I picked the stew for lunch. Delivered through the kitchen hatch in a shiny bowl on a wooden tray plus a chunk of bread, and it looked so much nicer than any I’d had before. You could even tell most of what was in it. I’d followed Holly here, and she hung around until I had my tray in hand. “I’m gonna sit over with Willow and Cinnamon. You coming?”

  "I… No thanks. I want to take some time for myself.”

  “No fuss. Come find me if you want anything. Ooh, maybe go see if the other Foresters wanna chat?”

  I swallowed grimly. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  I didn’t strictly know if I was allowed to eat outside, but no one yelled at me as I hefted the heavy double doors open with my back, and that was good enough for me. Growing up in Dreadfall, I’d figured anything was allowed until someone yelled at you for it. That’s how all the other kids seemed to live anyway.

  What lay before me, I decided, was called a lawn. Vast rectangles of grass as flat as an anvil’s face, like how they were described in the books. A few stray red leaves marked the faded green but already a dark-cloaked figure with a rake was bustling over to them. Might as well have been carrying a scythe. They swept across the path of the only others out here, a couple promenading side by side on a stretch of ashen gravel which led to a line of hedges sliced into perfect cubes. It’ll probably look much nicer in the greengrowth when I guess flowers will sprout from the few patches of soil still allowed to exist, and the brightness’s light brings out some colour in the place. It’ll be grey and drab and cold till then. So I called it a lawn: it felt more like a military cemetery than a garden.

  Is this really where I wanted to spend the year? Maybe years beyond? Paying by the knuckles for it the whole time as well? Not so much, but the second option was unconscionable, and the third was being arrested for desertion and working indentured in the mines of Exile for a decade.

  I could never fight, not after what happened to Omen so many years ago… I could never make myself fight.

  So that decided it. I’d sign the enrollment form when I got back to my windowless cell, get through the next three years surrounded by the arcanists, as weird and parsimonious and eccentric as we all knew them to be, and I’d have a chance to read, to learn; to breathe, to construct. To travel the words in the texts, to divine their meanings and finally in a place where another mind could confirm if I was right. Couldn’t shake the feeling there was something for me here – something deep in my bones, something calling me… And maybe after it all, I’d have a way out of the Wrevon Valley entirely. Migrate bird-like as the arcanists did. Somewhere far nicer. Something worth dreaming of.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I sat on a bench and ate my stew. Wasn’t as good as the ones I used to have.

  *

  'By writ of my signature, I hereupon avow to provide the sum of forty long-squares by the final day of the current amberfall semester this year, to the Affiliation of Arcane Institutions (Baronbridge). I also avow to adhere to all code of conduct legislation incumbent on me as a student of this Institute. I confirm understanding that any breach of this deemed flagrant or otherwise worthy will forfeit me all right of access to the location, the immediate cessation of tuition, and demands the repayment of all outstanding debt. This contract is upheld by First Chancellor Nightshade and the standing council of chancellors.’

  The flickering flames of the chandelier Holly lit earlier were lovely to read by, even if I had to guess at some meanings. Markedly less lovely was how at some point, my ink pot had leaked and spilled all over the inside of my kit bag. All my clothes were saturated. I pulled out two shirts and two sets of pants that looked like they’d had a meeting with a dangerous squid in a dark alley, and laid them on one of the spare beds.

  Really, the whole room was almost barren. Devoid of any personality. An empty shell of a space and a total downgrade even from the room I’d left in Dreadfall. Only a mechanical facsimile of the bird who used to chirp on my window sill every day – not that I had a window for her to visit anymore. Although actually, the number of unused beds had doubled, for whatever that was worth. Maybe that was my life’s path. Collecting empty beds.

  My mind dragged to the war front. How many empty beds would be left there already after only a week of battle? Had we lost anyone I knew? Omen? Or those scared, beleaguered faces I’d shared a wagon ride with. None of them should be fighting a war. All of them deserved far better. As did I, but that’s exactly where I’d be without the sanctuary of this place. Apprehended, admonished, and delivered to my fate.

  Spitting a curse under my breath, I pulled a dripping black sock from my kit, dipped my quill in it, and signed the form.

  *

  At the gatehouse, the clerk’s tight smile returned as I presented the sheet. She glanced down it, dipped it into a drawer in her cabinet. “Interesting name,” she said, rifling through another drawer.

  “Thanks. I got it for my birthday.”

  “You don’t have to keep every gift you receive.” She glided back to the desk like her chair was floating on a cloud – I glanced over; it actually was – and presented another sheet. A schedule. “My name’s Vick. I’ll be here most days, and you can either talk to me or Griffin if you get lost or stuck at any point.” I nodded, looking down through my days. I had a handful of classes per week of everything Holly had mentioned, split into theory and praxis, then some history classes, a few hours of free study, and one case study session on Hesserday. “That’s your Grosday through Hesserday booked for the next fifteen weeks. Or for you, twelve weeks minus one day, if you start tomorrow morning. You can use either Felday or Ressday for free study as well, but you’re expected to take at least one of them entirely away from all studies and workload. The mind of a mage is a much malaised thing. And even though it says free study, you can use it however you feel beneficial. No one’s going to check up on you unless you ask. We trust you to use the time and resources in whatever way you find effective. All clear?” I nodded again, my eyes finding tomorrow morning. Conjury, praxis. Holly said that was the fun one. “Indeed. I’ll pass word around for the professors to expect you.”