helped."
That earned a small nod of approval.
Outside, the road was quiet, the early hour keeping most of Chocolano still. I stepped onto the path and turned once more to look at the cottage. Ivy clung stubbornly to the stones, unmoved by the fact that I was leaving. The place looked exactly as it always had.
That felt unfair.
Winston was already waiting near the main road, standing beside a carriage unlike any I had seen before. Its design was elegant but understated, marked with subtle sigils etched into the wood rather than painted proudly for all to see. The horses were calm, their harnesses humming faintly with restrained magic.
"You're early," he said, offering a small smile.
"I didn't want to rush," I replied.
He nodded. "That's wise."
We stood in silence for a moment, neither of us quite ready to break it. Then Winston cleared his throat.
"I won't go with you beyond the road," he said. "From there, the academy's people take over."
"I know."
"But I'll walk with you until then."
The path felt shorter than it ever had.
Each step carried the weight of memory. The place where I had once helped a lost trader find his way. The bend in the road where Sylvester liked to stop and listen for birds. The spot where I had stood countless times, watching others leave while believing I never would.
When we reached the carriage, Winston paused.
"There are things Agragore won't tell you," he said quietly. "Not because they wish to deceive you, but because they believe discovery shapes understanding better than explanation."
I nodded, though my chest tightened.
"You don't owe them anything," he continued. "Not obedience. Not gratitude. Remember that."
"I will."
He hesitated, then reached into his coat and handed me a small, worn book. Its cover was plain, its pages well loved.
"It's not from Agragore," he said. "It's from me. Notes, observations, things I wish someone had told me before I stepped beyond familiar ground."
I accepted it with both hands. "Thank you."
Winston knelt then, meeting my eyes properly. "Whatever they test you on, whatever they ask of you, never doubt this," he said firmly. "Your worth is not something they get to define."
Emotion swelled in my throat. I hugged him before I could stop myself, clinging tightly.
"Come back," he said softly. "Not because you have to. Because you want to."
"I will," I promised.
The coachman opened the carriage door.
As I stepped inside, a strange sensation rippled through me, like invisible threads pulling gently at my chest. My magic stirred, not wildly, but attentively, as though it recognized the moment for what it was.
The carriage lurched forward.
I watched Winston grow smaller through the window until the road curved and he disappeared from view.
Only then did I allow myself to cry.
Sylvester pressed close to my side, silent and steady. The wheels rolled onward, carrying me farther from the only life I had known and toward something vast and uncertain.
Somewhere ahead, Agragore waited.
And for the first time, I understood that leaving was not an ending.
It was an opening.