An hour slipped by easily, the kind of hour that didn't feel like an hour at all — trunks fully unpacked now, robes hung, the five of them sprawled across their respective beds in various states of laziness while the conversation wandered wherever it pleased.
It was Kaelion who steered it somewhere new, glancing around the room first as though making sure no one important was listening.
"Is it really true that almost every girl in this academy is beautiful? I swear I haven't seen a single plain face since we got here."
Sylas scratched the back of his head, considering the question with more seriousness than it probably deserved. "I don't think it's every girl. But—" he shrugged, "—there are a lot of good-looking guys here too, if we're being fair about it."
Then, without warning, he swung his arm out and pointed directly at Azraeth.
"He's one of them."
The room exploded into laughter almost instantly — Kaelion nearly choking on it, Eryndor's composed exterior cracking into a wide grin, even Lorian's shoulders shaking silently from where he sat.
Azraeth felt heat creep up the back of his neck, his ears warming despite himself. "What? Did you suddenly turn gay?"
That only made it worse. Kaelion doubled over, Sylas wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and Lorian — actually laughing now, a rare enough sight that Sylas pointed at him mid-laugh as if to document it for later.
"Of course not," Sylas managed, once he'd caught his breath.
A beat passed.
Then, with a face so straight it looked almost surgical, he added, "Maybe."
The room fell apart again. Kaelion pointed at him, laughing too hard to finish his own sentence. "Wait— are you— are you serious right now—"
Azraeth shook his head slowly, a helpless smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. "If you're not, have you already picked one of those beautiful girls out for yourself?"
Sylas let out a long, theatrical sigh, flopping backward onto his bed with both arms spread wide. "I wish. But I don't even know any of them yet."
Eryndor, leaning back comfortably against the frame of his chair, lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "What can we even do about it, though? They're not ours."
The room went quiet for exactly one second.
"...True," Sylas said, and the word alone was enough to set off another round of laughter, everyone nodding along with the kind of solemn agreement usually reserved for far more important truths.
When the laughter finally settled into contented quiet, Azraeth found himself glancing toward Kaelion and Eryndor, a small curiosity surfacing that he hadn't gotten around to asking yet.
"Kaelion. How long have you and Eryndor known each other?"
Kaelion let out a short giggle before answering, entirely unbothered. "Honestly? We met earlier today. We just happened to arrive at the academy at the exact same time."
Eryndor nodded to confirm it, calm as ever.
The room went still with genuine surprise — Sylas sitting halfway up, Lorian actually turning his head to look at them properly.
Then Sylas broke into a grin. "So fate really brought you two together, huh."
Azraeth, without missing a beat, added, "I'll be the priest at your wedding."
The dorm erupted — Kaelion practically falling off the edge of his bed, Sylas howling into his pillow, Lorian laughing outright now, unrestrained for once, and even Eryndor — steady, composed Eryndor — threw his head back and laughed properly, the sound unfamiliar coming from him but no less genuine for it.
Azraeth laughed along with them, but somewhere beneath the noise, a quieter thought settled into place, warm and unfamiliar in its own way.
I might not be walking this path alone after all.
It wasn't a grand realization. It didn't arrive with any particular weight. It simply sat there, gentle and certain, as he looked around the room at four faces he'd known for less than a single day and somehow already trusted.
Then, breaking the moment entirely, Eryndor's stomach growled — loud, unmistakable, echoing across the sudden lull in conversation.
Silence.
Four pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Eryndor's ears reddened slightly, though his expression remained admirably composed. Before anyone could say anything, the low, resonant toll of the academy bell rolled through the window, right on cue.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Perfect timing."
"What's happening?" Azraeth asked.
"Dinner time," Eryndor said, already rising and reaching for his satchel. "Let's head to the dining hall. I'm starving."
Kaelion was on his feet before he'd even finished the sentence. "Okay, let's go."
The dining hall revealed itself long before they reached its doors — first as noise, a low roar of overlapping conversation drifting down the corridor, then as scent, rich and layered, roasted meat and fresh bread and something sweet baked into a crust somewhere beneath it all.
Stepping through the arched entrance, Azraeth found himself momentarily still, taking it in. The hall stretched wide and impossibly high, ceilings vaulted and strung with softly glowing orbs that mimicked the warm color of late sunlight regardless of the hour outside. Long tables ran in even rows across the polished stone floor, already filling with students in the same charcoal-and-blue academy robes, laughter and chatter rising and falling like tide against the walls. Hundreds of them, easily — a river of noise and motion that somehow never quite tipped into chaos.
The line toward the serving counters moved steadily, students chatting idly as they shuffled forward, and it was there that Azraeth first noticed the kitchen itself — or rather, the absence of one in any form he recognized.
Instead of chefs standing over open flame, there stood a row of ten chefs in matching aprons, hands raised over covered trays, fingers trembling with a faint, near-invisible vibration that hummed audibly if you listened closely enough. Beside them stood another ten, palms crackling faintly with threads of contained lightning, guiding precise arcs of heat down onto the same trays with total, practiced calm.
Azraeth watched, quietly fascinated, piecing it together on his own. The Sound Element chefs seemed to vibrate the food fast enough to heat it clean through — instant, where an oven would have taken far longer — before passing each tray off to the Lightning chefs, who sealed the heat in with careful, measured arcs so nothing overcooked. A tray of what looked like roasted root vegetables hummed faintly under one chef's hands before being passed seamlessly to the chef beside her, thin white arcs licking briefly across the surface before the whole thing was handed off, steaming, to the counter.
No one else in line seemed to find it remarkable at all. Students chatted over homework, gossiped about upcoming exams, laughed about something that had happened in Section C — utterly unbothered by twenty elemental chefs cooking dinner for the entire academy as casually as if they were simply plating food from a stove.
Completely normal, Azraeth thought, faint amusement rising in his chest. Just another Tuesday here, apparently.
By the time they reached the front, their trays were heavy with roasted meat, fresh bread still warm enough to release steam when broken open, and vegetables glistening faintly from whatever seasoning had been worked into them. Azraeth's stomach reminded him, rather insistently, that it had been a long day.
They turned from the counter, trays in hand, scanning the sea of full tables for anywhere five seats might still be open together.
That was when it happened.
A girl a few paces ahead of them — talking animatedly with a friend, not watching her own feet — caught the edge of her sandal against an uneven stretch of floor and stumbled forward with a small gasp, her tray tipping violently from her hands.
Azraeth moved before he'd consciously decided to.
His hand shot out, catching the plate cleanly just before it would have hit the ground, food and all, the motion so quick and so quiet that not a single head nearby turned to look. He set it gently back into her outstretched hands as she caught her balance, the whole exchange lasting no more than a second and a half.
The girl blinked up at him, startled, cheeks coloring slightly. "Oh— thank you," she said quickly, quietly, before hurrying back toward her friends with the plate steady in her grip once more.
Azraeth simply nodded, unbothered, and kept walking as though nothing at all had happened.
He didn't notice the pair of sapphire-blue eyes that had caught the entire thing from several tables away.
Aevia had been idly scanning the crowd, half-listening to Ariselle's chatter beside her, when the small flicker of motion caught her attention — a boy's hand snapping out fast enough to save a stranger's dinner, then withdrawing just as quickly, seeking no attention at all for it.
She watched him a moment longer than she meant to, something quiet and thoughtful settling behind her eyes as he continued on, entirely unaware he'd been seen.
What a good person, she thought, and then let her attention drift back to Ariselle, filing the small moment away without another word.
By now the five of them had circled half the hall, trays balanced carefully, scanning row after row of tables occupied ten students deep — five facing five, no exceptions, no gaps.
"There," Lorian said finally, nodding toward the far corner.
A single table sat with exactly five empty seats on one side, the only such table left in the entire hall. Relief passed visibly across all their faces, and they started toward it without hesitation, already imagining the weight leaving their arms.
They were perhaps ten steps away when Sylas slowed first.
Then Kaelion.
Then Azraeth's own gaze finally settled properly on the opposite side of the table — the five seats already filled, five faces already turned in easy conversation with one another.
All girls.
The five of them stopped walking entirely, trays still balanced in their hands, standing frozen in the middle of the dining hall's noise and motion.
No one said a word.