The orchard stretched down the hill in neat, curving rows, the trees heavy with green apples that would soon ripen. The air carried a faint sweetness, but it wasn’t overpowering. Bees moved lazily between the blossoms, and the hum of their wings filled the quiet spaces between the rustle of leaves.

  Velthur sat under the tallest tree, cross-legged on a faded blanket. A half-eaten tart rested beside him, crumbs sprinkled across his tunic. The book open on his lap had stopped holding his attention some time ago. Its pages fluttered slightly with the breeze, but his thoughts were far from the words printed on them.

  A few yards away, two younger students from the college argued good-naturedly about the meaning of an inscription one of them had found on a cracked tablet from the archives.

  “I’m telling you, that’s not an Arnadic letter, it’s a druidic glyph,” said one boy, waving a stick like a pointer.

  The girl opposite him rolled her eyes. “You always say that when you don’t understand what you’re reading.”

  Velthur smiled faintly. Their voices were warm and alive, full of energy. He remembered what that felt like, being new to everything, terrified of being wrong but too curious to stay quiet. He had once been the boy sitting silently at the edge of every conversation, unsure when it was his turn to speak.

  Now, more often than not, the others came to him for answers.

  He reached for the tart again and took a small bite. The pastry was uneven and slightly burnt on the bottom, but it tasted good enough. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and squinted at the sky through the branches. The sunlight flickered in small bursts between the leaves.

  The apples were almost ready to pick. He made a mental note to come back in a few weeks and gather some. He wanted to bake a pie for the kitchen workers, they were always kind to him when he stayed up too late in the study halls. Nethira used to say that baking was a kind of alchemy, that it took patience, rhythm, and a willingness to fail before you could make something worth sharing.

  The thought of her made his chest tighten. She had left the college without saying much. No explanation, no promise of when she’d return, just a quiet look and a touch on the shoulder before she went.

  He knew she was with Maruzan.

  He told himself not to worry. He trusted them both. Maruzan always seemed calm, even when things went wrong. And Nethira was careful in ways most people weren’t. But something still pulled at him, like a thread that had been tugged too hard.

  He could feel it, the way the air around the college felt different lately. Tense, but not in a way you could name. Even the trees seemed to lean closer together, as if listening for news.

  The argument between the students quieted. The boy noticed Velthur watching and smiled awkwardly. “You think I’m right, don’t you?” he asked.

  Velthur blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “About what?”

  “The inscription,” the boy said. “It’s a rune, not a letter.”

  Velthur considered it for a moment, thinking of how Nethira used to explain the subtle differences. “Could be either,” he said. “Sometimes the old ones used both together. Depends on what they were trying to say.”

  The girl smirked. “So, neither of us is wrong.”

  “Or both of you are,” Velthur added, smiling.

  They laughed, and the sound carried across the grove.

  He felt lighter for a moment. The orchard had always been his favorite place to think. It was quiet without being empty, peaceful without being lonely. The college’s stone halls could feel heavy sometimes, filled with expectations and old echoes. But the orchard, this place, reminded him of simpler things.

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  He thought of his father again, of Maruzan’s way of saying little but meaning much. If he were here, Maruzan would probably tell him not to overthink it, to keep busy and trust people to do what they must. But that was hard for Velthur. Trusting meant waiting, and waiting meant worrying.

  He sighed softly and turned another page in his book without reading it.

  “Velthur?”

  The voice startled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Magister Justinus standing a few paces away, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His dark green robe caught bits of sunlight between the branches.

  “Yes, Magister?” Velthur said, sitting a little straighter.

  “You’re supposed to be in translation review,” Justinus said.

  “I know,” Velthur admitted. “I needed some air.”

  Justinus studied him for a moment. His expression softened. “I know the feeling.”

  The magister looked around, then, to Velthur’s surprise, lowered himself stiffly onto the blanket beside him. His knees cracked as he sat.

  Velthur tried to hide a smile. “Are you sure you should be sitting on the ground? The last time you did that, you needed help getting back up.”

  Justinus waved a hand. “I’ll risk it. Besides, I’m fond of this grove. My parents had an orchard not far from here. We sold cider to the city markets when I was your age.”

  Velthur turned toward him. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about old magisters,” Justinus said with a faint grin. “Most of us weren’t born in towers. We were farmers, traders, shepherds. Then one day we saw something that made us look at the world differently, and here we are.”

  Velthur nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder what I’d be if I hadn’t come here. If my father hadn’t brought us.”

  “Do you regret it?” Justinus asked.

  “No,” Velthur said quickly. Then, quieter, “But sometimes it feels like I’m standing still while everyone else is moving forward. Nethira, Xonya, Ennett… they all have something they’re chasing. I just study. I wait. I try not to get in the way.”

  Justinus took a deep breath. “You’re too young to think standing still means you’re not moving. Growth doesn’t always happen where others can see it. Sometimes it happens when you’re quiet enough to listen.”

  Velthur looked down at his hands. “I just don’t want to be useless.”

  “You’re far from that,” Justinus said. His tone was gentle but sure. “Every great mind I’ve ever taught has felt that same fear. The world changes, and they think they’ve missed their place in it. But people like you, you’re the ones who notice the change first. You’re the ones who write it down so the rest of us don’t forget.”

  They sat in silence for a long time after that. A robin hopped close to the blanket, watching them cautiously. Velthur tore off a crumb of his tart and placed it on the grass. The bird eyed it, then pecked once and darted away with it in its beak.

  The sound of laughter echoed faintly from the college courtyard in the distance.

  “Do you ever get the feeling,” Velthur said finally, “that things are changing faster than anyone realizes?”

  Justinus didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved toward the horizon where the trees met the pale blue of the sky.

  “Always,” he said quietly. “That’s how you know you’re paying attention.”

  Velthur nodded. “I miss them already.”

  “She’ll come back,” Justinus said. “They all will. And until then, the grove will keep watch. So will we.”

  Velthur smiled faintly, though the ache in his chest didn’t fade completely. “You sound sure of that.”

  “I am,” Justinus said. “I’ve seen this land change more times than I can count. It bends, it breaks, it heals again. People do too.”

  Velthur thought about that for a while. The trees rustled softly above them, as if agreeing.

  The sun had begun to tilt westward now, the light turning golden and long. The younger students packed up their books and headed toward the dormitories. Soon the grove would be empty except for him and the magister.

  “I should go back,” Velthur said at last, brushing crumbs from his tunic. “If I miss another review, they’ll dock my marks.”

  “Not yet,” Justinus said, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out another tart wrapped in a handkerchief and offered it to him. “Five more minutes won’t ruin your grades.”

  Velthur laughed. “You sound like Bram.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Justinus said, taking a bite of his own tart. “He has better stories than I do.”

  Velthur sat back down, accepting the pastry.

  For a little while longer, they stayed beneath the apple tree, talking about small things, recipes, old teachers, the best kind of cider. The world beyond the grove could wait.

  And though neither of them said it aloud, both knew that change was coming, whether they were ready or not.

  But for now, the orchard was calm, the sun still warm, and there was time left for one more tart.