The final chime echoed through the Aquaris lecture hall, signaling the end of the first day's classes. Professor Thorne offered a curt nod, dismissing the students, who immediately surged towards the exits with a collective exhale of relief. Ace packed his meager notes, the abstract concepts of arcane flow and stability already settling comfortably in his highly intelligent mind.
As he stepped out into the bustling corridor, the sheer volume of students heading for the dormitories was a stark contrast to the earlier, more ordered procession to classes. Gilded carriages, still waiting from the morning, were now being loaded with trunks, and liveried servants navigated the crowds, carrying bundles of fine silks and enchanted curios. The highborn were clearly making themselves at home.
Ace followed the flow of students, distinguishing themselves by the plainness of his robes and the worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He'd overheard snippets of conversation from passing groups – discussions about common room amenities, the size of private chambers, and even plans for lavish dinner parties. His expectations for his own accommodations, therefore, were realistically low.
The dormitory wing for first-years was a sprawling, ancient structure, less ornate than the main Academy buildings, its stone façade weathered with centuries of wind and rain. Inside, the halls were narrower, the light dimmer, and the opulent decorations conspicuously absent. He navigated a labyrinthine series of staircases and dimly lit corridors, following the worn signs until he found his way to the third floor.
Room 393.
He located the door, a sturdy but unembellished slab of dark wood, and pushed it open. The sight that greeted him was precisely as he'd anticipated: Spartan, to say the least. The room was small, with just enough space for two narrow, unadorned beds pushed against opposite walls, two basic wooden desks, and two equally spartan wardrobes. The single window overlooked a less-than-picturesque view of a service alley and the back of some distant, forgotten Academy outbuildings. No plush carpets, no elaborate tapestries, and certainly no private antechambers.
One of the beds was already claimed. A trunk, far sturdier and newer than Ace's own, sat open beside it, revealing a few neatly folded, well-made tunics. A book on advanced theoretical runecraft lay face down on the pillow.
A figure emerged from what Ace presumed was the small, attached washroom, toweling off damp hair. He was of similar age to Ace, perhaps a year older, with a lean build and a perpetually furrowed brow that suggested a deep, almost painful, thoughtfulness. His robes, while plain, were meticulously cared for, and his movements possessed an understated precision.
He stopped, his eyes, a clear grey, fixing on Ace. "Ah, you must be my roommate," he said, his voice quiet and somewhat formal. "I am Theron Blackwood." He extended a hand, his grip firm. "A pleasure, I suppose."
Ace took his hand, offering a polite nod. "Ace Dragnell. 'A pleasure, I suppose' sums up most interactions in this place, doesn't it?"
Theron's lips twitched, a hint of a smile that quickly vanished. "Indeed. Though I find precision in language to be less… ambiguous. One either finds pleasure in an interaction or one does not."
Ace raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough. So, which is it for you, Theron? Unambiguous pleasure, or unambiguous lack thereof?"
Theron paused, his gaze assessing Ace. "Undetermined, currently. My priority is study. Distractions are… inefficient." He gestured vaguely at the room. "I've already organized my side. I suggest you do the same. We share the washroom facilities."
Ace glanced at his own worn satchel, a stark contrast to Theron's neatly arrayed possessions. "Right. Efficiency. My forte, clearly." He dumped his satchel onto the remaining bed with a soft thud, the few contents rustling within. "Don't worry, I won't disrupt your studies with spontaneous arcane fireworks or, heaven forbid, light conversation."
Theron merely gave a clipped nod, already turning back to his open trunk. "Understood. The sooner we establish a productive routine, the better."
Ace suppressed a sigh. A precise, no-nonsense roommate. This was going to be an interesting five years. He began to unpack his few belongings, his unique power, the Molecular Disassembly & Regeneration, a silent hum beneath his skin. It was still his secret, his hidden strength, and in this austere room, shared with a meticulously organized stranger, it felt more private, more potent than ever. He had found his first, rather unglamorous, foothold in the Academy.
Ace Dragnell - Initial Status
* Name: Ace Dragnell
* Noble Status: Low-Tier Noble
* Age: 16 (First Year Student)
* Strength: D
* Agility: D
* Endurance: C
* Intelligence: S
* Willpower: A
* Charisma: D
* Arcane Power: C
* Abilities:
* Unique Ability: Molecular Disassembly & Regeneration (Untrained - some basic control achieved)
* Description: The innate power to disassemble one's body to a molecular or even atomic level and reassemble it at will. Can regenerate from a single cell or atom. Can reassemble specific body parts, which will possess the same inherent power as the main body. This ability is currently raw and unrefined, its full potential unknown even to Ace, but he has begun to exercise rudimentary control over it.
* Elemental Affinities: Fire, Air, Lighting
* Skills:
* Basic Self-Defense (C)
* Survival (Wilderness - from his manor's remote location) (D)
* Reputation: Unknown / Low-Tier Noble (among students)
* Silver Crowns: 300
* House: Aquaris