Time at Agragore did not move in days.
It moved in lessons absorbed, in quiet realizations, in moments where something that once felt impossible suddenly did not. Weeks passed without ceremony, marked not by calendar pages but by growing familiarity. Corridors that once felt vast became navigable. The sound of bells no longer startled. Even the academy's shifting moods grew easier to read.
And slowly, the candidates began to understand what Agragore was truly asking of them.
It was Devyn who said it aloud first.
They were seated along the edge of the western terrace, legs dangling over the low stone wall as the afternoon sun warmed the marble beneath their palms. Below them, the gardens breathed softly, leaves turning ever so slightly toward the light.
"It doesn't care where we come from," Devyn said, brow furrowed in thought. "Not really."
Genevieve glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
He gestured vaguely toward the academy behind them. "It doesn't measure bloodlines. Or titles. Or how much instruction we had before arriving." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It watches how we respond."
"To magic?" Tomas asked from where he lounged nearby.
"To everything," Devyn replied. "Our magic. Other people's magic. Our own fear."
Liora, seated cross-legged on the stone with a book resting against her knee, nodded. "Confidence," she said. "Not arrogance. Not dominance. Confidence. The willingness to stand in what you are without shrinking or overreaching."
Genevieve let the thought settle. It explained so much. Why restraint mattered more than display. Why some candidates with polished technique struggled while others with rough, untrained magic advanced steadily.
Agragore was not asking them to prove power.
It was asking them to trust themselves with it.
The realization did not ease everything.
For some candidates, especially those from noble families, the adjustment came hard. They had arrived expecting recognition. Expecting advantage. Used to tutors smoothing the path before them.
Instead, Agragore offered nothing freely.
Genevieve noticed the change in tone first. Sharp remarks murmured just out of earshot. Glances that lingered too long. One afternoon, she overheard a boy scoff openly when Tomas succeeded in an exercise he had failed.
"Beginner's luck," he muttered.
Another time, a girl sneered at Liora for refusing help. "Trying to look special," she accused.
The words were not loud. They did not need to be.
Genevieve recognized envy when she saw it. Recognized fear, too. The fear of losing a place one had always assumed was guaranteed.
It came to a head during a confidence exercise held in the Hall of Resonance.
Each candidate was asked to stand alone in the center of the room and allow their magic to surface naturally. No shaping. No direction. Simply presence.
When Genevieve stepped forward, the air shifted gently, the stone beneath her feet warming as if in acknowledgment. She felt no surge, no flare — just a quiet steadiness that settled into her bones.
A whisper followed.
"Of course it listens to her."
Genevieve did not turn. She did not need to. Devyn's posture stiffened beside her, Tomas's jaw tightening.
Later, in the corridor, one of the noble-born boys confronted her outright.
"You don't even try," he snapped. "You just stand there and it works."
Genevieve met his gaze calmly. "I try every day," she said. "I just don't fight it anymore."
He scoffed, storming off.
Devyn exhaled slowly. "That's going to get worse before it gets better."
"I know," she replied.
But she also knew this: Agragore saw the behavior for exactly what it was.
The instructors never intervened directly, but lessons shifted subtly. Pairings changed. Exercises emphasized collaboration over comparison. Those who lashed out found themselves confronted with their own instability, their magic growing erratic when fueled by resentment.
Slowly, the message settled in.
The first year was not about mastery.
It was about relationship.
Between student and magic. Between student and self. Between student and others.
And for Genevieve, those relationships deepened.
She and Devyn became inseparable in the quiet way of true friendship. He did not compete with her. Did not measure himself against her success. Instead, he listened. Asked questions. Shared frustrations without shame.
Tomas found his footing too, confidence growing as he learned to stop forcing outcomes. Liora remained observant, precise, her insight sharpening with each passing week.
When the announcement of summer break finally came, it arrived not as relief, but as something gentler.
Two months.
Two months away from stone walls that listened too closely. Two months of returning to places that did not ask her to perform.
Genevieve packed carefully, folding her robes beside familiar dresses from home. Sylvester supervised from the bed, tail flicking approvingly.
"You'll write," he said.
"I will."
She did.
The first letter went to Devyn, filled with quiet observations and half-formed questions. His reply came quickly, thoughtful and steady, filled with descriptions of home and promises to keep practicing patience.
Tomas wrote next, shorter but earnest, confessing he missed their conversations more than he'd expected.
Liora's letter arrived last, precise and warm, encouraging Genevieve to rest rather than prepare.
Chocolano welcomed her back without fanfare.
The cottage stood just as she had left it, ivy creeping patiently along stone, the path nearby alive with travelers once more. She helped where she could. Read in the evenings. Let her magic settle without pressure.
Sometimes, she stood outside at dusk and felt the faintest echo of Agragore's presence.
Not watching.
Waiting.
When autumn returned and the academy doors opened again, the lessons shifted.
The second year was not about listening.
It was about movement.
About shaping what had been embraced. About learning how magic flowed outward as well as inward. Objects responded now. Distance mattered. Precision began to take form.
Alongside it came general studies — history, mathematics, language — grounding magic in understanding.
Genevieve returned not as someone seeking her place, but as someone willing to grow into it.
She stepped through Agragore's gates with Devyn at her side, Tomas just behind, Liora already ahead.
The academy greeted them quietly.
And for the first time, Genevieve felt ready to answer.