The gate came into view by midmorning.
Stone pillars, ward-lines faintly visible in the light — familiar yet reinforced by new runes cut along the perimeter.
The injured scout was conscious now, pale and silent, supported between Kayden and one of the guards who had met them halfway.
Xyrion took over without ceremony.
A brief exchange. Orders given. No questions asked in public.
“I’ll report,” he said, already turning the scout toward the inner path. His gaze flicked once to Lysara —then away.
And he was gone.
Back at the Academy, the procedures passed quickly.
Paperwork. Clearance. A quiet acknowledgment of a one-week reprieve before formal duties resumed.
Lysara listened, nodded, and followed instructions without comment.
Her dorm assignment had changed.
Lysara went to the old room first.
The door opened onto absence.
Tessa’s bed was stripped. Her trunk was gone. The shelves were bare where journals had once leaned in precarious stacks. Even the window latch — the one Tessa always complained about — had been fixed.
No note.
No sign of hesitation.
Lysara stood there longer than she meant to.
A quiet, unwanted thought surfaced.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
What if she told them.
She took a deep breath then closed the door carefully and went to Second floor.
The clerk at the assignment desk barely looked up.
“Single occupancy.” he said, sliding a key across the counter.
Lysara paused. “Single?”
A shrug. “That’s what’s available.”
The key felt too light for what it meant.
The room was larger than her old one. Higher ceilings. Two windows instead of one. The furnishings were newer, less worn by generations of restless students.
She unpacked slowly, deliberately, as though order could substitute for certainty. When the room refused to feel settled, she gave up and closed the door behind her.
Miranda looked up as Lysara entered, recognition immediate. Her gaze flicked briefly to the satchel at Lysara’s side—not curious. Acknowledging.
“Back already?” Miranda’s voice stayed mild, the kind that didn’t invite the room to listen in.
“Yes.”
Lysara reached into her satchel and pulled out the folded note. Valos’s handwriting made the paper feel heavier than it was.
“From Valos.”
Miranda took it without comment. Didn’t open it. Didn’t ask questions. Just turned it over once between her fingers.
“I’ll see to it,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Lysara nodded and moved on.
Some messages weren’t meant to be witnessed being read.
She took the familiar path toward the study room, at the end of the corridor, tucked away behind a narrow arch.
The door was ajar.
She stopped.
Listened.
Paper shifting. A pen scraping hard across wood. A breath that sounded like it had been dragged out of a chest and thrown.
Lysara pushed the door open.
Papers covered every surface.
Journals stacked unevenly. Loose pages scattered across the table and floor. Several books lay open at once, spines bent too far back, margins crowded with ink. Diagrams overlapped as if whoever had drawn them had stopped caring where one thought ended and the next began.
Tessa sat cross-legged amid the chaos, hair pulled back haphazardly, dark circles carved under her eyes. Her hands were ink-stained. Her sleeve cuff was ripped and she didn’t seem to notice.
She looked up slowly, as if surfacing from somewhere deep.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re back.”
Relief hit Lysara so fast it turned sharp.
“You moved out,” Lysara said. The words came flat. Safer that way.
Tessa blinked. Then frowned, genuinely confused.
“I moved,” she repeated, then gestured at the disaster around her. “I needed more space.”
Her gaze flicked to Lysara’s face, too quick to be casual, then down to her satchel.
“I think I found something,” Tessa said, already half-turning back toward the papers. “Or I’m very wrong. Either way, I wasn’t going to wait.”
Lysara stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The quiet of the corridor vanished.
The room was full now—of ink, and breath.
