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“Oh, darling,” he laughs, a sound like crystal bells chiming in harmony. “That’s exactly why the universe brought you here.”

He tilts his head, mohawk shifting colors from electric blue to violet. “Speaking of bets... interested in a little wager yourself? Faculty are technically allowed to participate, though most consider it beneath their dignity.”

“What kind of wager?”

“The usual.” He produces a shimmering scroll from thin air, unfurling it with theatrical flair. Names and odds dance across the parchment in golden script. “Survival duration, cause of elimination, whether you’ll end up claimed by a court... that sort of thing.”

I scan the list, noting my own name with depressingly low odds. Several betting categories make my eye twitch.Days until nervous breakdown: 2-1 in favor of less than a weekandCause of elimination: Magical overload vs. Political assassination vs. Voluntary withdrawal.

“Charming. And I can bet on myself?”

“Oh yes, though it’s considered either supreme confidence or spectacular stupidity.” His grin shows those too-sharp teeth. “Most humans who try end up proving the latter.”

“What’s the currency? I assume you don’t take credit cards.”

“Favors, darling. One small favor owed, to be collected at a time of the winner’s choosing.” His eyes gleam dangerously.“Much more interesting than mundane currency, don’t you think?”

I consider this. In my world, favors are intelligence, access, leverage. Here, they could be literally anything. “What constitutes a small favor?”

“Nothing life-threatening, nothing that violates your core nature, nothing that lasts longer than a day.” He waves a hand airily. “Standard Academy regulations. Though creativity within those bounds is... encouraged.”

“Put me down for one favor. Full survival, no elimination.”

Viel’s eyes widen, pupils dilating as he stares at me like I’ve just declared war on reality. “Full survival? Darling, that’s... those are astronomical odds. You’d win...” he does quick calculations, trailing sparkles in the air, “approximately twenty-three favors from various faculty and students. If you survive the full term.”

“Twenty-three people owing me favors?” A slow smile spreads across my face. “Now that’s interesting currency.”

“Oh, I like you already.” My wager appears on the scroll in silver script. “Bet placed. The cosmic forces are either laughing or trembling. I haven’t decided which.”

Before I can respond to that unsettling statement, he spins on his heel, robe billowing impossibly wide, creating a momentary darkness that swallows the light around him. “Tour begins now! Keep up, keep up. And do try not to touch the western wall—it’s having one of its moods today. Mercury retrograde, you understand.”

I fight the hysterical laugh threatening to bubble up my throat, tasting bitter and metallic. I follow, staying three precise steps behind—close enough to hear, far enough to react if needed.

The floor beneath my boots shifts subtly with each step, like walking on something barely alive. It gives slightly undermy weight, then firms up again, as if testing my pressure. The stone whispers words that burn into my brain when my fingers accidentally brush against a column. I’ve never heard this language before, but I understand every syllable. The sound vibrates through my fingertips directly into my chest where it settles like a cold stone against my heart.

I drag in a steady breath, forcing my pulse to slow through sheer will. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

Stay calm. Observe. Report. But to whom? And what?

Dear Colonel Graves, the architecture is sentient and apparently chatty. Please advise.

“The Academy was established approximately four thousand years ago, give or take a century or two,” Viel calls over his shoulder as we navigate a corridor that stretches as we walk. “Three thousand years later, it became neutral territory when the courts divided and realized they’d spend eternity destroying each other otherwise. Terribly dramatic, but what spiritual growth isn’t?” He glances back with that too-perfect smile. “Much more interesting is the rumor that builders mixed the foundation stones with the blood of a thousand sacrifices. Just a rumor, of course—though the stones do tend to be rather... chatty with those who carry the right frequencies.”

Right. Just a rumor about blood sacrifices and chatty stones that somehow know my personal frequency.

The corridor opens into a circular chamber with a domed ceiling depicting constellations I’ve never seen—stars in formations impossible from Earth’s perspective. They twinkle with actual light, not paint, and they move in patterns too subtle to track.

“The Nexus Hall,” Viel announces with another theatrical gesture, his voice dropping to reverent tones. “Neutral ground where all three courts can gather without triggering ancient defense mechanisms. Sacred space, darling—the universe’s wayof saying ‘play nice or face cosmic consequences.’ Do note the floor mosaic—a fully accurate map of the Academy when viewed from the proper angle, which changes hourly with the celestial movements.”

I glance down at the intricate stonework beneath our feet—stylized representations of towers, gardens, and forests that shift slightly when not directly observed, like trying to track movement in peripheral vision. This could be useful. I memorize the pattern, already thinking how it might help me navigate this place where nothing stays still.

Across the hall, a tall Seelie professor with butterfly wings that shimmer between colors argues with a severe-looking Unseelie in dark robes. Their voices carry with perfect clarity despite the distance.

“Lady Shimmerwell, your proposal is about as practical as teaching fish to tap dance,” drawls the Unseelie, shadows gathering around his shoulders. “Just because something sparkles doesn’t make it useful.”

“Lord Dredge,” the butterfly-winged woman replies with a cutting smile, “if I wanted your opinion, I’d summon a ghost.” Her wings flare bright gold. “At least they have a historical perspective.”

As they continue bickering, temperature drops rapidly. Snowflakes spread across the marble while faculty step back. I don’t feel the cold.