Julian's eyes abruptly shot open as a sharp pain erupted from his stomach. The air left his lungs in a wheeze, and for a panicked second, he thought the roof had caved in. Instead, he found himself staring up at the beaming, gap-toothed face of his nine-year-old sister. "Morning, Julian!" Chloe Hayes chirped, her knees digging further into his solar plexus as she bounced with the relentless energy of a child who had been awake since dawn. "Get off," Julian managed to rasp. He tried to shove her aside, but she was anchored firmly to his torso. "Can't," she said, her tone matter-of-fact as she smoothed her skirt. "Mom said to wake you up. She said if I didn't, I wouldn't get any honey on my toast." "I'm awake. Now move before I make you." Chloe didn't budge. She seemed to find the squishy resistance of his stomach entertaining. Julian let out a low, dangerous growl. He gripped the edges of his mattress and, with a sudden, coordinated heave of his hips and arms, he flipped his entire body. Chloe let out a squeal as she was launched off the side of the bed, landing in a heap on the rug. Julian sat up, rubbing his midsection and glaring at her. "I'll remember this," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Next time you're sleeping, I'm bringing a bucket of well water." Chloe scrambled to her feet, dusting off her knees with a defiant toss of her hair. "You won't. You always sleep longer than everyone else anyway. Even Marcus used to be up by now, and he's famous." Julian swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the comparison to his eldest brother. He reached for his discarded tunic on the chair, but Chloe was already dancing around the foot of the bed, her eyes wide and unnervingly bright. "Are you excited about going back to the academy and learning magic?" she asked, her voice rising into that particular high-pitched whine she used when she wanted something. "Are you going to learn how to turn things into gold? Or how to fly? Can you make me fly?" Julian pulled the tunic over his head, his voice muffled by the fabric. "About what?" "Magic! The academy! Don't be boring, Julian." "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, popping his head through the neck hole and feigning a look of complete innocence. "I'm going to school to learn how to read books in dusty rooms. There's no magic involved. It's all a big lie to get us to leave the house." Chloe stomped her foot. "Liars don't get to go to the Arcane Institute of Northwood! Tell me something real!" "Go pester Garrett," Julian said, waving a dismissive hand toward the door. "He's in his fourth year. He probably knows spells that turn little sisters into quiet, well-behaved statues. Go see if he'll demonstrate." Chloe stuck her tongue out at him. "Garrett's already in the shower. And he actually likes talking to me." She dashed toward the door, stopping only to look back with a smirk. "I'm going to the bathroom first. Sucks to be you!" She bolted into the hallway, and a moment later, the heavy click of the bathroom lock echoed through the house. Julian sighed, the silence of his room offering little comfort. He began the ritual of packing. He pulled his trunk from the closet and started folding his robes, but when he reached for his desk, he stopped. His copy of *Foundations of Aethelian Invocation* was gone. So was his leather-bound notebook and his set of silver-nibbed pens. He didn't even have to think about where they were. He walked out of his room, crossed the hall, and pushed open the door to Chloe's bedroom. It smelled like lavender and old crayons. He knelt by her bed and reached under the frame, his fingers brushing against cold leather. He dragged out the missing textbooks and his writing supplies, which had been tucked behind a dollhouse. "Little thief," he muttered, tucking the books under his arm. He finished packing with a practiced, cynical efficiency. Once his trunk was latched, he headed downstairs. He didn't even finish his descent down the stairs and his mother had already found something about him she didn't like. She was standing at the foot of the staircase, arms crossed, her eyes scanning him like a hawk looking for a weak field mouse. "Julian," she said, her voice a long-suffering sigh that suggested his existence was a personal trial for her. "You cannot go out looking like that. We are a family of standing." Julian looked down at his comfortable, slightly faded travel tunic and sturdy trousers. "Nothing? I look like a person who is about to sit on a train for several hours." "You look like a stable hand," she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "The neighbors will see you leaving. The representatives at the Transit Hub will see you. Go back to your room and put on some proper attire. Something that reflects your status as a Hayes and a student of the Institute." Julian opened his mouth to argue, saw the set of her jaw, and decided it wasn't worth the delay. He turned around, marched back upstairs, and changed into a crisp, high-collared coat made of expensive wool, cinched with a belt that cost more than most people's monthly rent. When he returned downstairs, his mother gave a sharp, single nod of approval. "Better. Sit. Eat your porridge." Julian sat at the heavy oak table. A bowl of grey, lukewarm oats sat before him. He hadn't liked porridge since he was eight years old, a fact his mother chose to ignore every morning. He stared at the congealed surface for a moment, then held his hand over the bowl. He focused on the mana in his core, channeling a small, controlled burst of heat. The water in the oats began to bubble slightly, steam rising in a fragrant cloud as the porridge returned to a pleasant temperature. His mother watched him, her expression unreadable. Usually, she disapproved of "frivolous" magic in the house, but today she remained silent. That was the first sign. The second sign was the way she began to ramble about the quality of the grain this year and the upcoming social season in the capital. "Mother," Julian interrupted, his spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. "Get to the point or wait until I've finished. I have a train to catch." She paused, a small, tight smile flitting across her lips. "She did it again, didn't she? Chloe jumping on you?" "She's a menace," Julian said. "She's spirited," his mother corrected, her voice softening into a tone that Julian immediately recognized as her 'manipulative' register. "In fact, I've been thinking quite a bit about Chloe lately. Your father and I will be in Riva for six months. We're going to visit Marcus." Julian blinked. Marcus was the golden child, the famous pianist, the pride of the Hayes name. "Riva? That's across the sea. What's that got to do with me?" "We'll be there for about six months," she repeated, leaning forward. "And I'm worried about Chloe. She's only nine, Julian. She needs a firm hand, someone who knows the family expectations." Julian felt a cold pit form in his stomach. "I'm fifteen. I'm a student. I live in a dormitory." "Your father and I were already married when we were your age," she said dismissively, waving away his youth as if it were a minor clerical error. "Age is a matter of responsibility, not years." "Ask Garrett," Julian said, his voice rising in protest. "He's the older one. He's sociable. Chloe actually likes him." "Garrett is in his fourth year," his mother said, her voice turning stern. "He has to focus on his grades. This is a crucial year for his future placements." Julian snorted. "You mean he said no." She ignored the remark entirely, her gaze fixed on him. "I'm sure you're aware of how irresponsible Garrett can be at times. He lacks your... directness. He would let her run wild." "Mother, I'm fifteen," Julian said again, leaning back in his chair. "I am a certified first circle mage, yes, but I am still a student. I cannot look after a nine-year-old while trying to pass my own exams." "So? As I said, your father and I were already—" "I don't think I'm fit for that either," Julian said, his voice louder, defiant. "If Garrett is too busy, then I'm certainly too busy. I'm the one you're always telling to work harder, remember? I'm the one who 'lacks the natural grace of Marcus'. Maybe I should focus on that instead of babysitting." The kitchen door swung open, and Chloe skipped in, smelling of soap and mischief. "What are you talking about?" Julian looked her dead in the eye. "We were discussing what a rotten brat you are and how no one wants to be left alone with you for six months." Chloe's jaw dropped, and she looked at her mother for defense, but a sharp knock at the front door interrupted the burgeoning tantrum. Julian stood up, grateful for the escape. He walked to the foyer and pulled open the heavy door. Standing on the porch was a woman in her late twenties with sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles. She wore the dark, embroidered robes of a representative from the Arcane Institute of Northwood. "Julian Hayes?" she asked, her gaze appraising him with a professional coolness. "Uh, yeah?" Julian said, his brow furrowing. "Can I help you?" "I am Stella Vance," she said, offering a small, polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm here on behalf of the Institute. You aren't in trouble, I assure you. I'm here to discuss your certification results. I apologize for the delay in reaching you; the administrative offices have been swamped this season." Julian stepped back. "May I come in?" she asked. "Come in," Julian said, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness. "Sorry. Please." He led her into the kitchen. His mother's eyes lit up at the sight of the academy robes, her posture instantly shifting into that of a gracious hostess. However, Stella Vance was not interested in social niceties. After the briefest of introductions, she turned to Julian's mother. "I'm afraid I must ask for a private discussion with Julian," Stella said. "The details of student certifications and mentor assignments are strictly confidential until the term begins." Julian's mother didn't even blink. She quickly decided she had to go to the town market and took Chloe with her—despite the girl's loud protests—leaving Julian alone in the house with the mage. Stella promptly scattered various papers across the kitchen desk, her movements efficient and practiced. "You already know you passed the certification," she said, not looking up. "Yes, I got the written notice," Julian said, sitting across from her. "Good. This is the formal confirmation." She handed him a thick, cream-colored scroll sealed with a complex wax sigil. Julian looked at the seal. It wasn't just wax; he could feel the faint hum of a locking ward embedded in the material. It was a test. He focused, drawing a thin thread of mana from his core and channeling it into the seal. The wax glowed blue for a heartbeat and then dissolved into fine dust. He unrolled the scroll, seeing his name printed in elegant Aethelian script. It was his proof of identity as a certified first circle mage. "You don't really have to pick up your badge until you finish school," Stella said, watching him carefully. "But having the scroll is a legal requirement for travel as a recognized practitioner." She pulled out another document. "You lived in academy housing for the past two years. I assume you intend to continue?" "Yes," Julian said. "The commute from here would be impossible." "Excellent." She reached into a small pouch and pulled out a key. It wasn't iron or brass; it looked like it was carved from a single piece of translucent quartz. "Housing for third years works differently. You've earned a bit more privacy, and with that comes a need for greater security. These locks are keyed to your specific mana signature." Julian took the key. It felt warm in his hand. He channeled a pulse of mana into it, and golden lines of light flared deep within the stone, mapping out the intricate internal wards. "The new dorms are in the west wing," Stella continued. "Now, we'll jump straight to the main reason I'm here: your mentor and electives. Your train leaves soon, so we must be brief." Julian sat up straighter, his heart accelerating. This was the moment that decided the next two years. "Which mentors can I choose from?" Stella sighed, a look of genuine apology crossing her face. "I'm afraid the choice has been somewhat narrowed for you, Julian. Due to the delay in your paperwork processing—and your late certification date—all but one of the mentors have filled their quota for the year." Julian felt a sinking sensation. "And this mentor is?" "Arthur Chen," Stella said. Julian groaned, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. "Arthur Chen? The man who hasn't published a paper in a decade? The one they say drinks tea while his students try to stop their robes from catching fire?" "It's not that bad," Stella said, though her tone lacked conviction. "He is a brilliant theorist, Julian. His methods are... unconventional, perhaps, but effective for the right kind of mind." "I don't suppose there is any chance to transfer?" Julian asked, snorting. "Not really. Not until the mid-term evaluations, and even then, only if another mentor has a vacancy. Which is unlikely." Julian leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Arthur Chen was widely considered the worst mentor in the entire Institute. He was famous for his lack of interest in teaching and his tendency to bark orders at students before disappearing for days at a time. "What about electives?" Julian asked, his voice resigned. Stella handed him another scroll, this one much longer. "You can choose up to five, but no less than three electives this year. You have the standard options: Advanced Aethelian, Practical Alchemy, Mana Shaping, and so on. Look them over. You can switch later if you find the workload too much, but you must register your initial choices upon arrival." Julian looked at the list. The names of the classes blurred together. Between the prospect of being Chloe's guardian and being mentored by Arthur Chen, the academic year was looking like a disaster before it had even begun. "Would you mind if we take a short break?" Julian asked, rubbing his temples. "I'm a bit overwhelmed." "Of course not," Stella said, gathering her papers. "I really need to go to the bathroom," Julian added, standing up. He fled the kitchen, splashng cold water on his face in the upstairs bathroom. He had to get out of this house. He had to get to the academy. Maybe once he was within the stone walls of Northwood, things would make sense again. An hour later, Julian trailed after his family in silence as they entered Aethel's train station. The air was thick with the smell of coal smoke and the frantic energy of hundreds of students and parents. He ignored Garrett's exuberant greeting of some 'friends' of his—a group of fourth-years who looked far too cheerful for a Monday morning. Garrett's loud laughter echoed through the vaulted terminal, a boisterous sound that drew eyes from across the platform. He was charming, handsome, and utterly unbothered by the weight of the Hayes name. Julian remembered his father's jokes about how Garrett had inherited the family's social grace while Julian had inherited their grandfather's sour disposition. The train arrived with a screech of iron on iron. It was a massive machine, powered by techno-magic engines that hummed with a low-frequency vibration Julian could feel in his teeth. Steam billowed from the vents, smelling faintly of ozone. Julian boarded as quickly as he could, hauling his trunk into a compartment near the back of the carriage. He found one that was empty and slumped into the plush velvet seat, staring out the window as his mother and Chloe waved from the platform. The train lurched forward, departing for Veridia. Julian tried to sleep, but the journey was fitful. Every time he drifted off, the station announcer's magically amplified voice would boom through the carriage, waking him with a start. "Oakhaven Station! All passengers for Oakhaven, please prepare to disembark!" Julian released a long sigh of irritation and opened his eyes. He looked out at the Oakhaven platform. It was an identical copy of the Aethel station—same grey stone, same arched roof, same sense of organized chaos. A large crowd of students was waiting to board, mostly first-years looking terrified and carrying trunks that were far too big for them. The door to his compartment slid open. A young girl with pigtails and a nervous expression looked in. "Um, excuse me?" Julian looked at her. "Yes?" "You're one of the upperclassmen, aren't you?" she asked, her eyes darting to the silver trim on his sleeve. "I suppose you could describe me as such," Julian said cautiously. "Can you show us any magic?" she asked, her face lighting up with eager curiosity. Two other girls poked their heads in behind her. "No," Julian said flatly. "Oh." Her face fell. "Is it because of the wards? My brother said the train has mana-disrupting wards so people don't accidentally blow up the engine." "That, and I'm not a performing monkey," Julian said. "Besides, you wouldn't understand the mana shaping required anyway." "Mana shaping?" the girl asked, her voice cautious. Julian raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what mana is?" "Magic?" she guessed. It was a lame answer. "No, it's what powers magic," Julian grunted. "It's the raw energy. Magic is the result of shaping that energy through intent and incantation. If you don't know that, you're going to have a very long first week." He slid the door shut, but it didn't stay closed for long. A chubby girl joined his compartment, followed by four loud girls who spent the next two hours gossiping about boys and the quality of the academy's food. Julian pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, counting the miles. By the time the train reached Veridia, he was ready to jump off while it was still moving. With a lot of squealing and steam-letting, the train stopped at Veridia Transit Hub. Julian disembarked as fast as he could, pushing past the awed first-years staring at the sight before them. The Transit Hub was a marvel—a giant tunnel of glass and steel that connected five different lines, filled with the constant roar of engines and the chatter of thousands. Julian bought a loaf of crusty bread from a vendor, tearing off a piece as he headed toward the central plaza. He needed a moment of peace before the final leg of the journey to the academy grounds. The Veridia Central Plaza was usually a nice place to relax, centered around a large marble fountain. But as Julian approached, he froze. A swarm of rats was scurrying across the cobblestones. These weren't normal rats. Their fur was patchy, and their skulls appeared to be translucent, revealing pulsing, exposed brains that glowed with a sickly green light. Julian didn't wait to see if they were hostile. He turned and fled in a dead sprint, his heavy boots clattering against the stone until he reached the relative safety of the main thoroughfare. He took a shortcut toward the academy, passing a small creek that ran through the outskirts of the city. He heard a high-pitched wailing and saw a girl about Chloe's age standing by the muddy bank. "The bike! It fell in!" she wailed, pointing at a splash of red metal submerged in the murky water. Julian stopped, looking at the bike and then at his clean, expensive coat. "Wonder how that happened?" he asked, his tone dry. "It fell in!" she repeated, her eyes red from crying. Julian sighed. He looked around to make sure no teachers were watching—using magic in public was technically frowned upon for students—and then stepped to the edge of the creek. "I'll get it out," he said. "You'll get dirty," the girl said quietly, sniffing. "Don't worry, I have no intention of wading through that mud," Julian said confidently. He extended his right palm toward the water. He didn't use an incantation; for something this simple, raw mana shaping was enough. He felt the repelling force emanate from his palm, locking onto the frame of the bicycle. With a slow, lifting motion, he pulled. The bike rose out of the water, shedding globs of mud and weeds. It hovered in the air for a moment, dripping, before Julian guided it gently onto the grass at the girl's feet. "There," he said. "Wow," she whispered. Julian didn't wait for a thank you. He turned and kept walking. He had been planning to go back to the fountain, but decided against it. Instead, he joined a line of students heading toward the academy as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall. He pulled a small apple from his bag and practiced a basic mana shaping exercise, making the fruit levitate a few inches above his palm as he walked. He watched the other students huddling under umbrellas or pulling up their hoods. "Magic can be such a rip-off at times," he muttered to himself, feeling the dampness start to seep into his shoulders. There were spells to boil oceans and level mountains, but apparently, no one had bothered to invent a simple, portable rain protection spell for a first circle mage. As he reached the gates of the Northwood College of Magic, he stopped. He was bracing himself for the downpour to get worse, but as he stepped across the threshold of the stone archway, the sound of the rain vanished. "Huh. So there is a rain protection spell," mumbled Julian. He looked up. He could see the raindrops splattering upon an invisible barrier just a few feet above his head, sliding off into drainage channels built into the perimeter walls. The academy grounds looked different. There were new wards glowing on the library towers, and the stone paths seemed to have been treated with some kind of anti-slip enchantment. He spent the next two hours at the administration building, weaving through lines of students to complete his housing paperwork and elective registration. By the time he was handed his new rule book, his head was spinning. He found his new room in the west wing. It was spacious—much larger than his old dorm—and featured a private bathroom with a tub. He dropped his luggage on the floor with a heavy thud and collapsed onto the bed without even taking off his boots. The room was silent. He couldn't hear the wind or the rain, only the faint, rhythmic hum of the academy's central mana font. That rain barrier was impressive. "I've got to learn how to cast that," he mumbled into his pillow. He thought about the list of electives in his bag, the looming shadow of Arthur Chen, and the six months of Chloe he was supposed to endure. But for now, the bed was soft, and the room was warm. Julian closed his eyes, intending to nap until morning. ════════════════════════════════════════