Chapter Four: Damsels & Stress

  It's warm, is the first thing my brain manages to catalog through the shock. Then gravity remembers I exist and introduces my face to the ground with all the enthusiasm of a vindictive physics teacher. My cheek hits it with a wet slap and my teeth clack together hard enough that I taste copper blooming across my tongue. My ribs compress under the weight of whatever, whoever, just tackled me, and the breath in my lungs rockets out in a humiliating, strangled wheeze that echoes across the courtyard. The sound is mortifying. Like a deflating balloon crossed with a dying goose. Somewhere in the distance, I swear I hear a laugh.

  I buck against the weight pinning me down, throwing my hips sideways. My fingers claw at the grass, nails digging into the warm earth, trying to drag myself forward even though there's nowhere to go. The grass tears under my grip, dirt wedging beneath my fingernails. I kick back blindly, my bare heel connecting with something solid.

  Good. If I'm going down, I'm taking someone with me.

  "It's thrashing!" a voice grunts above me, annoyed and frustrated, like I'm a particularly uncooperative piece of furniture. Their hands clamp around my wrists, strong hands, stronger than they should be given its size, and a knee presses into the small of my back. The pressure sends a spike of pain up my spine that makes my eyes water.

  I yank against the grip, my burned skin screaming in protest. The raw patches on my palms feel like they're being scraped with sandpaper. Fresh blood, warm and slick, makes my wrists slip slightly in their grasp.

  "Is it feral, Mira?" a voice whispers from above, loud enough to hear. The whisper has that particular quality of someone who thinks they're being quiet but absolutely isn't.

  My head is pulled upward by a hand in my hair, and a pale face comes into view, inches from mine. Horns. Another demon, another monster. Their nose almost touches mine, their hair falling into my face and tickling my cheeks. I can smell something floral on them, like lavender mixed with something sharper, more medicinal.

  I snap my teeth at them. My teeth click together on empty air as they jerk back, startled.

  And that's when I see its eyes.

  Flower eyes.

  The mark of someone with powers.

  Delicate shapes layered in concentric circles, some large and curved at the outer edges, others smaller and more tightly clustered toward the center. The petals overlap each other in a way that creates depth, dimension, like looking into something alive and shifting. They seem to rotate slightly as the demon, Mira, stares at me, adjusting to the light or maybe to her focus, I can't tell which.

  It's beautiful. Terrifying.

  "By Her Grace! It tried to bite me, Lyra!" Mira shouts, and I can hear the shock in her voice, the genuine surprise that I would dare. Her grip on my hair loosens slightly, but I'm barely paying attention anymore because I can't stop staring at her eyes. They look like Marcus's, similar yet different. They were a different color, one I did not know the name of.

  "Definitely feral," someone else mutters from somewhere to my left. A third voice, younger-sounding, uncertain.

  "I'm not feral!" I shout, squirming under her weight. The words burst out of me before I can think them through, raw and desperate and. . .

  Wait.

  The thought cuts through the panic, sharp and sudden as a knife between the ribs. I understood that. The monster spoke and I understood her. Perfectly. Like they were speaking English.

  That's... weird. That's really weird. Languages don't just translate themselves. You have to learn them, study them, practice them. You can't just suddenly comprehend a completely foreign language because... Because what? Because you were vacuumed into a fantasy world? Because you can suddenly see after a lifetime of blindness? Because nothing makes sense anymore and the rules you thought governed reality have apparently taken a vacation? My thoughts are interrupted as the three stare open-mouthed at me when I speak. The pressure on my back eases slightly as Mira shifts, her weight redistributing. I can feel her staring at me, and can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

  "Her Grace, it speaks!?" Lyra says, taking an inquisitive step forward as the words finish leaving my lips. Her voice is different from Mira's, sharper, more clipped, like someone used to giving orders and having them followed.

  "It seems she does indeed," Mira says, glancing over to the other two girls before returning her glare to my pinned self. There's a new quality to her voice now, something between curiosity and wariness.

  "Speak then, creature. Where have you come from? Where is your den?" Mira demands, her tone shifting into something more formal, more interrogative.

  "Well... we don't know if it has a den? I know some beasts make nests?" Lyra says, and I can hear the academic interest in her voice, like she's trying to remember something from a textbook.

  "It could be a loner that got separated from its pack?" The third one says, leaning down and poking my exposed thigh with her forefinger before scurrying away to hide behind Lyra. "It certainly eats well, I couldn't feel bone."

  "Hey!" I shout, getting more annoyed than angry now as I defend myself from the monster's relentless emotional attacks. "My love of cheesecake is none of your concern."

  There's a beat of silence.

  "Cheese?" Lyra says, her voice rising with confusion.

  "Cake?" The third girl says, equally baffled.

  "Cheesecake," I repeat, then realize how absurd this conversation is. "It's. . .you know what, never mind. Get off me!" I shout, trying to buck Mira off my back like I was a bull at a rodeo.

  But before anyone can respond, I hear someone panting heavily, loud footsteps slowly approaching where we are. "Wait!" "Stop!" A voice yells between deep breaths. Soon my pursuer arrives at the scene, leaning forward and panting heavily with her hands resting on her knees. "Don't... hurt... her," she says, taking long breaths between each word.

  The woman wheezes the words like they're being dragged up from somewhere deep in her lungs. She straightens too fast, immediately wobbles, and has to catch herself on her knees again, palms braced against them as she sucks in air with loud, whistling breaths. Her face is flushed a deep red, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip.

  For a second, no one moves. I even stop . . . Which surprises me.

  Mira's weight is still pressed into my back. Her knee digs into a place just above my tailbone that lights up like a struck nerve, and I hiss despite myself. Lyra is standing just out of reach, her posture alert and coiled, like she's ready to leap either forward or backward depending on which way this goes. The third girl, the pokey one, is still half-hidden behind Lyra, peering at me like I might suddenly grow a second head and lunge.

  The woman finally manages to straighten fully. She's older than the students, I think. Not old-old, but adult in a way that feels different from professors back home. Maybe late twenties, early thirties? Her coat is rumpled, one sleeve twisted slightly inside-out at the cuff, and there's a faint smear of something dark, dirt, maybe blood, along the hem of her dress. Her hair has escaped its bun and is frizzed around her face like she ran here through brambles instead of hallways. There are leaves stuck in it. Actual leaves.

  She points at me with one shaking finger.

  "I said. . ." she pants, then stops to cough, the sound wet and unpleasant. ". . .Don't. Hurt. Her. She's not . . . monster.” She manages to squeak out between deep breaths. "She shouldn't even be conscious," the nurse continues, one hand pressed to her side like she's got a stitch. "We found her in the woods. She was barely breathing. " She trails off, then has to bend over again to catch her breath.

  “You're the monsters here.” I say, still trying to shake off Mira. “Either let me go or eat me already. I warn you, I have a terrible diet.”

  “We're the monsters?” The third girl said, unbelievingly. “You're the one who looks like a wild beast. You're barely even wearing clothes.”

  “Umm . . .” The nurse says, looking guilty. “Kaela, that was me. Her clothes were burned and torn to shreds.”

  “You stripped me?” I say as I stop struggling against Mira for a moment to turn my head and stare at the nurse in a mix of annoyance and anger.

  "You were delirious when we found you. You kept muttering in a strange language we couldn't understand." the nurse says, holding up her hands as if trying to defend herself. “We couldn't have asked you even if we wanted to. It wasn't until I got that relic on you that you were able to understand us.”

  "It's still rude," I say, narrowing my eyes at the nurse.

  The nurse winces, her shoulders hunching slightly. She opens her mouth, closes it, then seems to make a decision. Her expression shifts, becoming more conciliatory as she takes a small breath. "We had a bad first impression. Why don't we fix that? What's your name?"

  "Fey." I say, testing the relic bracelet firmly stuck on my arm.

  "Fey," the nurse repeats, testing it out. "That's... short."

  "It's a name."

  "Is it short for something?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?”

  “I am” I say flatly.

  The nurse holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay! Fey. Just Fey. I'm Runa. I work in the infirmary."

  "You shouldn't," Lyra mutters under her breath.

  "I heard that," Runa says weakly, but she doesn't argue the point.

  Lyra doesn't look sorry. If anything, she looks vindicated.

  Runa wipes her palms on her coat, leaving faint streaks of dirt across the fabric. Her hands are still trembling slightly as she clasps them together, then immediately unclasps them when she realizes how obvious the shaking is. "Fey," she says again, softer now, like she's testing whether saying my name will make me bolt again. "Can you... can you stand?"

  Before I can answer, Mira's grip on my wrists tightens. Not painful, but firm. Unmistakable.

  "I'm not letting her go. She may be able to speak but it doesn't change that she's not supposed to be here.” She says immediately. Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, the tone of someone who's already made a decision and isn't interested in debate.

  I feel her shift her weight slightly, redistributing the pressure on my back. Her knee digs in just a fraction deeper, a reminder that she's still in control here.

  Runa straightens up, or tries to. She wobbles slightly, one hand going to her side where the stitch must still be bothering her. "Mira, I think she understands our intentions well enough now to know we're not trying to hurt her." She glances down at me, then back at Mira, her expression caught somewhere between hopeful and uncertain. "Right?"

  I nod against the grass, tasting dirt and humiliation in equal measure. "Yes. Fine. I get it. You're not trying to kill me. Can I please stop eating your lawn now?"

  Kaela makes a small noise that might be a suppressed laugh.

  Mira's tail flicks once, sharp and irritated. "She bit me," she points out, like this is evidence that should not be overlooked.

  "I tried to bite you," I correct through gritted teeth. "There's a difference."

  "Not a meaningful one," Mira says from her position on my back. Mira doesn't move. I can feel her eyes on the back of my head, weighing her options. Her fingers flex slightly against my wrists, not loosening. "She ran once already," Mira says, and there's something almost apologetic in her tone. Not to me. To Runa. "What's to stop her from doing it again?"

  "Common sense?" I offer weakly.

  "You clearly don't have any," Lyra mutters.

  Fair.

  Runa takes a breath, squaring her shoulders in what's probably meant to be an authoritative gesture but mostly just makes her look like she's bracing for impact. "Mira. Please. She's injured. Exhausted. And. . ." She gestures vaguely at the growing crowd of students watching from various windows and doorways. "We're making a scene."

  Mira's jaw tightens. For a long moment, she doesn't move. Then, slowly, carefully, she begins to ease her weight off my back.

  The relief is immediate and dizzying. I can breathe fully again, my ribs expanding without the constant pressure. But Mira doesn't let go of my wrists. Not yet.

  "If you run," she says quietly, her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear, "I will catch you. And next time, I won't be gentle."

  "Noted," I wheeze.

  Her grip loosens. Just slightly. Just enough.

  "See?" Runa says, gesturing at me. "She's cooperative."

  My muscles protest as I sit up, my ribs aching, my palms stinging where my skin is still raw from the burns. The world tilts alarmingly and I have to close my eyes for a moment, fighting down a wave of nausea.

  I'm very aware, suddenly, of how I look.

  Bare feet, dirty and scratched. Dirt-streaked legs, grass stains on my knees. A thin, unfamiliar gown hanging crookedly off one shoulder, open at the back. I can feel the breeze on my spine. My hair is a disaster, I'm sure, tangled and full of leaves and probably grass.

  "My things," I say, sharpening my voice. "Where are my things?"

  Mira tilts her head, studying me. "You're not in a position to make demands."

  I meet her gaze, heart pounding. "They're mine and I want them back, and as far as I'm concerned all of you are still monsters."

  For a moment, something like respect flickers across her face. It's gone almost immediately, but I saw it.

  Runa clears her throat loudly. Letting out a nervous laugh and seemingly ignoring the other half of my statement. "Right! Good. Excellent. Questions later. Walking now."

  She gestures vaguely toward the academy buildings, then realizes she's gesturing in the wrong direction and corrects herself with a nervous laugh.

  Lyra smirks. "Do you even know where you're going?"

  "Of course I do," Runa says, sounding offended. "I work here."

  "You've worked here for three years and you still get lost."

  "That was one time!"

  "It was four times."

  I stand up from the ground, brushing off my legs the best I could despite the multiple grass stains covering my knees. I shudder as a cold breeze blows through the thin paper medical gown they have me in, silently cursing the nurse for taking my clothing.

  "Well, I never thought I would be able to say this. But seeing as I'm technically the alien here." I say, mentally psyching myself up.

  "Take me to your leader." I announce, to much confusion.

  "The Headmaster?" Lyra supplies, her tone suggesting that she is tired with my antics.

  "Great. Him. Let's go."

  Runa straightens up, attempting to look professional despite the leaves still stuck in her hair and the sweat stains darkening her collar. "Right. . . The Headmaster. I'll take you to him." She points confidently toward the main entrance, then hesitates, her finger wavering slightly. "It's... that way."

  "Are you sure?" Kaela asks, peering around Lyra.

  "Absolutely," Runa says, with the kind of false confidence that immediately makes me doubt her.

  Mira sighs. "It's the other direction."

  "I knew that," Runa says quickly, spinning on her heel and nearly tripping over her own feet. "I was just... testing you. Come on."

  Mira grabs my arm before I can take a step, holding it as we walk. "I'm not letting you free that easily." She says, keeping a firm hold as I follow Nurse Runa.

  We enter through a set of heavy wooden doors that groan as they swing open, the sound echoing through the space beyond like the building itself is announcing our arrival. The entrance hall that reveals itself makes me stop in my tracks, my bare feet suddenly cold against smooth stone that's been worn into subtle dips by centuries of footsteps.

  The ceiling soars above us, easily three stories high, maybe more. It's hard to tell where it ends because the upper reaches fade into shadow despite the light filtering down from somewhere I can't quite identify. Thick stone pillars support the massive space, each one looking like it was carved from a single piece of rock, their surfaces smooth except where age has pitted and scarred them. The pillars are massive, easily wide enough that it would take three people holding hands to encircle one.

  But it's not the architecture that catches my attention and holds it.

  Strange symbols are carved into nearly every surface. They're etched into the stone walls, spiraling up the pillars in intricate patterns that make my eyes want to follow them even when I try to look away. They frame doorways and windows, some so densely packed they overlap each other. Some are simple geometric shapes, circles, triangles, interlocking squares. Others are complex designs that hurt to look at too long, like they're moving when I'm not looking directly at them, shifting and rearranging themselves in my peripheral vision.

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  Some of them look broken, parts of the stone chipped or decayed from years of wear, the lines interrupted by missing chunks that make the patterns incomplete. Others look brand new, as if they were carved just today, their edges sharp and clean, the stone around them still pale where it hasn't had time to darken with age and accumulated grime.

  The air smells different in here. Cooler, damper, with an underlying scent of old stone and something else I can't quite place. Something almost metallic, but not quite. It makes the back of my throat tingle slightly when I breathe too deeply.

  "What are those?" I ask, pointing at the nearest pillar where a series of interconnected circles ringed the pillar.

  "What are what?" Lyra follows my gaze, then looks back at me with confusion written across her face, her head tilting slightly. "Oh. The runes?"

  "Runes?" I repeat, testing the word on my tongue. It sounds fantasy-novel appropriate, which tracks with literally everything else about this situation. "What do they do?"

  "They... do things," Runa says helpfully, which is not helpful at all.

  I wait for more, but she just stands there looking pleased with herself. "What kind of things?"

  "Magic things," Kaela offers from behind Lyra, like this explains everything.

  "That's incredibly vague," I say, staring at the runes, noting the familiarity to the runes on the relic bracelet still locked around my wrist and those I saw carved into the edges of the portal that brought me here. The patterns aren't identical, but there's something similar about them, a shared language I can't read. "Do they, like, explode? Grant wishes? Summon demons?"

  "Why would they summon demons?" Lyra asks, genuinely baffled.

  "I don't know! I don't know how any of this works!" I gesture wildly at the walls, at the ceiling, at everything. "In my world, walls are just walls. They don't do things."

  "How do you light your buildings?" Kaela asks, tilting her head, her horns catching the ambient light.

  "Electricity." I say.

  "What's electricity?" Kaela replies, the word clearly foreign in her mouth.

  "It's..." I pause, trying to figure out how to explain electrical current to someone who apparently uses magic runes for everything. "It's like... energy, but controlled. We capture it and send it through wires to power lights and machines."

  "That sounds incredibly dangerous," Lyra says, her expression suggesting I've just described something barbaric.

  "What if the electricity gets angry?" Nurse Runa says, completely serious.

  "Says the people living in a castle covered in symbols that might explode," I counter.

  "Runes don't explode," Runa says, then pauses, her confidence wavering. "Well. Most runes don't explode. The ones that do are clearly marked."

  "That's not as reassuring as you think it is."

  We continue down the corridor, and I can't stop staring at everything. My eyes keep trying to take in too much at once, darting from detail to detail like they're trying to make up for twenty years of darkness all at once. The walls are alive in a way I didn't expect. Vines grow from cracks in the masonry, thick green tendrils winding up toward the ceiling where they spread across the stone like veins, like the building has a circulatory system. The leaves are a deep, rich shade I have no name for, and they rustle softly even though I can't feel any breeze.Our footsteps echo differently here, the sound changing as we move from stone to sections where thick rugs have been laid down, their patterns complex and geometric. The rugs muffle our steps, but I can still hear the soft scuff of my bare feet, the sharper click of the students' shoes, Runa's uneven gait as she tries to walk with authority and fails.

  There are lanterns hanging from the walls every few feet, suspended on metal brackets that look like they've been there for decades. They emit a warm hue in a shade I could not name, something that makes the stone look less cold, more welcoming. The lanterns themselves look to be made out of metal, tarnished in places, with straight panes of glass surrounding a central grey bulb that glows without any visible flame or filament. "How do those work?" I ask, pointing at one as we walk past, noting the runes carved into the metal frame of the lantern itself, small and precise.

  "Magic," all three students say in unison, like they've had this conversation before, like they're reciting a line they've said a hundred times.

  "You're all terrible at explanations," I mutter.

  Lyra sighs, the sound long-suffering, like I'm a particularly slow student who's asked the same question three times. "They're lanterns. They draw in ignis from the surrounding air, store it, and when it's dark enough it'll use it to make the center part glow. It's basic runework. First-year material."

  I blink at her. "I understood maybe half of those words."

  "Which half?" she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

  "What is Ignis? Why don't you start with that?"

  Kaela giggles, the sound bright and slightly nervous. Lyra looks like she's reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.

  "Ignis is a type of mana. The professors could explain better than we can," Mira says, her voice carrying that same clipped efficiency she's had since she tackled me.

  "Yes," Lyra says, clearly relieved to pass the responsibility to someone else.

  "Is it like electricity?" I say, latching onto the comparison.

  "I still don't know what electricity is," Lyra says, frustrated, her tail flicking once behind her.

  "Mana is Mana? It's in the air, the earth, water, fire, living creatures, even in stone. We're seeing mana right now," Kaela says, now walking ahead of the group, her voice taking on that quality of someone reciting something they've memorized. "It's everywhere. It's in everything."

  "So you're saying there's this invisible energy everywhere, and you can manipulate it to do things?"

  "Yes," Lyra says, sounding relieved that I'm finally getting it, that we're finally speaking the same language.

  "And the runes help with that?"

  "Yes," Lyra says, cutting off Mira and Kaela before they can give what I'm sure would be a more detailed and confusing explanation.

  "So they're like... programs?" I say, latching onto the closest analogy I can think of. "Like computer code?"

  "What's a computer?" Runa asks, and I can hear the genuine curiosity in her voice.

  I open my mouth to answer, then close it. How do you explain a computer to someone who's never seen electricity? "It's... a machine that processes information. You give it instructions, and it follows them. The instructions are written in code, which is like... a language the machine understands."

  They're all staring at me now.

  "Your world sounds very strange," Kaela says softly.

  "Yeah, well, yours has a ceiling made of leaves and magic symbols carved into everything, so we're even."

  We pass a group of students clustered near a doorway, their conversation cutting off abruptly as they notice us. I can feel their eyes on me, tracking my movement. One of them, a girl with horns that curve forward instead of back, leans toward her companion and whispers something. Her eyes are wide, the petals seeming to expand slightly as she stares.

  "Is that the creature?" A nearby student whispers to her companion, not quietly enough. Her voice carries in the stone corridor, echoing slightly.

  "The creature..." I say loudly, turning to face them directly. "Is standing right here and can hear you."

  The girl squeaks and hurries away, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. Her companion follows, both of them disappearing around a corner.

  "I'm not a zoo animal," I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. The thin medical gown does nothing to make me feel less exposed, less on display.

  "You bit someone," Mira reminds me, her voice flat.

  "I tried to bite... you. There's a difference."

  She stares at me, clearly frustrated by my antics, her jaw tight.

  "Fair point," Lyra says, putting her hand on Mira's shoulder in an expression that could only be interpreted as her telling Mira to drop it for now. Mira's shoulders relax slightly under the touch, but she doesn't stop glaring at me.

  Finally, we reach a section of corridor that ends at a single door. It's massive, easily twice my height and probably three times as wide, carved from dark wood that looks ancient. The grain is so tight and fine it almost looks like stone, polished to a deep sheen that reflects the light from the nearby lanterns. More runes are carved into its surface, these ones looking slightly different from the others we've passed. They're larger, more deliberate, arranged in patterns that seem to have meaning beyond mere decoration. They feel different too, though I can't explain how. There's a weight to them, a presence that makes the air around the door feel heavier.

  "Here," Runa announces, sounding relieved, like she's just completed a marathon. "The Headmaster's office."

  I stare at the door. It's intimidating in a way that feels intentional, designed to make visitors feel small and uncertain before they even enter. It's working. My heart is hammering against my ribs, each beat loud enough that I'm sure everyone can hear it. My mouth is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

  "So," I say, my voice coming out smaller than I intended, barely more than a whisper. "What happens now?"

  Mira steps up beside me, her expression unreadable, her eyes fixed on the door. "Now you meet our leader, as you stated." She says, finally taking her hand off my arm.

  "And then?"

  "Who knows?" she says simply, her voice carrying no comfort, no reassurance.

  "Great," I say weakly, trying to inject some humor into my voice and failing. "Love that. Very reassuring."

  Lyra raises her hand to knock, her knuckles hovering just above the wood. She hesitates for a moment, and I see her take a breath, steadying herself.

  If this were a fantasy novel, and it very clearly is, because look around, then this is the part where the authority figure decides whether I'm a threat, a curiosity, or a problem to be contained.

  I don't like any of those options.

  Behind me, I can hear Runa shifting her weight from foot to foot, nervous energy radiating off her. Kaela is quiet, but I can feel her presence, her eyes on my back.

  "For what it's worth," Kaela says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes when I glance back at her, "I don't think you're feral anymore."

  "Thank you," I say dryly, though my voice shakes slightly. "I love that."

  She swallows, her throat working. "Just... try not to bite him."

  "I'll do my best," I say, which is not a promise. Which is all I can offer right now.

  Lyra knocks.

  It's a firm, deliberate sound, three measured strikes that echo down the hall and then vanish into the thick wood like the door has swallowed them whole. For a moment, nothing happens. The silence stretches, pulling tight like a string about to snap. I have just enough time to catalog the details I can see now that panic isn't actively screaming in my ears: the grain of the door, dark and polished smooth by generations of hands, countless students and professors who've stood exactly where I'm standing now. The runes, intricate and precise, their lines carved deep into the wood. The way the metal inlay catches the light from the lanterns, gleaming dully. The small imperfections in the wood, the tiny cracks and divots that speak to its age.

  My bare feet are freezing against the stone floor. I curl my toes, trying to generate some warmth, but it doesn't help. The medical gown shifts slightly, the back gaping open, and I feel the cold air on my spine, on my shoulder blades. I'm suddenly, acutely aware of how I must look: dirty, disheveled, barely dressed, standing in front of this massive door like a prisoner awaiting judgment.

  Which, I suppose, is exactly what I am.

  "Enter," a voice says from the other side. It's deep. Calm. The kind of voice that assumes it will be obeyed.

  Lyra pushes the door open.

  The office smells like old paper, ink, and something herbal, bitter and grounding. Sage, maybe, or something similar. The space is large without being cavernous, shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with books and scrolls and objects I don't recognize but immediately distrust. A tall window dominates one side of the room, light filtering through an open window.

  Behind a heavy desk sits a man.

  He has horns, like the others, but his sweep back from his head in a way that suggests age and authority. His skin is a warm gray, darker than the students', and his black hair is streaked with silver at the temples. He looks up as we enter, and I see his eyes.

  Flower eyes. Like Mira's. Like all of them.

  But these are different. More elaborate. The petals are larger, more pronounced, arranged in multiple overlapping layers that create an almost three-dimensional effect. Where Mira's eye petals had been delicate and tightly clustered, his spread outward in broad, sweeping curves before spiraling inward toward the center. Each petal is distinct, clearly defined, with sharp edges that catch the light. They're arranged in a pattern that's almost geometric in its precision, outer petals large and curved, middle layers smaller and more angular, inner petals tiny and densely packed around what should be a pupil.

  The overall effect is commanding. Intricate. Like looking at something that's been refined over decades, grown more complex with age. If Mira's eyes were a simple flower, his are a formal garden, carefully cultivated, deliberately arranged, impossibly detailed.

  They're the eyes of someone who's had power for a very long time.

  His gaze lands on me.

  And stays there.

  I have the deeply uncomfortable sensation of being read like a book. Analyzed. Cataloged. Assessed. Its similar to the sensation I felt when I could tell someone was looking at me. . . back when I was blind . . . back on earth. Its nice to know some things stay consistent in any world.

  "Well," he says mildly, his voice carrying that same calm authority I heard through the door. "This is unexpected. I was planning to meet you in the infirmary. However, here you are . . . in my office . . . half naked . . . with three of my students and the nurse herself.

  He looks at Nurse Runa, squinting his eyes as the nurse shrinks back towards the door.

  Mira steps forward, her posture straightening into something more formal. "Headmaster Aldric. She tried to escape, so we stopped her in the courtyard."

  "I was tackled," I say, because apparently I can't help myself.

  Aldric raises one hand without looking away from me. "We'll get to that." His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "Runa. Why was she left alone."

  "Well . . . we had only found her some time ago and when we finally got her to sleep I went to get the translation relic. When I was walking back to the infirmary she was already awake. She saw me, screamed, and ran."

  "Figures." Lyra says, cracking a smile.

  Nurse Runa glares at Lyra, before shaking her head softly and seemingly deciding to forget it.

  "I woke up in a strange place surrounded by monsters," I say defensively. "That's a normal response."

  "Is it?" Aldric asks, and there's something almost amused in his tone. "Most people, when waking in an infirmary, ask questions. They don't immediately run."

  "Most people wake up in their own world," I counter.

  That gets his attention. His eyes sharpen, focusing on me with renewed intensity. "Your own world," he repeats slowly. "Explain."

  I swallow. "I'm not from here. I'm from Earth. There was an attack at my school. . .someone threw a fireball, and then the air just... opened. I fell through, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

  Silence.

  It stretches long enough that I start to fidget, my bare feet shifting on the cold stone floor.

  "A portal," Aldric says finally, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "You're claiming you came through a portal."

  "I'm not claiming anything. That's what happened."

  "Do you have any proof that you come from this . . . Earth?" Aldric says, tapping his finger on the desk.

  "Well . . . no" I said, now concerned I'm going to be sent to a magical insane asylum . . . if they have those. "But I did come with my backpack! It had my phone in it, it's a small rectangle!"

  He reaches beneath his desk and pulls out my backpack, setting it on the surface with a soft thud. Next to it, he places my phone. "Like this?" Aldric picks up my phone, turning it over in his hands. "It doesn't respond to mana."

  "It doesn't run on mana," I say. "It runs on electricity. There's a battery inside that stores electrical charge."

  He sets my phone down and picks up my backpack, opening it and pulling out items one by one. My notebook. My pens. A half-empty water bottle. A granola bar that's probably crushed to dust by now. My student ID.

  He examines the ID closely, holding it up to the light. "This is you?"

  "Yes."

  "You look different."

  "I was blind," I say flatly. "I wore dark glasses. And I hadn't been tackled into the dirt yet."

  He sets the ID down.

  Then he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk, and stares at me with an intensity that makes me want to step back. His gaze locks onto my eyes, studying them with the same analytical focus he gave my phone.

  "You don't look blind?"

  "I honestly don't know what to tell you." I say, letting out a nervous chuckle at how crazy my story sounds. "I was pulled through a portal and woke up here. I saw a few weird things back on earth but I could see everything here just fine. Light looks strange, but I've never seen it before so I cant complain."

  "Light?" Mira says, sounding confused.

  "What's light mean? Do you mean ignis?"

  "Isn't ignis mana? No I mean light, like what's coming in the window." I point to a tall open window that rested between two particularly overcrowded bookcases towards one side of the office.

  "That's Ignis . . . mana. We know from study that eyes detect ignis, how else would we be able to see?"

  That's when I realized.

  I ran to the window, leaning outwards as I stared up at the sky . . . or lack thereof.

  I was told a lot of things as I grew up. Growing up blind means you have to rely a lot on people for information everyone else takes for granted. One of the things I was told was that the sky was blue. What that meant . . . I honestly could not tell you. People described the color blue to me as something cold, something opposite the color red, which was warm.

  People told me of the stars, of the moon . . . of the sun.

  There was no sun.

  Just like I saw earlier . . . the sky was not the cool blue color that I was taught. However, honestly I wouldn't be able to tell if it was. It was covered with giant leaves that created a ceiling that stretched beyond what I could see. Far off in the distance I could see a dark hue, possibly denoting the horizon in this strange world.

  No sun . . . meant no light.

  No light . . .

  Wait . . . how was I seeing in a world with no sun?

  "No. . . No . . . No" I said, taking a step back.

  "You must be quite interesting." Aldric says, standing up for the first time. "If you were blind as you claim to be . . . yet you can see mana. You might be more like us . . . 'monsters' than you realize.

  "No, I can prove it. That can't be true." I said, quickly moving to the desk where I snatch my phone off the desk and click the power button. The screen reader chirps like everything is fine. The screen stays dead. When it finally starts I feel the familiar little vibration of a world that still runs on rules. But the display doesn’t bloom. It doesn’t glow. It doesn’t do the one thing it’s supposed to do. . . be seen.

  I tap harder, like my stubbornness can generate photons.

  Nothing. Like my old world just turned its face away.

  "A talking box?" Nurse Runa says.

  "Why isn't the screen turning on?" I said, checking to see if I could increase the brightness or if the screen was cracked. However, nothing worked. A phone screen isn’t ink. It’s light. Tiny, manufactured light. . . pixels pretending to be reality. And if I can’t see that…”

  The problem was never my eyes. It was what my eyes were looking for.

  The room tilts. Or maybe I'm tilting. I can't tell anymore.

  "Miss Fey." Aldric's voice cuts through the spiral, calm and measured.

  I hear his footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, crossing the office toward me. Then his hand is on my shoulder, warm and solid and grounding. The weight of it pulls me back from the edge of whatever panic was threatening to swallow me whole.

  "Breathe," he says quietly, and it's not a suggestion. It's an instruction, delivered with the kind of authority that makes you obey without thinking.

  I breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Once. Twice.

  His other hand reaches up, and I feel him carefully adjust the thin paper-like strap of the medical gown that's slipped off my shoulder.

  "Our eyes detect ambient mana," he says, his voice taking on that same measured monotone, like he's explaining a simple fact rather than something that's just shattered my understanding of myself. His head tilts slightly as he glances back toward the window. "I would guess that in your world, we would be considered blind as well."

  “Great,” I think. “Interdimensional solidarity.”

  He pauses, letting that sink in. Letting me process. His hand remains on my shoulder, steady.

  Then, with what feels like intentional precision, he shifts the conversation. His tone changes, becoming more practical, more forward-looking. Like he's deliberately steering us away from the precipice.

  "But everything will be fine," he continues, and there's something almost gentle in the way he says it, though his expression remains neutral. "You're at my Academy, the oldest institution of magical learning in the Empire. We may be toward the edge, but my professors are among the finest in their fields."

  He pauses, his hand dropping from my shoulder as he turns to face me fully. "While we investigate how you arrived here and how to return you home, you'll attend classes."

  I blink at him. "Classes?"

  "No," Mira says immediately, stepping forward with her arms crossed. "Absolutely not. She's dangerous. She tried to bite me! You can't just let her wander around the academy with students."

  "She won't be wandering," Aldric says calmly. "She'll be escorted. Supervised . . . by you."

  "Please reconsider Headmaster, we can send her to the capital. The yellow men, they . . ." Mira starts, being interrupted by the Headmaster.

  Runa flinches.

  "No!" Headmaster Aldric snaps, raising his voice. "I won't hear of it. I won't turn away a potential student, and it would be wrong of us to send this girl off on her own when she knows nothing of our world."

  "She could hurt someone," Mira insists.

  "So could any first-year student with chalk." Nurse Runa counters. "That's why we have classes. That's why we have supervision."

  Aldric raises a hand, and everyone falls silent. He looks towards me, taking a seat back into his chair. "What is your name?"

  "Fey." I say, clearing my throat as the stress started to hit me.

  "Miss Fey . . ." He says, scanning the room. "Will attend basic courses." He turns to look at me, his eyes unreadable. "You'll learn how to navigate this world. In return, you'll submit to examinations so we can understand how you arrived and how you can see mana."

  "And if I refuse?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

  "You won't," he says simply. "Because the alternative is confinement to a single room with no answers, no progress, and no hope of returning home." His expression softens slightly. "I'm not your enemy, Miss Fey. But I am responsible for the safety of everyone in this academy. This is the compromise."

  I look around the room. Mira and Lyra are still glaring at me with suspicion. Kaela looks excited, like she's already thinking about how it will work. Runa just looks relieved that someone else is making decisions.

  I never thought I would be good at reading emotions after being blind for my entire life. Its been a long day. I thought, looking back to the Headmaster.

  "So I'm a prisoner," I say flatly.

  "You're a student," Aldric corrects. "With restrictions."

  "A prisoner-student."

  "If you prefer."

  "Fine," I say finally, because what else can I say? My voice comes out smaller than I intended, tired and defeated. "Do I at least get some clothes?"