Descending the familiar stone staircase into the dungeons, I found myself reaching an unsettling conclusion: I was starting to like this gloomy castle.

  Yes, the walls were dark, the lamps barely did their job, and every shadow looked like it might leap out and punch you in the face. But at least it was familiar now. On my first day, the Academy had felt ready to swallow me whole without so much as chewing. Now, I was almost beginning to feel like part of it.

  Almost.

  The ghost guarding the castellan’s dungeon no longer terrified me the way it had before. If anything, I was half-considering greeting him like a neighbour in the stairwell. He gave me a lazy bow, chains clanking, with the enthusiasm of someone deeply unimpressed by existence itself, and let me pass. I briefly wondered what ghosts were paid for jobs like this. If anything.

  “Morning,” I said cheerfully. “How’s work? They not overworking you, are they?”

  The ghost sighed as though utterly exhausted by existence itself, rattled his chain, and dissolved into the wall, making it clear that conversation was not happening today.

  “Fair enough,” I muttered, shrugging, and continued deeper into the dungeon toward the castellan’s office.

  I soon reached the familiar heavy door, crudely scratched with inscriptions that I now suspected weren’t artistic flourishes at all, but the accumulated rage of students who’d been kept waiting too long. Castellan Dominic never hurried, and he made no exception for me. Minutes dragged by like chewing gum stuck to a shoe, until the door finally creaked open.

  The house spirit looked like the physical embodiment of every stereotype about grumpy old goblin. Small, hunched, with a permanent scowl, and skin like the bark of an ancient tree. His voice creaked as though each word caused him personal pain.

  “Oh. You again,” he grumbled as I approached the counter. “What do you want this time?”

  “Everything I’m entitled to,” I replied brightly, like an exemplary student.

  “Bedding. Uniform. And my room key.”

  Dominic clicked his tongue, as if someone had just stolen his sweetroll

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  “Uniform. Bedding. Keys,” he repeated sourly. “All at once, then.”

  I nodded and braced myself.

  Right on cue, he shuffled off into the depths of his storeroom, muttering about the Academy falling into chaos, the youth having no respect, and how things were better in his day. Even the flies were probably more polite back then.

  While he rummaged, I studied the walls, lined with ancient portraits of former castellans. Stern house spirits glared down at me as though I’d come to burn their precious archives.

  Eventually, Dominic returned and dumped a pile of fabric onto the counter.

  “There. Sort the sizes yourself,” he snapped, then shoved a key at me. It looked old enough to qualify as a historical artefact.

  “Bedding’s over there. Take it and get lost.”

  I scooped everything up and headed for the door.

  “Thank you for the warm welcome, house spirit Dominic!” I called back sweetly.

  “Get out!” he barked. “And I’m not a house spirit, I’m a castle spirit! This is a castle, got it?!”

  First-year students lived in the Academy’s central tower, which sounded prestigious until you realised it was actually a practical joke. The spiral staircase stretched upward like an endurance test designed by a sadist. Laden with bedding and uniform, I hauled myself up step by step, cursing every curve of stone. The bag dug into my shoulder, and the stairs seemed determined to trip me.

  “Who, in their right mind, puts first-years up here?” I muttered, pausing to catch my breath.

  “No lifts. Skeletons, magic, living portraits — but basic convenience? Absolutely not.”

  Speaking of skeletons, I certainly wouldn’t have refused the help of a skeletal servant offering to carry my belongings.

  Naturally, none appeared.

  My room was even worse than I’d expected. Bare stone walls. A narrow bed by the window. A crooked little wardrobe that leaned like it had given up on life. In the corner stood a wooden desk and a single wobbly chair that had clearly peaked about a century ago. On the desk lay a mouldy parchment covered in ink blots, as if someone had aggressively doodled out of boredom.

  I couldn’t help remembering Elvira’s spacious, cosy room with its proper furniture and soft bed, and concluded that first-years were very much not the Academy’s priority.

  “Well,” I sighed, surveying my kingdom, “hello, dream accommodation. And they say magical academies are luxurious. If only they knew.”

  I dropped the bag onto the bed and started unpacking. Mattress cover, duvet — I wasn’t completely useless. But the moment I bent down to smooth the fabric, something hissed beneath the bed.

  I jumped back, my heart pounding wildly. The hiss turned into a guttural growl, and it was clear that something — or rather, someone — was seriously displeased. I took a few cautious steps back and leaned down, peering into the shadows.

  Two glowing green eyes stared back at me. Vertical pupils. Pure, feral hostility. Then sharp fangs flashed in a silent snarl.

  “Oh damn…” I muttered, taking another step back.

  It seemed my new home already had an occupant.