The first lesson did not begin in a classroom.
Genevieve learned this the moment she stepped into the hall where the summoned candidates had been instructed to gather. The space was long and narrow, its ceiling arched high above them, the stone walls lined with tall windows that let in a pale, diffused light. There were no desks. No chalkboards. No visible tools of instruction at all.
Only silence.
Candidates stood scattered along the length of the hall, uncertain where to place themselves. Some whispered. Others remained rigidly still, as though afraid that movement itself might be graded.
Genevieve hovered near one of the windows, Sylvester tucked close to her ankle. Her magic felt different this morning. Not restless exactly, but alert, as though it were listening for something she could not yet hear.
"Looks like we're meant to figure it out," Devyn said quietly, stepping up beside her.
She glanced at him, relieved despite herself. "Figure out what?"
He shrugged. "That's usually the point."
Devyn looked much the same as he had the day before, dark hair pulled back loosely, posture relaxed in a way that felt intentional rather than careless. He did not fidget or scan the room nervously like some of the others. Instead, he observed, eyes tracking small details Genevieve suspected most people would miss.
"How are you holding up?" he asked.
Genevieve considered the question honestly. "I don't feel lost," she said slowly. "I just don't feel… steady."
Devyn nodded. "That tracks."
Before she could ask him to elaborate, a presence settled over the room.
It was not announced. There was no sound to mark its arrival. One moment, the candidates stood alone in the hall. The next, they were not.
A tall figure stood at the far end of the space, draped in layered robes of ash and deep green. Their face was partially obscured by shadow, though Genevieve could feel their gaze like a weight pressing gently but firmly against her awareness.
"Welcome," the instructor said, voice carrying without effort. "This is your first lesson."
A pause.
"Those of you waiting for instructions will find yourselves waiting a long time."
A ripple of unease passed through the group.
"This academy does not teach magic as a list of techniques," the instructor continued. "It teaches awareness. Control. Restraint."
They began to walk slowly down the hall.
"Magic is not something you use," they said. "It is something you listen to."
Genevieve's breath caught.
The instructor stopped near the center of the room. "Close your eyes."
Some hesitated. Others complied immediately. Genevieve closed hers after a brief pause, grounding herself with the familiar presence of Sylvester nearby.
"Do not summon," the instructor said. "Do not shape. Do not respond."
The silence deepened.
At first, Genevieve heard only her own breathing. The faint hum in the walls. The distant movement of someone shifting their weight.
Then, gradually, something else.
A subtle current brushed against her awareness, faint but unmistakable. It was not her magic exactly, but something adjacent to it, like an echo that did not belong to her alone.
Her magic stirred instinctively.
She resisted the urge to engage, remembering the instructor's words.
Listen.
The current grew clearer, flowing through the room in uneven patterns. Some areas felt dense, others thin, as though the air itself carried invisible contours.
Genevieve became aware of Devyn beside her.
Not through sight or sound, but through the way the current bent around him. His presence created a steady interruption, a quiet consistency that made the surrounding flow easier to perceive.
She focused on that steadiness, anchoring herself to it.
"Open your eyes," the instructor said.
When Genevieve did, the hall looked unchanged. And yet, she knew it wasn't.
"Those of you who attempted to impose your will upon the current," the instructor continued calmly, "have already failed."
A few candidates stiffened.
"Those who panicked," they added, "have learned something valuable."
Their gaze swept the room.
"And those who listened… have taken their first step."
The lesson did not end there.
They were instructed to move through the hall slowly, observing how the current shifted in response. Some candidates struggled, colliding with invisible resistance. Others moved too quickly, missing the subtle changes entirely.
Genevieve moved carefully, adjusting her pace as she went. The current responded, not yielding, but accommodating, as though acknowledging her awareness.
At one point, she faltered, losing the thread of it entirely.
Before panic could take hold, Devyn shifted closer, his movement small but deliberate. The current steadied again.
"Breathe," he murmured, so softly she almost didn't hear him.
She did.
And the flow returned.
The instructor watched them closely.
By the time the lesson ended, Genevieve's muscles ached in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Her mind felt stretched, but clearer than it had since arriving at Agragore.
"You did well," Devyn said as they left the hall together.
"So did you," she replied. "You weren't trying to control anything."
He smiled faintly. "I learned early on that forcing things makes them push back harder."
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the academy's corridors shifting subtly around them.
"Do you think they'll ever stop testing us?" Genevieve asked.
Devyn considered it. "I think they'll stop once they decide what we are to them."
She frowned. "And if we don't like the answer?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Then we decide what they are to us."
The thought settled something in her chest.
Later that evening, as Genevieve sat by the window in her room, she reflected on the day. The lesson had not been about power. It had not been about strength or skill.
It had been about restraint.
About listening.
Sylvester hopped up beside her, ears flicking thoughtfully. "You trusted him today," he observed.
"Yes," Genevieve said without hesitation.
"And that felt right?"
"Yes."
Sylvester nodded, satisfied. "Good. Chosen bonds are often stronger than the ones others assign us."
Genevieve watched the lanterns flicker softly across the grounds below, her magic calm for the first time since arriving.
Agragore was still watching.
Still measuring.
But she was no longer facing it alone.
And that, she realized, might make all the difference.