A crisp morning breeze swept across the rolling plains, ruffling Ventania’s silvery hair where she stood at the edge of Brocéliande’s eastern border. Just days earlier, she had battled and bested a fierce drake deep in the Ruins of Alore, earning both a rune circlet and the resolute conviction that her true journey was only beginning. Now, she found herself gazing at the unfamiliar expanse ahead—a vast realm where human settlements dotted the horizon.

  At her side, Ferlin—or rather, Headmaster Ferlin Alcatruin—stood with that same collected air she’d come to recognize. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the rising sun, scanning the gently winding road before them. Unlike the treacherous depths of Brocéliande, this land boasted cultivated fields and spaced-out farms, each a testament to humanity’s desire for order.

  “Are you nervous?” Ferlin asked quietly, breaking the hush.

  Ventania tightened the strap of her pack. Her body still throbbed in places from her grueling fight, but she found a determined spark in her chest. “A little,” she admitted. “This is a world I’ve never known.”

  “It won’t remain strange forever,” he said with a faint smile. “We’ll pass through several towns en route to the University. You’ll see how humans live—more structured, perhaps, than the forest you called home. But no less filled with hidden wonders.”

  She exhaled, thinking about the name that had once been uttered in hushed reverence among the unicorns of Brocéliande: Ventania, the storm-born. It felt worlds apart from the everyday life of farmland and markets. Yet she couldn’t deny a quiver of excitement at the thought of forging new experiences.

  They began their journey at a brisk pace, with Ferlin’s staff tapping rhythmically against the packed dirt road. Occasional travelers passed by—merchants with wagons, stray adventurers on horseback—offering curt nods or suspicious glances at the petite girl bearing a staff nearly as tall as herself.

  After some time, Ferlin cleared his throat, the crisp wind carrying his words. “You’ll need a human name, at least for administrative purposes,” he said. “Ventania… it stands out. Many might question the meaning. You’re no ordinary traveler, but secrecy may prove helpful if you wish to avoid undue attention or prejudice.”

  Ventania stiffened. She had anticipated such concerns but wasn’t prepared to yield. “That’s my name—my true name. My mother whispered it when I first breathed in the storm. I won’t cast it aside.”

  “I understand,” Ferlin replied, tone gentle. “But consider how you might be perceived. Names carry weight in the human realm—families, lineages, titles. Some will see an odd name and wonder if you’re an outlander or if you have something to hide.”

  Ventania’s grip tightened on her staff. “Let them wonder. I’m not ashamed of who I am. I… I can’t just rename myself for convenience.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, acceptance softening his posture. “If you’re certain, I won’t force you. But be mindful—people may pry.”

  Her gaze drifted to the horizon. Let them, she thought. This is the name my parents gave me, and until I rescue them, I’ll hold onto it.

  Their first real taste of human civilization came by mid-afternoon, when the road led to a bustling market town perched near a broad river. Wooden palisades encircled the settlement, though the gates stood open to welcome passing merchants. Ferlin guided Ventania inside, allowing her to gawk freely at the rows of stone-and-timber houses crowding narrow streets.

  Hawkers called out from stalls piled high with fresh produce, dried fish, and sweetmeats. Children scurried about, chasing each other with wooden swords. A clang of metal on metal drifted from a blacksmith’s forge, where sparks danced like fireflies. The air smelled of spiced ale, livestock, and humanity’s ceaseless hustle.

  Ventania took it all in, wide-eyed. She’d never witnessed so many people in one place. Some wore plain linen, signifying humble means. Others sported fancy tunics with embroidered crests, a mark of higher social standing. She glimpsed adventurers in leather armor, swords or staves strapped across their backs, negotiating with shopkeepers for supplies. Everywhere, a subtle hierarchy manifested—the better-armed or more expensively dressed received quicker service and fawning respect.

  They stopped at a local eatery, where wooden tables spilled onto a cobbled patio. Ferlin secured them modest meals—stew in hearty bowls, fresh bread, a mug of warm cider. Ventania’s stomach growled in anticipation.

  She tasted the stew, savoring the rich flavor of beef and vegetables. A contented sigh escaped her lips. “It’s so… lively,” she remarked, glancing at the busy crowd. “Everyone is hustling, bargaining, or forging. I never saw so much color.”

  Ferlin nodded, eyes kind. “Human societies thrive on commerce and exchange, though it can breed greed as well as industry. Keep your eyes open—there’s a lot to learn from simple observation.”

  Her gaze darted to a group of burly men in chainmail strolling past, each sporting insignia on their cloaks. “Knights,” she whispered in awe. She recalled the hierarchy of classes—knights, mages, rangers, rogues. “It’s like I’m stepping into a giant… well, world of adventurers.”

  He chuckled. “In a sense, that’s exactly what it is. Here, you’ll find everything from common townsfolk to master swordsmen, from traveling bards to necromancers. Some chase wealth, others chase knowledge or glory.”

  “That’s bizarrely exciting,” she admitted, finishing her meal. Despite her lingering injuries, she found herself itching to test her skills against some unsuspecting traveler—just to see how far her synergy of elements might carry her in a real-world scuffle. But no, she reminded herself. I’m not about to challenge random knights in the streets.

  They stayed in that town for only a night, renting a cramped room above a tailor’s shop. Early the next morning, they resumed their journey, passing farmland and hamlets where Ventania caught fleeting glimpses of a simpler daily life—farmers tending crops, donkey carts laden with fresh produce. The days blurred into a quiet rhythm of travel, mealtime conversation, and rest whenever they located safe lodgings.

  Yet peace was a fleeting concept for Ventania. Whenever they camped in the wild, far from watchful eyes, Ferlin insisted on sparring sessions more intense than anything she’d faced since fighting the drake. The first time she drew her staff with a confident grin, he flashed a rare smile—a sign of genuine amusement.

  She lunged, weaving wind around her ankles to surge forward. Ferlin, unarmored and calm, merely sidestepped her staff strike, swatting it aside with the back of his hand. Before she could recover, he rapped her shoulder with his own slender staff, sending her stumbling.

  Gritting her teeth, Ventania invoked water to slick the grass at his feet, hoping he’d slip. Ferlin responded with a minimal flick of mana that parted the water and left him unshaken. She pressed her advantage anyway, conjuring a quick swirl of dust from the ground to blind him. He leapt gracefully above the cloud, spinning his staff at speeds she could hardly track. With a single whirling strike, he disarmed her, sending her staff clattering to the dirt.

  She stared in breathless astonishment, blood pounding in her ears. Not a single bead of sweat lined Ferlin’s brow. “Is that all?” he asked, voice light.

  She lunged for her staff again, ignoring the sting of humiliation. Her next assault, fueled by swirling flames, ended with her pinned to the grass, arms locked by Ferlin’s unyielding grip. She yelped, panting, while he gazed down with quiet amusement. “Your synergy is formidable,” he said. “But brute force alone won’t trump technique.”

  Night after night, this pattern continued. No matter how cunning her spells, Ferlin seemed to anticipate her every move. He barely exerted himself, yet each exchange ended with Ventania thrown, disarmed, or bound by some deft maneuver she couldn’t see coming. She found the experience maddening—and enlightening. So this is real mastery, she thought, remembering how he had subdued entire mercenary groups. She began to grasp how minuscule her understanding truly was in the grand cosmos of magic and martial skill.

  Sometimes, after a particularly crushing defeat, she would lie panting in the grass, feeling bruises form on her arms and legs, only to see Ferlin offering her a hand up. “Focus on the moment,” he’d advise. “Overthinking leads to hesitation, but letting emotions rule will blind you. Find a balance.”

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  Though battered each evening, Ventania felt her reflexes sharpen and her synergy become more instinctive. Even the physical side grew—leaps were higher, footwork more fluid, and she learned to pivot swiftly rather than rely on elaborate spells. Still, she never came close to landing a decisive blow on Ferlin. The puzzling part was how he seemed almost cheerful during these matches, grinning at her attempts, praising small improvements, as though a great burden had lifted from him once she’d agreed to join the University.

  Passing through each new settlement, Ventania noticed the subtle ways people bowed or stepped aside for those wearing finer clothes, or for adventurers carrying battered swords and arcane rods. Taverns welcomed silver-armored knights with raucous cheers, while unarmed peasants slipped into corners. In some towns, she saw entire sections walled off for the noble or wealthy class, lavish gardens behind iron gates, while the poor eked out a living on cramped lanes.

  “This isn’t always fair,” she remarked, bitterness creeping into her tone. “I see the strong commanding respect just by flaunting their power.”

  Ferlin gave a small shrug. “Yes. Much of the human realm respects might—be it martial or magical. Yet not everyone uses that advantage cruelly. Many adventurers serve as protectors, culling monsters that threaten villagers or escorting trade caravans. Power can be misused or harnessed for good; such is the nature of free will.”

  Ventania mulled over that. Her mind drifted to the hunters who had captured her parents, how their runic gear gave them an edge. They chose to harm. She vowed silently to become strong enough to undo that harm.

  After several weeks of travel—punctuated by small towns, farmland, endless sparring, and glimpses of new horizons—the road bent eastward, eventually opening onto a broad valley ringed by low mountains. At its heart stood the Arcane University, an imposing sprawl of towers, domed halls, and gracefully arched bridges spanning a gently flowing river. Massive walls enclosed the campus, but Ventania could see the tips of spires rising even higher, as though reaching for the sky itself.

  A tapestry of all races mingled near the wide gates: elves, dwarves, beastkin, and humans of countless origins. Some wore finely embroidered robes bristling with arcane sigils. Others dressed in practical adventuring gear, swords and wands strapped across their backs. A few possessed more eccentric styles—capes woven of shadowy cloth, or half-plate armor etched with draconic motifs.

  Ventania’s heart pounded at the sheer diversity of life. She recalled Ferlin’s words: “No prejudice is allowed here; the pursuit of magic unites them.” Indeed, the energy in the air was palpable—a hum of potential.

  Ferlin slowed his pace as they approached the tall, intricately wrought gate. Guarding it were two stern-faced watchers in ceremonial attire, though their expressions held curiosity rather than hostility. Ventania wondered if they recognized the headmaster, but he offered no clue. Instead, he turned to her and spoke in a low tone.

  “This is where I leave you,” he said gently. “Inside, speak to the admissions staff. There’s a formal process—enrolling as a student, taking an assessment to determine your level, and receiving official identification as an adventurer. The University has strong ties to the Adventurers’ Guild, and you’ll be registered as a Silver-class member to reflect your proven combat ability.”

  She blinked, awe mingling with confusion. “Silver-class…? Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Considering your synergy of elements and success against the drake, it’s warranted. Silver rank is typically for those with moderate to high threat-handling capacity. You’ll be required to take on missions occasionally—fetching rare reagents, clearing dangerous beasts, escorting expedition parties, that sort of thing. It’s part of the curriculum here. Practical experience is vital.”

  Ventania allowed that to sink in, feeling a mixture of pride and nerves. She scanned the crowd, glimpsing older students—some even in their mid-thirties, all exuding confidence or at least determination. And I’m just… a child. She glanced at her reflection in a nearby polished sign, noticing how petite and travel-worn she appeared, albeit with the toned muscle of months spent in ceaseless training.

  “But… what about you?” she asked quietly, turning back to Ferlin. “Aren’t you going to announce who you are? Headmaster… Alcatruin?”

  A faint twinkle lit his eyes. “In time, the faculty and staff will know. But I’ll remain discreet for now. You need space to settle in, discover your own path without favoritism or stifling oversight.” He paused, adjusting his cloak. “I’ll return once you’ve found your feet. You’ve done well, Ventania, and I trust you’ll continue to do so.”

  She swallowed a surge of emotion, recalling how harshly he’d tested her, how fiercely he’d defended her, and how he’d become something of a father figure in the months since she left Brocéliande. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

  Ferlin extended a small ledger. “Inside are recommended guidelines for new students. You’ll find your dorm assignment, meal plan, and basic instructions on the guild’s mission board. Follow the main hallway to the administration desk. Also…” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Remember your vow to find your parents. This University can open countless doors, but you must stay determined. Nothing is guaranteed.”

  Her eyes glistened. “I won’t forget.”

  Finally, he gave a short bow in farewell, staff pressed lightly to the ground. Then he turned, cloak billowing, and departed through the crowd, weaving among the throng of new arrivals and busy townsfolk. Ventania watched him go, heart heavy yet stirring with renewed resolve.

  Swallowing a flutter of nerves, Ventania approached the gate, producing the ledger Ferlin had handed her. One of the ceremonial watchers—an older dwarf sporting runic tattoos—eyed her, noticing her staff and the faint scars on her arms. “Student or visitor?” he asked in a baritone rumble.

  “Student,” she answered, voice wavering slightly, “starting this term. My name is Ventania.” She dared any comment on its strangeness.

  The dwarf merely nodded, unperturbed. “All right, Ventania. Step through, you’ll find the admissions desk in the second courtyard. They’ll handle your registration and direct you to the dorms.” He waved her onward, as if her presence was no novelty among the swirl of races pouring in.

  She exhaled shakily, stepping through the gates into a grand courtyard lined with flowerbeds and a central fountain. Students milled about in small groups—some in tidy scholar’s robes, others sporting battered armor or flamboyant hats. The architecture soared above them, a tapestry of spires and arches reminiscent of ancient cathedrals.

  She noticed multiple distinct wings: one with tall glass observatories (for astronomy, perhaps?), another with a courtyard brimming with arcane illusions swirling overhead. The synergy of different magical disciplines was on full display, from summoners practicing with minor spirits to alchemists carrying crates of vials that glowed unnaturally.

  A board posted at one corner bore numerous papers detailing potential “guild missions”—“Escort a traveling scholar,” “Investigate strange sightings near the marsh,” “Hunt a rogue chimera.”** The tasks ranged widely in difficulty, each listing rewards in gold or arcane credits. A symbol at the bottom read “Adventurers’ Guild,” verifying their official status.

  Ventania’s pulse quickened. They do all this while still studying? She imagined the demands of daily lessons in mana theory, or necromancy, or illusions, plus these missions. Suddenly, the idea of being an official Silver-class adventurer at her age seemed daunting.

  “Hey,” a bored-sounding clerk said, perched at a wooden table in front of an elaborate archway. “You new?”

  She mustered a nod. “Yes. Ventania. I’m to enroll.”

  The clerk—a tall elf with half-lidded eyes—flicked through a stack of parchment. “Got your ledger?”

  She presented it. He read over a sealed letter tucked inside, likely from Ferlin. His impassive expression shifted slightly—perhaps recognizing the Headmaster’s signature. “All right. This letter indicates you’re advanced in combat, so we’ll slot you in as a Silver-tier adventurer. For your academic schedule, standard first-year courses plus an exam for advanced placement if you want. You’re… younger than typical, but I guess we accommodate all ages here.” He gave a half-shrug, unperturbed. “No prejudice, as the motto says.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “So… what do I do now?”

  “Head to the Great Hall, see that sign with the swirling lights?” He gestured lazily at a wide arched doorway. “They’ll finalize your dorm assignment, hand you a uniform if you want it, though plenty prefer personal gear. Classes start next week, and you’ll see your initial mission roster. Should be simple errands, but we post more advanced tasks daily.”

  “Understood,” Ventania replied, swallowing nerves. “Thank you.”

  Standing at the cusp of the Great Hall, Ventania allowed herself a final glance over the courtyard. Here I am, she thought, an exiled unicorn in human form, bearing a name that might raise eyebrows, determined to become strong enough to rescue my parents. The swirl of excitement, fear, and curiosity nearly overwhelmed her. But she found calm in the memory of Ferlin’s unwavering eyes and the months of training they’d shared—the synergy of elements, the forging of willpower under relentless challenges, the vow to guard the forest and find her parents at any cost.

  Several upper-year students in flamboyant robes passed by, engaging in animated debate about summoning incantations. A dwarven blacksmith-linguist duo hammered runes onto a steel pole in the courtyard’s corner. A tall orcish necromancer, clad in an elegant black gown, calmly discussed undead theory with a robed half-elf. Truly, all were welcomed here, united by the pursuit of magic. Ventania felt a flicker of comfort.

  Gathering her courage, she stepped into the Great Hall. Ahead lay orientation lines, bored officials handing out schedules, and beyond that a corridor of dormitory wings. Countless new faces, each with their own goals and stories, crisscrossed the marble floors. This place buzzed with ambition, a melting pot of talents. And somewhere among them, Ventania hoped, she would find the knowledge or allies needed to free her parents from the hunters’ grasp.

  The Road of Transformation had led her here, forging her from a frightened foal into a resolute student—an adventurer and a future force to be reckoned with. A determined grin tugged at her lips as she approached the admissions line. Let the tedious routine begin. I’ll endure anything to grow stronger.

  Beyond these corridors, the realm’s greatest challenges awaited. But for now, Ventania took heart in each step forward, remembering the wind that once guided her in Brocéliande, the storms she conjured, and the vow that burned in her soul: She would fight for her parents, for her heritage, and for the forest that had given her life—and she would do so without ever hiding her name or her truth.