Michael woke to noise.
At first, he thought it was a dream — the rhythmic clink of metal, a low humming, the occasional thunk followed by a muttered curse. But as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he realized it was very real.
He cracked his door open.
The spotless common room he'd walked through last night was gone. In its place looked like the aftermath of a mechanical disaster. Bits of gears, bolts, and scraps of rune-etched metal littered every surface. Pieces of junk were spread across the table, the floor, and even some were balanced precariously on the arm of the couch. It was as if a flying machine had crashed inside the dorm and then decided to multiply.
And at the center of it all sat a boy, hunched over some kind of half-built device, tightening a bolt with a tool that sparked faintly with magic. His dark hair stuck out as if zapped by lightning, and there was a streak of oil across his cheek.
Michael blinked. "What… happened here?"
The boy looked up, eyes lighting with recognition. "Oh! You're awake. Good timing." He set the tool down and stood, brushing off his hands. "You must be the new roommate. I'm Nick."
Michael stepped into the chaos, carefully avoiding a coil of tubing that looked like it was still writhing on its own. "Michael," he said slowly. "And, uh… what exactly are you doing?"
Nick grinned, entirely unbothered by the mess. "Personal project. Well… several, actually. Don't worry, I'll clean it up before class. Probably."
Michael glanced around the wreck of the once-clean common room. "Right. Because it looked so clean last night."
Nick laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that… I get carried away sometimes."
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes?"
Swiping the sweat from his forehead, Nick leaned back from the jumble of metal parts and tools. "By the way, do you know what time it is? I kinda lose track when I'm in the zone."
Michael gave him a flat look. "You think?" But despite himself, he answered without even glancing at the wall clock. "Seven forty-seven."
The words slipped out so naturally that he almost didn't notice.
Almost.
His stomach dropped. A chill ran down his spine. He hadn't looked. He hadn't even thought about it. Yet when his gaze finally flicked to the clock across the room, the hands rested perfectly on 7:47.
Michael's breath caught.
Nick, oblivious, just nodded. "Oh, perfect! That means I've still got time before class. Thanks, man." He bent right back over his project, humming to himself.
Michael, however, sat frozen in place, heart pounding in his chest.
His throat went dry.
"…Well, I must have noticed it when I walked in," he muttered quickly, more to himself than to Nick. "Yeah. Must've been that."
Nick didn't even glance up, already tightening another bolt.
Michael cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. "Uh… classes start at nine, right?"
"Yeah, nine," Nick said, still half-distracted. A tiny gear slipped from his tool, clattering onto the table, and he winced. "If I remember to actually show up on time this time."
Michael leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His pulse was still racing, but at least Nick hadn't noticed.
He slipped back into his room and shut the door quietly behind him. A hot shower sounded like the only cure for the gnawing unease in his chest.
The small private bathroom was simple, but every surface was carved with faint runes. He frowned at the symbols etched along the pipes—he couldn't decipher them, not yet—but like anyone, trial and error went a long way. After a few twists of the controls, steaming water finally poured down.
Michael stepped into the shower and let the warm water soak into him. The tightness in his shoulders eased as the water pounded gently against his skin. For a few precious minutes, he let the world fall away.
When he finally stepped out, he pulled on the school uniform waiting neatly on the bed. The sleeves hung too long, the fabric baggy around his frame. He frowned, until a faint rune along the collar flared to life.
The uniform tightened, adjusting itself to fit him perfectly as though tailored to his body. Michael blinked at the snug, exact fit, then caught sight of a mark glowing faintly on his right sleeve: a stylized symbol of a wind gust.
He touched it, lips murmuring the words almost without thought, air affinity huh.
Michael exhaled through his nose, his expression caught somewhere between a sigh and a smirk. For all the secrets he was carrying, the academy had already decided who he was supposed to be.
He straightened his new uniform, took one last glance at his room, and stepped out into the common space.
To his shock, the living room was even worse than it had been earlier.
What had looked like a controlled mess this morning now resembled the aftermath of an explosion. Tools lay scattered across every flat surface, half-assembled devices ticked or hummed faintly, and a trail of gears and screws made the floor creak beneath their feet.
And at the center of it all, still hunched in the chaos, was Nick—working furiously on… whatever it was.
Michael rubbed his temple. "I swear this room was clean yesterday."
Nick glanced up, eyes bright and completely unbothered. "Morning! Don't worry, I know where everything is."
Michael eyed the wreck of the once-neat living room and muttered, "That makes one of us."
"Alright, I'm going to class… uh, what was your name again?" Michael said, still staring at the disaster zone that had once been their living room.
"Nick," came the automatic reply. Then Nick's head snapped up, eyes going wide. "Wait—did you say class? Oh no, I'm gonna be late!"
He shot to his feet, scattering a pile of screws like marbles across the floor, and bolted into his room in a blur. The door slammed shut behind him.
Michael blinked, then muttered, "... I'm starting to think I'm the normal one here."