The knock came just as Sebastian finished forcing his trunk shut.
Three sharp raps against the door.
Sebastian glanced at Aldric. "Efficient place."
Aldric crossed the room and opened it.
A tall man in university livery stood outside, posture straight, expression neutral.
"New students of Room 214?" he asked.
"Yes," Aldric replied.
"You are to report to the Administrative Building immediately. Class registration and uniform collection."
He handed them two folded slips bearing the university crest.
"Do not be late."
Then he left without another word.
Sebastian gave a low whistle once the footsteps faded.
"No breathing room, huh?"
Aldric closed the door. "It appears not."
The walk across campus was livelier than before.
Students moved in clusters now — some already forming alliances, others walking alone with guarded expressions.
Sebastian walked with an easy stride, hands loosely in his pockets.
"So," he began, glancing sideways at Aldric, "have you decided?"
"Decided?"
"What you're registering for."
Aldric said nothing.
Sebastian continued anyway.
"I'm taking Basic Swordsmanship, obviously. Strategy and Political Theory. Maybe Advanced Military History if they let first-years in."
He spoke quickly — not nervously, but energetically.
"My father says understanding war is just as important as fighting it. And if this place is as competitive as it looks, I'd rather not be unprepared."
He nudged Aldric lightly with his elbow.
"What about you?"
The question lingered.
Aldric looked ahead at the towering administrative building in the distance.
He had been sent here with expectation.
With legacy.
But what did he want?
The thought felt strangely hollow.
"I haven't decided," Aldric admitted.
Sebastian blinked.
"You're joking."
"No."
A short pause.
"That's… surprising," Sebastian said honestly. "Most of the nobles I know have their entire lives mapped out before they can write their own names."
Says the royal… Aldric's expression didn't change.
"Yes."
Sebastian studied him briefly, then shrugged.
"Well. You've got until we reach that building."
He pointed ahead.
"Time to choose the next years of your life."
Aldric felt that faint pressure again beneath his skin.
Four years.
If things remained that simple.
The Administrative Building was far more imposing up close.
Tall columns framed the entrance, carved with crests of past benefactors. Students filtered inside beneath their shadow like applicants entering judgment rather than education.
Just before they stepped through the doors, Sebastian slowed.
"I see some familiar faces," he muttered, scanning the crowd.
Across the courtyard, a small group of well-dressed students waved him over.
He looked back at Aldric.
"I'll meet you inside."
It wasn't dismissal — just social gravity pulling him elsewhere.
Aldric nodded. "Go."
Sebastian jogged off, already slipping into easy conversation.
Aldric entered alone.
Inside, the lobby was vast and echoing. Students were directed into a large presentation hall where rows of chairs faced a raised platform.
A woman stood at the center.
Tall. Severe posture. Dark hair pulled tightly back. Thin spectacles resting low on her nose.
When the murmurs grew too loud, she didn't shout.
She simply waited.
Silence eventually bent toward her.
"Welcome to Academic Registration," she began. Her voice was sharp, controlled. "You will select your foundational discipline today."
She gestured toward a large board behind her where subjects were listed in clean gold lettering.
Alchemy
Political Science
Theatre and Performance
Natural Philosophy
Military History
Swordsmanship
Economics
Architecture
Medicine
Literature
Engineering
Merchant studies
Forging
Theology
Geography
Greek
Latin
Agriculture
"Cambridge does not tolerate indecision," she continued. "Your selection determines your primary track. You may supplement with electives. But understand this — your performance here will follow you long after you leave these walls."
Her eyes swept the room.
"Choose wisely."
Students began whispering immediately.
Some excited. Some anxious.
Aldric remained still.
He felt eyes on him.
Not hostile.
Avoidant.
He turned slightly and realized something.
The empty seats weren't around him.
They were around someone else.
A young man sat two chairs away.
Black hair. Green eyes. Slight build. A faint scar visible near his collar when he shifted.
He was dressed properly — not poorly — but there was something about him that marked him as different.
Foreign.
Immigrant.
The students near him had deliberately left a quiet gap.
Aldric watched as one noble-born boy subtly shifted his chair farther away.
The young man noticed.
He pretended not to.
Their eyes met briefly.
There was no shame in his expression.
Just awareness.
Aldric moved.
He stepped over and sat in the empty chair beside him.
The reaction was subtle but immediate — a flicker of surprise from those watching.
The young man glanced sideways.
"You don't have to," he said quietly.
"I know," Aldric replied.
A pause.
"Choi Kang-Soo," the young man offered.
"Aldric Ashcombe."
Kang-Soo's eyes sharpened slightly at the surname.
"Ah."
Not impressed.
Not intimidated.
Just calculating.
"You're undecided," Kang-Soo said after a moment, glancing toward the board.
Aldric blinked.
"How—"
"You've been staring at the subjects for five minutes."
Aldric allowed himself the faintest hint of amusement.
"And you?" he asked.
Kang-Soo looked back at the board.
"Something practical."
His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh — restless, measured.
"Something that doesn't rely on lineage."
Behind them, a few students whispered again.
Not loud enough to confront.
Just enough to exclude.
Aldric felt the faint pressure beneath his skin stir once more.
Not from hunger.
From irritation.
The stern attendant closed her ledger with a sharp snap.
"Stand."
Chairs shifted in unison.
"You will now proceed to the registration floor. Your selections will be recorded officially. Once chosen, changes require faculty approval."
There was something final in her tone.
The students moved as directed, guided into a long chamber lined with tall desks and ink-stained clerks.
Names were called one by one.
Sebastian stepped forward first.
He didn't hesitate.
"Political Science. Military History. Swordsmanship. Geography. Theology. Greek. Economics. Latin."
The clerk's brows lifted slightly at the number of selections.
"Ambitious."
Sebastian smiled faintly. "Prepared."
He stepped aside.
Choi Kang-Soo followed.
His voice was quieter, but steady.
"Alchemy. Natural Philosophy. Swordsmanship. Architecture. Literature. Merchant Studies. Theology. Agriculture."
Practical.
Balanced between intellect and survival.
The clerk nodded without comment.
Then—
"Aldric Ashcombe."
The room seemed to listen.
Aldric stepped forward.
"Alchemy. Swordsmanship. Military History. Medicine. Theology. Literature. Geography. Architecture."
A wider range than expected.
Not purely political.
Not purely martial.
The clerk recorded it carefully.
As Aldric stepped aside, his gaze drifted across the chamber.
That was when he saw her.
A girl standing three spaces down.
Golden blond hair.
Blue eyes.
The resemblance was unsettling.
Not identical — but close enough that if one looked quickly, they would mistake her for Sebastian.
She carried herself differently though.
Sharper.
More restrained.
Her voice was calm when her name was called.
"Alchemy. Political Science. Natural Philosophy. Military History. Swordsmanship. Medicine. Merchant Studies. Greek. And an elective — Advanced Greek."
The clerk blinked.
"Noted."
She turned slightly after finishing.
For a brief second, her eyes met Aldric's.
Not curious.
Not shy.
Measuring.
Aldric glanced toward Sebastian.
He hadn't noticed her.
Or perhaps he was pretending not to.
Uniform bundles were distributed — deep navy coats with silver stitching, the Cambridge crest embroidered at the breast. Structured. Formal. Identical.
Identity reduced to fabric.
Students filtered out of the chamber in groups.
Sebastian rejoined them near the exit.
"Finished?" he asked.
"Yes," Aldric replied.
Kang-Soo adjusted the folded uniform beneath his arm. "Efficient system."
They stepped back into the open air.
The sun had shifted lower now, casting long shadows across the courtyard.
For a moment, everything felt ordinary.
Students comparing schedules.
Laughing.
Arguing over workload.
But Aldric's thoughts lingered on the girl.
The resemblance wasn't coincidence.
It was too precise.
And as they walked back toward the dormitory, he couldn't shake the quiet sense that this place—
Cambridge—
Was not assembling students.
It was assembling pieces.