Chapter 11: Preparations
I wake before dawn, the lantern-crystals on my nightstand dim to a soft glow at my bedside. The room is still, the wards humming quietly overhead—no sign of shadow-figure or whispered guilt. I slip from under the covers, testing my limbs. They ache pleasantly, a reminder of yesterday's training. Nothing extraordinary greets me this morning, and I let relief settle in the hollow where fear once lived.
My routine is fixed. I pull on the leggings folded neatly over the chair and a simple tank top. No bandages today—both scratch and bruise have faded to pale lines. I tie my hair back and slip into my boots, warded to move quietly. No gala garments, no layered uniforms—just practical workout clothes. Comfort is my priority, and these pieces are warded to resist sweat and abrasion. I don't bother with formality; there are no classes today to impress. Even though I never try to impress. Only the quiet promise of motion.
Outside, the courtyard is silver with dew. Marble statues stand still, their stone faces inscrutable. I circle them once, feeling the morning air cool against my skin. I begin my warm-up—ankle rotations, hip circles, shoulder rolls—each movement precise. The breeze picks up, stirring my tunic. I let the silence fill me, each inhale drawing strength, each exhale releasing doubt.
I move into my first stance: wide of foot and low of center, arms raised as if embracing the dawn. My muscles tighten and burn, then release into steady calm. From there, I transition through lunges and sweeps, forging power in each shift. Even without the annoyance of Rowan's presence or the tension of looming exams, my body remembers the prayer of movement. I flow into archery drills next, I have a bow, and no arrows! I make sure nobody is looking and make a spectral arrow with mana. I shoot it and of course it hits a bullseye.
Halfway through my rapid-fire series, I feel it again—those whispers at the edge of hearing. I pause, breath hitching, and pick out the words: "Look at that elf," "So graceful," "Is she…?" My chest tightens. The same running commentary from yesterday, mostly human voices gossipping about my presence as if I were an exhibit. I press my lips into a thin line and finish my cooldown half a breath early. Every muscle hums with irritation.
I abandon the courtyard, boots snicking across the cobbles as I hurry back to the dorms. My leggings cling with sweat; each breath tastes of salt and the memory of whispered stares. At the door, I pause, steadying myself. The halls are empty, the wards quiet. I slip inside without a word and head straight for my room.
A swift wash at the basin clears the sweat from my skin. Water splashes cool and reassuring against my cheeks. I scrub at my hair, wringing out moisture, then pat myself dry with a soft towel. The mundane ritual soothes the tension in my shoulders. No fire-warding, no echoes of shadow—only running water and my own steady pulse.
Clothing for the rest of the day is a warded cotton shirt, soft and loose, paired with comfortable shorts reinforced at the seams. I slip them on, adjusting the hems so they sit just right. Each garment is warded to resist friction and to mute noise—a practical concession to my elven ears. I feel at ease in this simplicity. Today, I belong to nothing but the quiet corridors and the promise of unstructured time.
I exit my room and roam the campus. No schedule, no urgency. I drift past the library's carved columns, the rose garden's fragrant blooms, and the ivy-clad arch of the music hall. Each step is unhurried, a contrast to the frantic race of my workouts. I follow the sounds of sparrows in the trees, the distant slam of a door as students settle into afternoon study groups. The academy hums around me, alive with routines I set aside for now.
As I pass the fountain near the east wing, a familiar voice stops me. "Feyri?" I look up. He stands five paces away—respectful distance, as always. Octavius's sandy hair catches the sun; his warm brown eyes hold an earnest question.
He takes a small step forward, then stops. "I've been meaning to ask—did you think about my offer?"
I rate him with a measured glance. No hesitation this time. "Yes," I say. "I'll be your friend." My tone is flat, but genuine—friendship isn't idle for me.
Relief brightens his face, and he nods as though I've gifted him the sky. "Thank you. I'm glad." He shifts so he's angled just outside my boundary, arms uncrossed, posture open. He falls into step beside me. "I thought today might be a good day to talk. If that's all right."
I incline my head. "Sure."
He smiles—a proper, genuine curve. "Great. I've been reading about campus history, but I realized I don't know much about you." He gestures to the quad. "Aside from your—uh—your impressive archery."
I keep my stride steady. "I grew up traveling. My parents moved from elven hollows to border villages. I learned to rely on myself before I ever learned academy etiquette."
He listens, truly listens, and nods. "I spent summers at my family's vineyard by the River Nesh. Pruning vines, bottling—uneventful, but it grounded me. In winter, I helped my mother with ledger accounts. Learned precision in a different way."
I flick a glance at him. "That makes sense. Precision shows in your council work."
He chuckles. "Guilty. I guess numbers are just another kind of pattern." He pauses. "Do you ever miss wilderness travel?"
I let a fraction of a smile surface. "Sometimes. The forest taught me more than any textbook. But the academy has its own kind of wild."
He agrees. "It does. Mind if I ask—what drew you to this place? You could have studied art, or diplomacy. Why magic?"
I fold my hands behind my back. "Magic felt like the only language that didn't lie. It responds to intent. It doesn't care about titles or history. It only cares about clarity."
Octavius's brow lifts. "That's… insightful. Most people talk about power. You talk about truth."
I shrug. "Truth is rare. Magic demands it."
We round the corner toward the central walkway. The sun dips lower, streaking the sky with rose and amber. He clears his throat. "So… what do you do when you're not studying or training?"
I consider. "I build wards around rooms. Sleep rituals. Sometimes, I walk the dunes. Listening."
He tilts his head. "Listening?"
"My elven ears pick up more than most. I hear whispers—trees, wind, people. Sometimes it's useful. Other times…it's a curse."
Octavius glances at me, as though seeing the weight behind my words. "I get that. I spend too much time with ledgers and numbers. I hear patterns where there are none." He laughs softly.
I smile more fully this time. "Well then, welcome to my world."
He returns my smile. "Thanks. Feyri, I—" He catches himself. "I'm glad we're friends."
I nod, amused by the simplicity of the moment. "Me too."
We fall into companionable silence. The campus feels warmer, more welcoming with another presence by my side.
After a few minutes, he stops at the entrance to the courtyard. "I should…" he begins, uncertain.
I settle into my stance. "You should whatever you need to do."
He straightens. "I'll see you around, then. Good rest of your day."
"Good day," I reply.
He gives a polite incline of his head and walks away, leaving me alone once more. But for the first time, I feel tethered—not by wards or routines, but by choice.
I watch his back until a bend in the path hides him. Then I turn and head back to my dorm, thoughts light. Friendship isn't effortless for me—trust doesn't come easily. But today, I let it in...
As the day continued on I felt more and more tired. I couldn't stop thinking about that night. I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the scar. I felt fear... I'm not prone to it since I've lived for more than one hundred years, but this time... It just happened.
My stomach rumbled during my break between classes. Sometimes on my break I would use my mana to create food and water but that leave sit with no taste. This time I went to the plaza, and for some reason I wanted to run into Selene and Jori...
I walk into the plaza and go to my usual food vendor. I order my usual, Onigiri and Ramen. I wait around for my food, and when I finally get it I walk around. I spot Selene and Jori and head over to them.
Selene is talking about the biscuits she's baking—spiced, with a hint of citrus—and Jori's teasing her about burning the last batch. I let their banter wash over me, content to listen. My cotton shirt clings lightly to my skin, warded for comfort, and the shorts I chose this morning are soft and quiet against my legs. I dressed for ease, not for show. No one's grading me today.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A familiar figure steps out from the shade of an archway—tall, composed, with a rolled star chart tucked under one arm.
Caelen.
He spots us and pauses, clearly not expecting company. His gaze flicks from Selene to Jori to me, and he offers a polite nod. "Afternoon."
Selene brightens immediately. "Caelen! Perfect timing."
Jori glances at Selene, then at me, then back at Caelen. I can see the idea forming between them before either speaks. I narrow my eyes slightly. I hadn't known they planned to invite him.
"We're stargazing tonight," Selene says, standing up and stepping forward just enough to be friendly without crowding. "East dunes. Meteor shower. You should come."
Caelen raises an eyebrow. "I thought that was tomorrow night."
Jori shakes her head. "Tonight's the peak. Feyri's bringing the runes." I'm not... "I've got the biscuits. Selene's got the tea. All we're missing is your telescope."
I glance at Caelen, watching his reaction. He's quiet for a moment, considering. Then he nods. "All right. I'll come. I've been meaning to recalibrate the lens anyway."
Selene claps her hands together, delighted. "Yes!"
I shift my satchel slightly. "You'll want to bring the reinforced tripod. The dunes shift more than the courtyard."
Caelen gives me a small smile. "Noted."
He sits downbeside us as we continue talking. The conversation turns to constellations—Selene asking about the myth behind Ariadne's Belt, Jori wondering if the meteors will be bright enough to cast shadows. Caelen answers patiently, his voice low and steady. I listen, occasionally adding a correction or detail when the lore veers too far into dramatics.
Halfway across the courtyard another figure approaches from the opposite direction, hair tousled, satchel slung over one shoulder, scrolls tucked under his arm.
Rowan.
He spots us and veers toward the group, eyes lighting up when he sees me. "Feyri," he says, breath catching slightly. "Hey."
I nod. "Rowan."
Selene and Jori exchange glances, clearly recognizing him. Jori leans toward Selene and whispers, not quietly enough. "That's him, right? From the Relay?"
Selene nods, smiling. "Definitely him."
Rowan hears them and offers a sheepish grin. "Guilty."
Jori steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. "You were incredible. That final weave? We were cheering so loud, I think the wards shook."
Rowan laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks. It was… a lot."
Selene tilts her head. "You're friends with Feyri?"
Rowan glances at me, then nods. "Yeah. We've trained together. She's helped me more than I can say."
I keep my expression neutral. Rowan's crush isn't exactly subtle, but I've never encouraged it. He's kind, earnest, and a little too eager. I respect him. I don't return the feeling at all.
Jori's eyes light up. "You should come stargazing with us tonight."
I blink. "Jori—"
She waves me off. "Come on, Feyri. He's already part of your circle."
Rowan looks at me, hopeful. "I'd like that. If it's okay?"
I sigh, not unkindly. "You have your exam tonight."
"Oh leave it to me," he promises. "Your teaching help me so much that I think that I'l ace this thing!"
Selene nods. "We'll save you a spot."
Rowan smiles, eyes lingering on me. "Thanks. I'll see you all tonight."
He turns and heads off toward the library, scrolls tucked under his arm. I watch him go, then glance at Jori.
"You didn't warn me."
Jori shrugs, unapologetic. "He's sweet. And he clearly likes you."
I exhale. "That's the problem."
Selene pats my shoulder—lightly, respectfully. "You don't have to like him back. But you don't have to be alone, either."
Caelen, who's been quiet through the exchange, speaks up. "He is sincere."
I nod. "He is."
We get up an walk together, the four of us, toward the dorms. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the stone. Selene talks about the tea blend she's preparing—rosewater and mint. Jori debates whether to bring a second blanket. Caelen asks about the wind patterns near the dunes, and I answer with the precision of someone who's studied them for years.
The conversation flows easily. No tension. No shadows. Just friends preparing for a night beneath the stars.
And for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.