The auditorium was a marvel of architecture—walls paneled in warm wood, columns carved from gold-encrusted marble. The air smelled faintly of wax, parchment, and old stone.

  David sat near the middle row, arms folded over his still-damp robe, and tried not to look at the statues all around the room. There were larger ones, possibly representing great heroes, and smaller depictions of generically beautiful people.

  They were posed with calm expressions and welcoming gestures, but when he looked at them, all he could think about were the ruins.

  His imagination forced him to relive those painful memories whenever he stared too long at the marble statues. They made it all too easy to remember the war golems that carved through the rebels and the massacre that ensued.

  Maybe those are golems too…? He shuddered and shook his head. No way.

  He exhaled slowly and looked to the front of the room instead. A long wooden desk sat atop a raised platform. Behind it, two instructors: an older man with thin spectacles and a bored-looking woman in formal black robes. They kept glancing toward the side door, as if expecting someone important to arrive at any moment.

  David flicked open the small magical frame clipped to his belt—a sort of enchanted sundial, that replaced the usual shadow with a magical light.

  The introduction should have started fifteen minutes ago.

  From the scattered clusters of students in the rows ahead, a few voices whispered and murmured. Some laughed nervously. One or two looked annoyed. But David barely registered them.

  He was here.

  He had murdered two people, fought monsters, learned forbidden knowledge.

  And now he sat in a magical academy. It still didn’t feel quite real.

  At times he wondered if it was all just a sophisticated dream. Half the things that had happened in his new life were magical and impossible beyond measure. The other half, he’d wish out of existence if he could.

  Just a few hours earlier, he’d thrown up into a gutter, hunched over and retching from the casual cruelty of rebels' execution. And from his own guilt in how their story played out..

  He shook his head, stern with himself.

  They dug their graves themselves.

  He had done what he had to do.

  But the whole scene was incredibly troublesome. He had to strip off his robes and wash them in the nearest fountain, shivering in the morning cold, hoping no one would recognize him.

  He sat there in his underwear like some lunatic, waiting for the sun to dry the robes enough to not raise any eyebrows.

  Well, they were still wet and clung to his skin uncomfortably, but no one seemed to notice. Or care.

  David leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind wander. The room he was in soothed him. It served as direct proof that he’d accomplished what he set out to do. Made it easier to detach himself from the pointless emotions clouding his mind in the past weeks.

  In the end, all that he had to do was not think too hard about the bad things and just keep moving forward.

  In the fervor of recent events, so many things just flew by him. Some more important than others.

  Like the frostfire blade. That he’d lost.

  He’d taken it without permission, and now it was gone. Aura’s lifework, now a weapon for the rebellion. If he knew how it ended, maybe he could have found another way. Something else to convince Viera with.

  Maybe some technological knowledge from the modern world? He tensed, trying to imagine how well that would go. At best he would be treated as a manic kid and at worst, captured and tortured for information.

  No matter whether his past choice was the best one or not, he could still feel the weight of the sword, could still remember the way Sophie looked at him when she saw him take it.

  She hadn’t said anything… yet.

  But will she?

  Probably not. And even if, he wouldn’t hold it against her.

  Without Sophie they would’ve been arrested with the rest of the rebels. She had stepped forward and used her charm to get them out of trouble, when he couldn’t figure out a way. More than that, she was now a city representative, solving problems everywhere toward a single overarching goal: Helping the influx of refugees acclimatize to the city.

  She grew up even more and was quite busy. They rarely saw each other now, but maybe that was alright–At least it wasn’t the other way around, with him starting the academy and her staying behind, alone.

  In light of that, could he meet new people here? He glanced across the room, pretending to study the hall’s architecture but quietly scanning the students. They clustered together, and despite everyone wearing the same robes, he could identify at least 3 distinct groups.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  There were the normal ones: average looking kids and teenagers, looking slightly out of place and maybe a bit bothered. Probably his best bet if he wanted to talk to someone. Next were a few rich kids, as he judged by the unholy amount of gold and jewels they strapped on themselves.

  Finally, there were the nobles. Funnily enough, David wouldn’t recognize them as such, if the tasteless gaudiness of the rich kids didn’t make them scrunch up their faces.

  David breathed out slowly. What would he even talk about with such young kids? In times like these, the disconnect between his body and mind felt painfully obvious. Even besides that, with all the secrets he keeps and terror he had lived through… How could he hope to connect with people just living their lives?

  And with his mind constantly occupied with the past, no less.

  The ruins had changed him. The alchemical ritual he had copied from the tunnels loomed ahead, as a goal to aspire to. The carvings and the lost knowledge and the family of claws marked into stone made it impossible to just accept the explanations and stories given by widely available sources. And then there was the fox who had saved his life.

  Why did it do that? Was it a benevolent god? A ruler of monsters who grew tired of fighting?

  “Monsters.” He rolled the word on his tongue again and it felt like sour grapes. They had homes. Stories. Ambitions.

  Maybe the war had changed them, or maybe their communities still existed somewhere, hidden from sight. Calling them ancients felt a bit pompous, but it did encapsulate his feelings toward them quite well.

  He exhaled slowly–no one else seemed interested in any of it. Not Viera. Not Dolen. Not the rebels. It was just… some scratches on decrepit stone. Forgotten among more important matters.

  The doors at the back of the stage suddenly opened, pulling him out of his head and back into the real world.

  The room quieted instantly–The archmage had arrived.

  Loren entered the auditorium without ceremony, with the massive doors crashing shut behind her. She walked slowly down the aisle. She was already late, a faster pace wouldn’t change that.

  She scanned the students absently as she walked. Unfortunately, most were already sorted by social gravity. Loren preferred them to have some fight in them. Ambition for change.

  Students’ eyes followed her, but then all fell away as she returned their gaze. Almost all of them.

  One pair of eyes that didn’t shy away belonged to a poor commoner girl with auburn hair. That one could be interesting. I’ll keep her in mind.

  Her gaze drifted, as she pitied the children assembled here. By the time they had arrived here, they had mediocrity and pretense ingrained deep into them.

  A teenage noblewoman sat near the aisle, the left side of her face hidden by a mask. Her eyes, and other visible features, though, were shapely–beautiful, even.

  Loren scowled internally. Maybe she was just unlucky and had an accident… Unlikely. Another poor soul that had to fight for a choice in how her life would play out.

  I respect the conviction, in any case.

  She reached the stage and the two instructors waiting behind the desk flinched slightly as she approached.

  “Where are our other esteemed archmages?” she asked, her tone acerbic.

  They shared a quick glance. The woman shifted in her seat, lips twitching as if trying to smile. “Ah. Well. Archmage Edden had a scheduling conflict. And Lord Romuald is—”

  “Busy?” Loren cut in. “Anyway, I just wanted you to acknowledge that in front of the students.”

  She stepped up to the edge of the platform, envisioned a spell to amplify her voice then faced the students.

  “Well,” she said. “Welcome to the academy. You were supposed to be introduced by three archmages, but they had more important things to do. So you’re just getting the little old me.”

  She paused, taking stock of the diverse reactions.

  “I am Archmage Loren, I oversee the knight course and the bulk of practical magical training. If you survive your first year, you’ll see more of me than anyone else in this city. Yes, more than your parents. Yes, more than your friends.” She paused for impact. “And you’ll be grateful for it.”

  She paced slightly now. Some of the students always underestimated her. What business did a frail old woman have teaching knights? Sooner or later, everybody understood, and the faces they eventually made, were priceless.

  She thought herself a simple woman at heart, taking pleasure in simple things. At least It filled the void. Better than alcohol did, in any case.

  “The first year is a foundation. You’ll train in this group, so we can bring everyone up to an appropriate level. You’ll learn to cast, to sense mana, and to read runes.”

  A few of the new students shifted in discomfort, especially the rich commoners. There were a few of those every period.

  “What? You think you already know everything? That your family prepared you so well that you can shake your head at me? We’ll see how long that will last.” She belittled them as her eyes focused on one of the gold-adorned teenagers. Polbran. His father taught golemancy here and kept trying to hand him everything on a silver platter. Despicable. “Past the first year, you’ll be ranked–and treated–based on skill alone.”

  She delivered the final line almost solely toward Polbran and he felt it, if his sudden shivers were any indication.

  More whispers now. The poor commoners seemed happy to learn of the rules. The rich ones were a bit shaken. Surprisingly, noble children were quite divided. The masked girl was smirking, probably happy to receive fair treatment.

  “From the administrative perspective: most of you probably know that, but the tuition covers the first six years, though there is no time limit for how long you can spend here. If you feel like it, you could schedule a certification exam even today.” She spread her arms in a mildly theatrical gesture. “That’s it from me, now the teachers will take over the introduction.”

  She turned away as the seated instructors stood and shuffled to the front, beginning their droning overview of schedules and study plans. Loren barely listened.

  She sat behind the now empty desk, skimming the list of new students she found on it.

  Until her eyes caught an unpleasant word written on it.

  Grainwick.

  Her fingers froze.

  The name alone stoked a familiar rage.

  It was just a few weeks ago she had learned that Brenn died defending some minor village. Edden had the audacity to try and hide the fact from her. Stupid old man.

  It was on par for Brenn, though. Stubborn to the end stuck fighting battles not of his own. She understood that sentiment, but he could have at least visited to say his goodbyes. Should have.

  Her mouth tightened.

  What she could not understand, though, was how some people would leave a place at first whiff of danger, leaving those better than them to die.

  I wonder which one of them is the shitling named Marco.

  She imagined a new arrival to the city would sit by themselves, at least mildly uncomfortable. She didn’t have to look long. There was a kid that perfectly matched her mental image. His robes were wet for some reason and he oozed guilt, as one should after running.

  She could already imagine quite a few ways to make his life miserable.

  The fault was his parents’ not his, but eh. She was a simple woman, and she had her simple pleasures.