The rest of the day passed in a blur of stiff benches, scratchy uniforms, and droning lectures.

Their third class, Ritual Magic & Magical Theory, was taught by a thin female elf whose drooping posture and half-lidded eyes made it very clear she would rather be anywhere else than instructing first years. Her hair hung limp down her back like wet threads, and every sentence she spoke sounded painfully rehearsed.

The content itself could have been fascinating, ritual circles, sigil arrays, the delicate art of multi-caster synchronization. How ancient civilizations had used massive arrays to channel natural ley-lines. How rituals weren't about brute force but subtle precision, guiding aether rather than commanding it.

And yet... By the end of the lesson, Thorne was fairly sure half the class had either fallen asleep or perfected the art of daydreaming with their eyes open.

The next lecture, though, was different.

Elemental Theory & Control.

This time, the instructor was a beastkin, tall and wiry, with sandy-colored fur along his arms and jaw, and bright, animated golden eyes.

Every time he spoke about aether and elemental forces, his entire body seemed to vibrate with energy.

And it was infectious.

Thorne found himself sitting forward, caught up in the man's passion even as fatigue weighed on his limbs.

One thing stuck with him:

"Elemental forces," the beastkin had said, "are not separate. They exist within a delicate balance, an unbroken dance. Fire is not just fire, it is heat, light, combustion. Water is not just liquid, it is change, patience, memory."

He had gone on to explain that shaping elemental magic wasn't about dominating an element, but about understanding its nature, its instincts, and then weaving it through one's core to resonate properly.

"The best fire mage isn't the one who shouts louder than the flames," the professor had said with a grin, "it's the one who listens to the whisper of the ember."

Thorne had memorized those words.

They made something stir inside him, something old and buried.

When the last bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the day, he practically floated toward the Astral Hall.

Elias and Rowenna were already there, sliding into one of the long tables with trays in hand.

Whispers followed them as they walked.

First years, mostly.

Glances thrown Thorne's way.

Conversations pausing just long enough to feel unnatural before resuming again.

Thorne ignored it.

After Alvar, a few stares and murmurs barely even registered.

He sat down heavily, and a plate brimming with food appeared before him with a faint pop of displaced air.

He didn't waste time.

Between mouthfuls, he glanced up and froze for a second.

Across the hall, seated alone, was Percy Vayne.

The once-pampered noble looked... smaller now. Hunched. Haunted.

Their eyes met.

A strange moment passed between them, heavy with things unspoken.

Wounds not healed. Threats not made.

Thorne inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment. Percy stiffened, then gave the smallest nod in return before dropping his gaze back to his untouched food. Thorne exhaled and turned back to his meal.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully.

None of their other instructors had been cruel enough to assign homework on the very first day, except, of course, for Vorr. And even that could wait a few hours.

He wolfed down the rest of his meal, wiped his mouth, and stood.

Rowenna raised an eyebrow but didn't ask.

Elias, still cramming food into his mouth, barely noticed.

He returned to the Umbra common room. At first, he was intending on practicing the illumination spell, but his thoughts kept drifting to Bea. He had been to Aetherhold for more than a week, and he was still empty handed. No clues, no signs. Nothing.

What Thorne truly wanted... was to search.

For Bea.

Without a second thought, he left the silent common room.

It took some coaxing to convince a grumpy Aegis student to fetch Elias afterward, but eventually Thorne found himself pacing the circular chamber where the great sigilwheel spun slowly at the convergence of the four houses.

The two stone sentinels, Aegis guardians, stood flanking the entrance to Elias's tower.

Thorne tapped his foot, glancing up occasionally at the vast, starlit ceiling, the floating threads of aether spinning lazily above them.

Finally, Elias appeared, tugging on his cloak and looking half out of breath.

"You rang, oh mysterious summoner?" he panted.

"I want to explore," Thorne said, as casually as if he were asking him to join a game.

Elias's entire face lit up.

He practically bounced in place. "Finally! You have no idea how much I've been waiting for this! I thought you'd never ask."

Thorne chuckled under his breath. At least one thing today was going exactly the way he wanted.

Their search started with excitement and ended somewhere between confusion and exhaustion. They scoured empty classrooms, dusty and dim, desks floating slightly off the ground, enchanted blackboards erasing themselves in slow, lazy patterns.

Once, they barged into a class full of tiny students, no more than five or six years old, hunched over thick tomes larger than their heads. A harried teacher, looking barely more composed than her charges, had glared them into a hasty retreat.

Elias kept asking, between chuckles and increasingly wary glances, if Thorne was actually looking for something.

"Just curious," Thorne kept saying, waving him off.

But his eyes gave him away. Focused. Sharp. Restless.

And Elias, ever perceptive in his own way, noticed but let it slide.

They wandered through libraries, each more strange than the last. One had shelves that moved when you weren't looking, reshaping the room like a living labyrinth. Another smelled strongly of ozone and had no books at all, only hovering crystal tablets that whispered faint echoes of lost voices.

At some point, they realized they'd wandered beyond the main castle proper.

The halls grew wider, the magic heavier. The students they passed were older, marked with sigils of mastery or wrapped in robes stitched with starlight. They looked at them with a mix of amusement and mild irritation.

Thorne wanted to push further, sensing something more...

But an elderly beastkin, broad-shouldered, cane in hand, and very unimpressed had caught them lingering near a spiraled archway. The scolding was swift, merciless, and left even Thorne sheepish.

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Reluctantly, they retreated back to the familiar towers of the first years.

Dinner was late and quiet.

The grand halls were almost empty.

They ate without much conversation, the tiredness setting into their bones.

At the end, Elias clapped him on the back and said, "Next time, we bring snacks. Exploring's hungry work."

Thorne just smiled faintly, already half lost in thought.

They parted ways at the convergence hall. The great sigilwheel spun slowly above them, casting shifting shadows against the carved stone.

When Thorne finally reached the Umbra common room, he felt heavier than ever. The cavernous space hummed quietly with muted life. A few older students drifted between the violet-flame lanterns, their voices hushed, their robes whispering against the darkened floors.

Most of the first-years were gone, already collapsed into bed after the day's endless lectures and trials.

Thorne sank into one of the low sofas, the worn cushions sighing under his weight.

He stared out through the great enchanted windows, though 'windows' wasn't the right word. Beyond the glass, there was no castle wall, no courtyard, no Evermist. Just a galaxy sprawled in infinite spirals, brighter and closer than any sky should be, shifting slowly as if breathing.

Stars drifted lazily. Clouds of iridescent aether twisted into shapes that almost looked like wings, or doors, or memories.

Thorne leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the gentle pull of that impossible sky weigh against him.

He should practice.

He should train.

He should live up to whatever expectations Vorr and this place now had of him.

But instead, he just sat there, motionless.

Too tired.

Too hollow.

And just a little too lost.

The galaxy turned.

Somewhere, far, far away.

And Thorne Silverbane sat beneath it, smaller than a speck of dust against the stars.

A loud crash jolted Thorne awake.

He straightened from the sofa, heart pounding, hand reaching for a dagger he was no longer wearing. The violet lanterns floated lower now, their flames dimmed to little more than glows, making the Umbra common room look like the hollowed heart of a dying star.

For a moment, he thought he was alone.

Then a figure stumbled across his vision.

Isadora.

She weaved unsteadily, bumping into a table with a clatter that made nearby lanterns sway.

Her gown shimmered under the faint light, a silver-blue masterpiece that clung to her like liquid starlight. The hem trailed behind her like a comet's tail, picking up parchment scraps and errant quill feathers as she went.

Thorne blinked, his exhaustion replaced by confusion. Where had she been? And wearing that?

He called her name quietly.

She spun around with a startled gasp and then her face broke into a huge, drunken grin.

"Thoooorne!" she drawled, throwing her arms wide as if greeting an old lover.

She made her way toward him, tripping over the train of her gown, and collapsed onto the sofa beside him with a dramatic flop that sent dust motes spiraling.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm faaaabulous," she slurred, waving a hand vaguely. "Parties! Ceremonies! Ritual bonding! Or whatever the seniors call it these days."

She giggled, one foot lazily kicking at the air, the slipper dangling precariously from her toes.

Thorne studied her carefully. Her cheeks were flushed, her emerald eyes glassy, but they still held a keen glint. A glint that warned him she wasn't nearly as drunk as she pretended.

"Had fun?" he asked neutrally, settling back against the sofa.

She scoffed, throwing her head back to stare at the illusory galaxy beyond the windows.

"Fun," she repeated bitterly. "Sure. That's the word."

She lapsed into silence for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, without warning, the dam broke.

"My parents met here, you know," she said, voice suddenly quieter. "Aetherhold's golden couple. Two of the strongest mages of their generation. They still tell the story at galas...'How Verena of House Corvane defeated the Shardbeast, and how daring, clever Dorian convinced her to marry him right after graduation.'"

She laughed hollowly.

"Can you imagine what it's like to live under that?"

Thorne said nothing, letting her words unspool.

"I grew up with a dozen tutors. One for incantations, one for history, one for etiquette. My first training wand cost more than most houses. I was supposed to be perfect."

She flexed her fingers absently, as if remembering an invisible weight.

"Smile right. Speak right. Dress right. Make it all look easy."

Another breath.

"And if you're tired, if you're lonely, if you want to scream?" She turned her head and met his gaze, her smile brittle and broken. "Too bad. You're a Valienne. You don't break."

Thorne's throat tightened.

He recognized that kind of expectation. Recognized the invisible chains.

Isadora leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at her hands.

"They didn't even want me to come here, you know. Said it would be a 'waste.' My eldest brother's the heir. My sister married into some council family. My third brother's a diplomat in Eltherra. And me?"

She gave a bitter chuckle.

"Pretty little Isadora. Just... pretty."

The words hung there.

Heavy. Real.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the galaxy spinning outside the windows.

Finally, Thorne spoke.

"You're more than that."

Her head snapped up.

He shrugged, careful, casual. "You made it here, didn't you? Not because of your name. Because you wanted to."

Isadora stared at him.

Then slowly she smiled. A real smile. Small and a little crooked.

"You're dangerous when you talk like that," she murmured.

She shifted, turning a little to face him fully. For a moment, the drunken haze lifted from her eyes, and Thorne glimpsed the sharp, perceptive girl hidden underneath the glitter and silk.

"What about you?" she asked, voice lower, quieter. "What's your story, Thorne Silverbane?"

He tilted his head, playing for time.

Isadora pressed on, almost dreamily, "you're no noble. No polished lordling from some country estate. But you're not a peasant either. You have the eyes of someone who's seen too much... and the reflexes of someone who survived it."

She traced idle patterns on her knee with a finger.

"You have secrets buried so deep, I wonder if you even remember what's true and what's false anymore."

The words hit harder than he wanted to admit.

Thorne kept his expression lazy, amused.

"And you," he deflected smoothly, "are you here because you want to be or because it's what was expected of you?"

Isadora blinked.

For a second, she looked like she might argue. Might throw up her usual bright, reckless armor.

Instead, she sighed, the sound almost lost in the vastness of the galaxy beyond.

"I don't know," she said. Soft. Honest. "I really don't."

Skill Leveled Up: Tactful Deflection (Level 11 → Level 12).

He almost snorted aloud.

Then, like a door slamming shut, she shook her head sharply, the glint back in her gaze.

"You're very good at hiding," she said softly. "You say just enough. Smile just enough. Lie just enough."

Thorne arched a brow.

"Lie?"

She nodded.

"I think... you've been lying for a very long time, Thorne Silverbane."

She nodded.

"I think... you've been lying for a very long time, Thorne Silverbane."

The sound of his full name on her lips was jarring.

Uncomfortably intimate.

He leaned back, folding his arms lazily over his chest.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not."

Isadora chuckled, a low, musical sound and dropped her head against the back of the sofa.

"Well," she murmured, already half-fading into sleep. "For what it's worth... I think whoever you were before... doesn't matter here. You can be anyone."

Thorne watched her.

She squinted at him, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "I think you're running from something."

He shrugged. "Aren't we all?"

"Mmm." A noncommittal noise.

Then, after a pause, "But you... it's like you've built walls so high even you can't see over them."

She sighed and curled her legs up onto the sofa, resting her head against the backrest.

"I hope... I hope whatever you're running from, you find something better here," she mumbled, voice slurring slightly with fatigue. "I really do."

Thorne stared at her.

Isadora, the frivolous party girl, the spoiled noble, sounded heartbreakingly sincere.

And for a moment, just a moment, he let himself believe her.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

A soft smile curved her lips.

Already half-asleep.

The galaxy spun silently outside.

The stars turned.

And Thorne sat there, keeping vigil over a friend he hadn't realized he'd made.

They stayed like that for a while.

Isadora breathing deep and slow beside him, lost in sleep.

Thorne staring out at the endless expanse of stars, their glow reflecting faintly in his too-bright eyes.

Finally, with a sigh, he rose. His muscles stiff from the long day, the longer night.

Gingerly, carefully, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

She stirred only slightly, her head lolling against his chest, her hair spilling like silk down his arm.

He crossed the shadowed common room with slow, deliberate steps, passing the door to his own quarters without hesitation, and stopping at hers.

The door creaked open under his touch. Lavish. Spacious. Gold-threaded curtains rippling against the open windows, the soft scent of night-blooming flowers wafting in from somewhere unseen.

Thorne carried her to the bed and set her down as gently as he could. She blinked up at him, eyes glassy, unfocused. Then she reached out, fingers clutching weakly at the collar of his uniform.

"Stay," she mumbled, barely audible.

For a heartbeat, he was tempted.

Gods, he was tempted.

But he smiled. Soft, tired, fond, and whispered, "Sleep."

Isadora sighed, a small, contented sound, and rolled over into the mound of pillows.

Thorne pulled the comforter over her, tucking it lightly around her shoulders. He lingered a moment longer, watching her breathe.

Then he slipped silently from the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He walked the few steps to his own smaller, rougher chamber. No gold-threaded curtains here. No embroidered pillows or perfumed air. Just sturdy wooden beams, stone walls, and a window showing the endless churn of some faraway galaxy.

Thorne sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Sleep did not come easily.

Not with so many thoughts spinning like comets through his mind.

Not with the ghost of a soft voice murmuring stay still echoing in his ears.

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