Benji had been trying to open his dorm room door for an hour, and was on the brink of giving up. He leaned against it, staring daggers at the key. It was obviously the right key, yet no matter what he tried, no matter the direction he jiggled the mechanism or which way he turned the key—in conjunction with said jiggling—nothing worked. The thought of going back to Frederick to ask for help was far too painful to even consider. Maybe he could be not only the oldest new student in the dorm, but also the only one to live in the hallway rather than an actual room.

  The heavy back door opened, sending piercing light into the hall. Two mages entered. They were both at least five years younger than Benji—probably eighth- or ninth-years—but each radiated confidence an power, sporting fitted mage’s robes with high collars and dappled lightworkings. The woman in front had a darker complexion and thick-framed glasses. Her hair rose in manicured bunches of curls on one side and was secured flat against her head with a row of clips on the other. Her crisp steps echoed with confidence.

  “We don’t have to rush,” the woman was saying. “No one’s ever on time for the first meeting of the year.”

  “That’s not exactly the example I want to be setting,” the man said. Benji had not recognized the woman, but with a start realized he did recognize the man. He had seen his brown eyes and sharp gaze staring out of pamphlets all around the campus, and even a couple times in the city newspapers. This was Talarus, the Preeminent Mage.

  The pair stopped as they reached Benji. He stared up from his embarrassing position into the eyes of the student who, by a combined vote of the professors, students, and magic itself, was considered to be the best mage at the university.

  “I didn’t know we had a new hallmate,” Talarus said, reaching down to shake Benji’s hand. “I’m Tal.”

  The woman introduced herself as Jurni. Tal wasn’t dismissive, exactly, but Benji was left feeling that he had better places to be.

  “Are you having trouble with the door, by any chance?” Jurni asked. Her smile was at the border between amusement that he hadn’t been able to figure out how to open his own door, and genuine kindness.

  “The key works, but it still won’t open,” Benji said. “I’m new. I don’t really have the spellwork to try anything other than . . .” he made a motion that probably would’ve been considered crude in other contexts, even if it was an accurate representation of his attempts to operate the stubborn doorknob.

  “They didn’t give you the instructions for the identity binding? Pretty rude of them. May I?” Jurni kneeled next to Benji, picking through the contents of his satchel.

  “We gotta go, J,” Tal said.

  “You’re the one who has to set an example,” Jurni said without looking up. “I’ll just be a couple minutes behind you.”

  Tal threw up his hands. The clothworking on his cloak rippled, sending a cascade like swirling grass through the purple fabric. “If you’re the last one there, I swear you’re no longer our treasurer.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Jurni said. Tal huffed his way down to the end of the hall and out of sight. “He’s a decent guy if you can get over how dramatic he is.”

  “Is he always in this much of a hurry?” Benji asked. “School hasn’t even started yet.”

  “School’s always in session for Tal.” Jurni had reached every conceivable corner of the satchel and come up empty. “Damn, they really didn’t put the instructions in here. Hopefully I can remember them.”

  Benji could have cried.

  “Here, do you have your ID badge?” Benji made to hand over the piece of paper containing his name, his age (regrettably), and a lightworked image of his face. “No no, I’m not doing this for you.”

  Jurni was still smiling, but there was a hard edge there, like she would genuinely refuse to help him if he didn’t do this himself.

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  “Now, put your key on the floor.” Jurni sounded more like a professor than a student. “ID badge on top of it. Don’t worry about bending it, there’s a powerful working on it to prevent damage. Believe me, I’ve seen more than one idiot come home after a long night at the tavern, try to incinerate their ID badge, and only succeed in burning off their own knuckle hairs.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be speaking from experience there, would you?” Benji asked.

  Jurni grinned. “Ill-advised magic after four pints of mead? I would never.”

  “I can’t even do magic while sober yet,” Benji said, placing the ID badge on top of the key.

  “Yet,” Jurni repeated. “Now, this magic is very conceptual. You’re merging three things: your actual physical identity, your permission to be here as represented by your official ID badge, and the key’s physical access to the space that will become yours. I don’t remember why, but that’s key—” she rolled her eyes at the accidental pun “—the space doesn’t belong to you yet, it’s just a space you’re accessing.”

  “But what am I actually doing?” Benji asked. Three concepts was simple enough, especially when represented physically, but he couldn’t get his head around the actual magic bit.

  Jurni’s puzzled expression was more illuminating than any spoken reaction could have been. Clearly she wasn’t used to the idea that one would need to explain magic. She tapped Benji twice on the temple with her forefinger.

  “Magic gets started in here,” she said. She reached down and flicked the ID badge. “Then it comes alive here. You have to figure out what allows you to make that leap.”

  Benji thought back to his “success” in the entrance exam. What had been going on in his mind to make the plant move? Had there been a mantra or pattern of thought that allowed him to act on the plant? Some mental connection to the plantness of it? He couldn’t recall anything that structured. In fact, all he could remember was the overriding fear that he would fail again, that he would once more reach within himself and find no magic there.

  So he leaned into this fear again, placing his palm against the indestructible ID badge. In his mind, he combined the three concepts Jurni had described, and let the fear that he couldn’t open this door flow through them. This fear was really just a more specific manifestation of the feeling he’d had since he arrived: the fear that even now, having been accepted to the university, he didn’t belong, and would fail out as a result.

  Jurni watched him intently. It was distracting to have someone watch him attempt to do this. Yet it was also strangely reassuring that she didn’t seem impatient, or offer him more encouragement than he needed.

  He could do this. He could do this? He could do this.

  Benji turned all his attention back to the ID badge and Jurni’s instructions, blocking everything else out.

  Something happened in the space between his body, his mind, and the simple metal key on the floor. Jurni, who had been frowning down at the key, twisted her gaze back to the door. Then she got up.

  “That should just about do it,” Jurni said. “Nice work. The university loves throwing these ungraded tests at you when you first arrive. You did well.”

  “How do you know it worked?” Benji asked, picking up the key and rising to his feet as well.

  “Oh, I have a feeling. That, and your key and ID badge are literally glowing bright red with the universal signal for ‘we are items that just went through a successful magical enchantment.’”

  Benji wanted to try the key before Jurni left, but she’d given him enough time already. All he could do was thank her.

  “My pleasure.” She paused just before she reached the end of the hall, as if deciding whether to say more. “It’s not always easy, being a new student here. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will,” Benji said. “Thanks again.”

  As her footsteps receded, her heavy boots resounding even through the hall’s thick carpet, Benji tried the door. It opened with a smirking lack of resistance. And Benji stepped into his new home.

  For a long moment, Benji thought there must be some mistake. Surely this space, which was as large as his entire home, must be split between three or four students. Yet there was a single queen-sized bed, a small kitchen nook with little more than a stove and a single cupboard, one large wooden desk that was pleasantly tucked into an alcove the exact size to hold it. There was nothing flashy about this room, and even the single window that looked out on the courtyard didn’t let in much light, but it was all clearly designed for one person. One mage whose comfort was obviously considered a prerequisite for their education, if the soft blue rugs and three different wool blankets laid over the bed, the chair by the desk, and the small chest at the foot of the bed, were any indication. He set his bag down on top of the chest, marveling that this was all his. The too-large space made him feel more alone than ever. Somehow, only a short twenty-minute walk from home, he felt like he’d never been further from his previous life.

  He extracted the owl-fox statue from his bag. There was a perfect spot for it on the windowsill, where he perched it so its huge eyes could look over him. A small piece of home amidst all this newness. It continued to watch him as he sprawled out on the floor, relishing the soft firmness of the rug against his back and feeling thankful that at least one person in the university was looking out for him.