Summer. The heat was so intense that even the golems in the fields started moving slower, as if conserving their charge. I was lazily fanning myself with a burdock leaf when Erol and Yara rolled up to me.

  — Zenhald! Zen! Zen! — they rattled off in unison, not even letting me yawn.

  — What do you want, runts?

  — We heard there's a great Academy in the United Nations Country! Tell us, what's it like? Is it cool? Do they teach you how to turn water into wine, or at least into lemonade?

  I cracked one eye open.

  — What makes you think I'm up to speed on local educational standards?

  — Lucia said it's better to ask you. That you're... an "insider" there.

  Traitor, I thought. Found someone else to dump the problem on.

  — Well... — I scratched the back of my head. — They teach something there. Probably. The place is cool and terrible at the same time. Pure chaos, running around, and rules that change faster than the weather. What, you don't like your school? It was fun in town.

  The kids grimaced in sync.

  — It's boring there, — Erol blurted out. — The same thing every day. We want to see the world! We want to go to another country!

  That evening at the table, a real siege began. Erol and Yara dumped their idea on Alastor and Aya. I sat there sipping my compote, waiting for the demons to bark: "You're staying home!". But instead...

  — Yes... in principle, it's a good idea, — Aya replied calmly, exchanging a glance with Alastor. — It will be a useful experience.

  I choked on my compote.

  — What?! Just like that? You're just letting them go?

  — On one condition, — Alastor raised a finger. — Zenhald will transport you there. Once every six months we will visit them, and they will visit us.

  — WHAT?! — My yell probably scared the cows in the barn. — What am I to you, an intercity shuttle bus? Do you have any idea what kind of strain this puts on my poor, unfortunate heart?!

  — Yes, yes, yes! — the kids screamed, jumping with delight. — Zen is the best transport in the world!

  At night, when the house finally quieted down, Lucia sat next to me on the porch. She looked at the moon and smiled slyly.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  — Why did you freak out so much when the Academy came up, Zen?

  — Because it's a mess there! — I grumbled. — Floors flying around, mirrors glitching, no schedule...

  — Strange, — Lucia turned to me, her eyes flashing. — You helped build it yourself, you know.

  I froze.

  — What? Me? I don't remember that. Why would I waste my time on...

  Before I could finish, she cut me off with a snide laugh:

  — Oh yes. Only a sadist like you could come up with that chaotic system. You intentionally made it so students couldn't just "study normally." You wanted them to learn how to survive under conditions of absolute uncertainty. You personally designed those "jumping floors" and "matryoshka doors".

  I looked at my hands. My memory was blank. Not a single blueprint, not a single thought about architecture. But deep down, something giggled maliciously.

  — Strange... — I muttered. — Why don't I have these memories? If I really built that madhouse... then my past self was a massive troll.

  Lucia patted my head, and I started to "shut down" again, but a final thought managed to slip through: So, when I was suffering there trying to find my classroom... I was suffering from my own past stupidity?

  End of summer. The heat finally began to break, giving way to anxious anticipation. It was time to send Erol and Yara off for knowledge.

  POP. BAM.

  One powerful spatial jerk—and we were already at the gates of the Academy. As expected, the young vampires didn't appreciate the charms of instantaneous travel. As soon as the soles of their shoes touched solid ground, they bent over in sync, returning everything they ate for breakfast to nature.

  — Weaklings, — I muttered, watching their torment.

  The kids were wildly nervous. They passed the entrance exam in such a way that even the magical sensors seemed to hesitate on whether to give them a passing grade. The result was the bare minimum score. Right on the edge. But, as they say, a pass is a pass. They got lucky.

  I didn't go inside the Academy myself. I stayed far back in the forest, among the swaying trees, watching the spires through a cloaking spell.

  Was I afraid of running into old acquaintances? Alexia, Lianel, Alphus, that girl Alastia?

  Probably... yes. Or maybe not. I just reminded myself once again: I'm just a supporting character in their lives. An extra who accidentally wandered into the frame. They have their own story, grand and heroic, and I have... a farm. Why ask how they're doing? Just to feel like a nobody again?

  POP.

  We returned home. The emptiness in the kids' rooms hit immediately.

  So they wouldn't feel abandoned, I gave them a pair of "communication spheres." My own invention from a past cycle: you pour mana in, and the message flies to the recipient.

  There was one technical catch, though. My messages reached them instantly. But their replies... The kids didn't have much mana for such distances, so their messages took two or three hours to reach me.

  Pure magical ping. You ask: "How are you?", and the reply: "Fine, eating porridge" arrives right as they're going to bed.

  Alastor and Aya tried very hard to pretend they didn't care. Alastor bit into his work at the mill with redoubled effort, and Aya scrubbed the floors so fiercely the stone began to shine. But I saw them constantly glancing at the empty beds on the second floor.

  Good thing they still had Tizor. The little guy was now the center of the universe, an outlet for two demons who suddenly realized what an "empty nest" felt like.

  As for me, I crashed in the sandbox with Tizor again.

  — Zen, — the kid poked me in the ribs. — Are they going to meet that sand monster there?

  — I hope not, kid, — I closed my eyes, turning my face to the setting sun. — I hope they only meet boring textbooks and normal friends there.