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Russell woke to sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, his body still aching in places he'd forgotten existed. Last night's meditation had helped, but magical exhaustion was different from physical tiredness—it sat in your bones like lead, making every movement feel like swimming through honey.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the too-bright screen. No new messages in the group chat. Blake's four words from last night still sat there like a promise or a threat: Wait for me to return.
Having a Master Cardmaker in your corner definitely helps you sleep better, Russell thought as he dragged himself out of bed. Even if Blake was half a country away, just knowing he gave a damn made the target on Russell's back feel a little smaller.
The shower helped wake him up properly, hot water sluicing away the lingering smell of smoke and fear-sweat from yesterday. He threw on fresh clothes—his academy uniform, crisp and normal, like yesterday hadn't been a complete shitshow—and headed out.
The streets were quieter than usual. Broken glass still glittered on some sidewalks. A few buildings had scorch marks climbing their walls like black vines. Work crews were already out, their heavy machinery rumbling as they cleared debris. But the city was functioning. People were going to work, kids were heading to school. Life went on, even after the sky had opened up and rained demons.
The academy hadn't sent any notification about canceled classes, which Russell found both impressive and slightly insane. Pocket dimension invasion yesterday? Lightning storms that could level city blocks? Nah, you still have homework due.
The classroom was maybe two-thirds full when he arrived. Empty seats gaped like missing teeth, each one representing a student who was either injured, traumatized, or whose parents had decided that maybe cardmaking academy wasn't worth the risk after all.
Heath and Keith were already there, sprawled in their usual seats near the window. Keith had his feet up on his desk, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. Heath was hunched over his phone, probably watching replays of yesterday's chaos.
Russell felt his shoulders relax slightly. "You two are alright."
Heath looked up, eyebrow raised. "What, were you hoping something bad would happen to us?"
"If it did," Russell said, keeping his face completely deadpan, "I'd remember to pour one out for you."
Keith snorted so hard the stress ball flew out of his hand and bounced off Heath's head. "Asshole," Heath muttered, but he was grinning.
"Seriously though," Keith said, retrieving his ball, "yesterday was fucked. My mom almost didn't let me come back today. Had to promise her I'd run at the first sign of trouble."
"Me too," Heath added. "She wanted to pull me out completely. Transfer to a normal university, study accounting or some shit."
Russell dropped into his seat. "Can't say I blame them. That demon was—"
"Fucking enormous?" Keith supplied. "Nightmare fuel? The kind of thing that makes you reconsider your life choices?"
"I was going to say 'large,' but yeah, those work too."
They were still talking when the classroom door opened. Russell glanced up expecting another student, but it was Hazel who walked in, carrying a stack of papers and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Russell's eyebrows shot up. After yesterday's display of divine wrath, he'd assumed she'd be at Association headquarters for the next week, filling out reports and attending debriefings. But here she was, wearing her usual oversized cardigan that made her look more like a librarian than someone who could call down lightning storms.
"Isn't she completely different during battle?" Russell muttered under his breath.
Heath, unfortunately, had excellent hearing. "Did you see Ms. Hazel's fight yesterday?"
Russell nodded, remembering the cold indifference in her eyes as she'd pinned that massive demon to the earth.
Heath's eyes went wide with something approaching religious awe. "Badass."
The word hung in the air for a moment. It was inadequate—like calling the ocean "wet" or the sun "warm"—but Russell understood the sentiment. Heath had started at the academy six months before Russell, but even he'd never seen Hazel unleash her full power. Their practical combat classes with her had been like watching a professional athlete play catch with toddlers—gentle, controlled, almost patronizing.
Yesterday had been different. Yesterday had been apocalyptic.
Everyone's phones buzzed simultaneously. Russell pulled his out to see a message in the class group chat.
[Hazel]: Students can now come and sign up for the garrison and exploration missions I mentioned before.
A collective groan rippled through the classroom.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" someone said from the back.
"After yesterday?"
"My parents are going to lose their shit."
"Huh?!" That was the general consensus, voiced in various levels of disbelief and dismay.
Russell's phone buzzed again, but this time with a private message.
[Hazel]: Junior Brother, you don't need to come and register. I have other arrangements for you.
He stared at the message, pieces clicking together in his mind. The new pocket dimension. The source of yesterday's demon. Of course she'd want him involved—Blake's student, someone she could trust, someone who'd already proven himself in combat.
Great. More life-threatening situations. Just what I needed.
The next hour was chaos. Students lined up to register their preferences, arguing about garrison duty versus exploration, safe assignments versus dangerous-but-profitable ones. Hazel sat at the front desk, methodically recording choices in her notebook, her face a mask of concentration that probably hid massive social anxiety.
Russell watched it all from his seat, exempt from the scrambling. Heath and Keith both signed up for garrison duty—safer, steadier work that would keep them in the city. Smart choice, considering their families' concerns.
Finally, the classroom emptied except for Russell and Hazel. She looked up from her notebook, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that made her seem suddenly very young.
"russel" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Come with me."
He stood and followed her out of the classroom, down the hallway, and through the academy's front gates. Once they were outside, she stopped and turned to face him.
"Let's go," she said.
Before Russell could ask where, the ground beneath his feet turned soft and white. He looked down to see clouds forming under his shoes, substantial enough to stand on but wispy at the edges like cotton candy. The cloud lifted, carrying him up with surprising gentleness.
"Holy sh—" Russell bit back the curse, grabbing for something to hold onto before realizing there was nothing but more cloud.
Hazel floated beside him on her own cloud, looking completely at ease. With her casual sweater and jeans, she could have been riding a bus instead of defying several laws of physics. The contrast between her mundane appearance and the legendary mode of transportation was jarring.
The clouds moved slowly, drifting through the air like lazy thoughts. But the city below was passing by in a blur. Buildings became toys, cars became ants, and the entire sprawl of human civilization spread out beneath them like a map. They were moving incredibly fast while feeling like they were barely moving at all.
This is some real mystical immortal shit, Russell thought, trying not to look down too often. The wind should have been tearing at them at this speed, but whatever bubble of calm Hazel had created around them kept the air still and warm.
After what felt like minutes but was probably seconds, the massive structure of the Cardmakers Association headquarters came into view. It was a fortress of glass and steel in the heart of Northgate, all sharp angles and reflective surfaces that caught the morning sun like a beacon.
Hazel guided their clouds down to the main entrance, where they dissolved back into mist the moment their feet touched the ground. Russell's legs wobbled slightly—not from the landing, but from the surreal experience of cloud-surfing across the city.
The moment they walked through the doors, the buzzing conversation in the main hall cut off like someone had hit a switch.
Russell had been here before, but never when it was this packed. Hundreds of cardmakers filled the space, grouped in clusters, some in full combat gear, others in business suits. The air practically hummed with magical energy from so many practitioners in one place.
Every single eye turned to look at Hazel.
She froze for half a second, her face going pale. Russell could practically feel her desire to turn invisible, to sink into the floor, to be anywhere but the center of attention.
"I'll go up first," she whispered to Russell, her voice tight with anxiety.
Without waiting for his response, she walked toward the platform at the front of the hall, her steps quick and purposeful, like someone walking through a minefield. A middle-aged man was already waiting there—the Association president, Russell assumed. His face lit up with a smile when he saw her, all teeth and calculated warmth.
Hazel sat down in the chair he indicated, her expression having shifted from anxious to arctic. It was her defense mechanism, Russell realized. When she couldn't handle social situations, she went cold instead of stammering or fleeing.
The president, clearly used to her personality, didn't seem bothered. But the cardmakers below started whispering.
"That's the diamond-level cardmaker who made the move yesterday, right?"
"Yeah, lightning girl. Jesus, did you see that storm?"
"She doesn't look like she's easy to get along with."
"Ice queen vibes for sure."
"...You guys do realize you're underestimating the hearing of a diamond-level cardmaker, right?"
The whispering stopped abruptly. Several faces went red. Someone coughed nervously.
Russell noticed he wasn't being ignored either. Plenty of eyes tracked him, noting his youth, his position near Hazel, the fact that she'd brought him personally. He could practically see them calculating, trying to figure out who he was and why he mattered.
The president cleared his throat, the sound amplified throughout the hall. "Well," he began,, "the main reason I called everyone here today is to talk about the new pocket dimension."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Russell leaned against a pillar, settling in for what was obviously going to be a long-ass speech.
"First of all," the president continued, "let us thank Master Hazel for her efforts yesterday."
The applause was immediate and deafening. It crashed through the hall like a wave, people clapping with genuine enthusiasm. Hazel sat frozen in her chair, her face carefully neutral .
After what felt like forever, the applause died down.
"I'm sure everyone has some guesses," the president said, settling into his politician voice. "That's right. We will be the ones to explore this newly appeared, high-level pocket dimension. I have called everyone here this time to assign tasks."
The reaction was immediate and not entirely positive.
"Sure enough," someone near Russell muttered. "Every time there's dangerous shit to handle, the court pushes it onto us."
"Well, what choice do we have?" another responded. "Not like we can just leave a pocket dimension sitting there."
"Still bullshit though. They get the glory, we get the casualties."
"Tsk, if you ask me, we should just—"
The speaker cut himself off, but Russell could fill in the blank. We should just overthrow them. It was a sentiment he'd been hearing more and more lately. The Association had the power, but the court had... something. Some hidden card that kept the balance.
The president droned on for another twenty minutes, using a lot of words to say very little. Russell found himself studying the crowd instead, noting faces, counting power levels based on the magical pressure people unconsciously released.
"That's it. Let's break up the meeting."
People immediately started moving, forming new groups, heading for exits. The president leaned over to whisper something to Hazel, his hand briefly touching her shoulder. She went rigid at the contact, and he quickly withdrew, saying something that looked like an apology before leaving the platform.
Hazel practically fled the stage, making a beeline for Russell. "Let's go, Junior Brother."
They walked side by side toward the exit, Russell having to lengthen his stride to keep up with her urgent pace. Once they were outside and away from the crowd, she finally slowed down, taking a deep breath.
"What did you bring me here for, Senior Sister?" Russell asked. The whole thing had felt pointless—sitting through a bureaucratic meeting that could have been an email.
Hazel glanced at him, then away, then back again. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet he had to lean in to hear it. "I wanted to bring you here to meet some people. But... he said he had something to do."
Russell stopped walking. "Wait, what?"
She fidgeted with her sleeve. "The president. I thought... you're Blake's student. It would be good for you to know him. To have connections. But when I mentioned it, he said he was busy."
The words hung in the air between them. Russell's mind started racing. The president of the Northgate Cardmakers Association, too busy to meet Blake Whitemore's personal disciple? After Russell had just helped save civilians and faced down Wade?
That's not being busy. That's a deliberate snub.
"The President?" Russell said carefully.
Hazel nodded, looking miserable. She'd tried to do something social, something political, and it had backfired. Russell could see her retreating into herself, regretting the attempt.
But Russell's mind was elsewhere. Why would the president avoid meeting him? Politics? Some beef with Blake? Or was it something else, something related to Wade's family connections?
One more thing to worry about, he thought grimly.
The next day .
Hazel's voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "Junior Brother, I'll take you to where the new pocket dimension appeared."
(End of this chapter)