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Twobble’s big eyes stared up at me, and his smile matched the excitement behind his gaze as he puffed his chest out on the doorstep of the Academy.

My first student.

My loyal friend.

And the one who deserved to be in the Academy more than anyone.

It didn’t matter that he was a goblin, or that half the town might roll their eyes and scoff at the idea. They didn’t know him the way I did. They didn’t see the heart behind the sharp teeth, the unwavering loyalty behind the sarcasm, or the sheer determination behind every crooked grin.

Never did it occur to me that the most surprising confidant would be recognized as such by the Academy. It was hard to believe that the Academy knew exactly who I needed by my side on this journey. Once again, this magical space understood something bigger than I did.

Twobble had stood by me when no one else did, when the Academy’s doors were just a vague notion, and everyone whispered that it was cursed, doomed, and impossible.

Not Twobble.

He believed.

In the Academy.

In me.

In the idea that a place like this could still be something more than a crumbling old shell of forgotten magic.

Standing on the front steps with the familiar scent of sugar from Twobble sneaking cookies lessened the uncertainty of tomorrow’s next step.

I honestly couldn’t imagine a more perfect first student. Not some polished shifter from the East Faction. Not a perfect mage from the city. Not a high-born fae with the right bloodlines.

Twobble.

Just Twobble.

My hand drifted to his tiny shoulder, and he froze, his eyes darting toward the touch like he wasn’t sure if it was a mistake.

“It’s official,” I said, letting a slow, proud smile spread across my face. “You’re the first student of the reopened Academy.”

He blinked.

Twice. Maybe three times.

I saw his throat bob like he’d swallowed something sharp.

“You mean it? Like official, official?”

“Like ink-on-paper, signed-sealed-delivered official,” I said, crouching down so we were eye to eye.

Twobble’s breath caught, and I smiled. Even with all the snark, Twobble had a heart of gold.

“You’re...you’re not just saying that to make me feel important, are you? ‘Cause I’m already important. I’m an elder goblin of the third hill of Stonewick. I don’t need charity.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, my voice catching on a laugh. “This isn’t charity, Twobble. It’s legacy. You’ve earned this. The Academy chose you.”

He tried to puff up even more, but his voice cracked. “I have, haven’t I?”

“You have.” I winked at him and straightened.

We stood there, a woman and a goblin, on the steps of a once-great Academy that now felt like it was breathing again, thanks to him.

“I always knew I’d be a scholar,” Twobble sniffed, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief that looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from my pocket weeks ago. “I told my cousin Morgy that, you know…” He sniffed. “Told him I’d get in here before any of them hoity-toity folk.”

“And you did.” I squeezed his shoulder, ignoring how emotion twisted tightly in my chest.

Because if anyone deserved this place, it was Twobble.

He’d guarded its secrets when everyone else had forgotten them.

Twobble kept the legends alive, muttering them under his breath at the tea shop or scribbling them into the margins of whatever book he borrowed.

He was the one who noticed the first crack at the cottage, shoved the ancient books into my hands, and showed me where I belonged.

“Twobble,” I said, blinking away the prickle in my eyes, “this place needs you.”

He stared at me like I’d offered him the moon. “Needs me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and the weight of it settled between us, soft and warm. “The Academy isn’t just charms and Wards. It’s about heart. And loyalty. And grit. And who has more grit than you?”

“No one,” he said fiercely, his pointy chin tilting up.

“Exactly.”

I stepped back, and he stepped over the threshold as the old doors creaked shut.

Twobble took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of old magic and promises that wrapped around us like a welcome hug.

The sunlight caught the stained glass just right, scattering flecks of color over Twobble’s green face. He looked like a hero in one of those old tales he loved so much.

I swallowed hard as he circled in the great space, taking everything in the way I had done not so long ago. The ceiling’s dizzying mosaic of magic swirled above us, and it felt like I was experiencing everything again.

His eyes met mine, and a sheepish grin spread across his face. “I only dreamed about what this place looked like, and my dreams weren’t big enough for this.”

Twobble’s words made my heart squeeze.

“You ready to see your room?” I asked, nudging him toward a hallway.

He froze. “I get a room?”

“Of course you get a room. You’re a student now, aren’t you?”

His eyes went wide. “With a desk?”

“Yes.” I assumed.

“And books?”

“Twobble,” I said, “you might have to fight me for the books.”

He snorted, cheeks flushing. “I always wanted a desk. With a nameplate. And a lamp. And maybe a snack drawer.”

“Well,” I said, leading him through the corridor where ancient magic hummed with pure mysticism, “consider it done.”

We walked side by side down the hall, the flickering sconces glowing a little brighter with each step. It felt right. Like the Academy itself approved.

I had no idea where I was taking him, but I let the Academy guide us as always. Somewhere along the way, I’d learned to look like I knew what I was doing when the exact opposite was true.

Twobble kept stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, making sure this wasn’t a dream. I caught his gaze once, and the sarcasm and bluster faded for a moment.

“Maeve?” he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Yeah, Twobble?”

“Thanks,” he whispered.

And those two little words, barely more than a breath, wrapped around my heart tighter than any spell.

“I didn’t do a thing, Twobble.” I smiled at my little green friend. “You’ve done more for me than you could ever imagine.”

That was when I realized one of the reasons I was so drawn to Twobble.

He reminded me of my daughter. She probably wouldn’t be thrilled at her age to learn her mom can see similarities between a goblin and her, but shoot.

At this point, she probably wouldn’t be thrilled to find out her mom believed in goblins.

I chuckled and shook my head as Twobble looked up at me.

“How so?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“You gave me confidence and the grace to make mistakes.”

We’d barely made it ten steps into the corridor before curiosity gnawed at me.

“You know,” I said, eyeing him sideways, “the Academy had a habit of catapulting you halfway to Stella’s compost heap whenever you got too close. How exactly did you… you know… not get flung this time?”

Twobble’s grin stretched wide, revealing a row of pointy teeth. “Ah. Now that is a tale of daring and strategy.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m listening.”

He squared up, already relishing the spotlight. “It started this morning. Well, after I finished my breakfast of two boiled eggs, four crackers, and a wedge of cheese that might’ve been...vintage. I topped it off with a few sugar cookies.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Vintage?”

“From a pantry raid. Your pantry,” he said proudly. “Extra flavor.”

“Charming,” I muttered. “But I never kept cheese in a pantry.”

“Explains the tartness. Anyway,” he pressed on, “I woke up feelin’ a little itchy in the toes, which every goblin worth their salt knows is a sign of imminent brilliance. Whenever you get an itch you can’t scratch, greatness is on the horizon.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Imminent brilliance. Of course.”

“So, I figured, what the heck? I missed you, Maeve.” His voice dipped softly, and his big eyes flicked toward mine, catching me off guard. “And I thought that maybe the old place had a change of heart. Stranger things have happened.”

A lump wedged itself in my throat. “You missed me, huh?”

“Yeah, well, don’t get mushy about it,” he grumbled, scratching behind his ear. “I just got used to your company, is all. You’re easy on the eyes, for a human. Good to chat with. You’re receptive.”

“Wow. Flattery from Twobble. Should I write this in the record book?”

“You should. ”

I bit back a grin as he strutted a few paces ahead, basking in his theatrics.

“And you were willing to risk life and limb to come see me?”

An ironic smirk covered his features. “Well, partially. I was also more than incensed when I found out a fae had managed to enter through the doors, not me.” He folded his arms. “That’s insulting, to say the least.”

“It wasn’t all about me then.” I laughed. “Your ego was a little bruised.”

“Not ego.” He scowled. “Just an inordinate amount of justice. I couldn’t fathom that the Academy would do that to me. And before I knew what was happening, it felt like a magnet pulling me here. It became an hour-long obsession. I had to find out.”

“I get it.” I nodded. “So you just… walked up the front steps?”

“Pfft. As if. I’m not a complete fool, Maeve,” he huffed. “I took the old goblin tunnel under the creek. Not the one you know about, but the third hatch past the crooked oak, if you must know. Fully expecting to get blasted back to Stonewick square the minute I poked my head out, mind you.”

I tilted my head. “But you didn’t?”

“Nope.” He shook his head with exaggerated slowness. “Nothing. Not even a tingle. ”

“Did you check to ensure you still had all your body parts?”

“First thing I did,” he said gravely. “Counted my fingers, my toes, and my favorite ear.”

“Favorite?”

He flicked his left ear. “This one’s slightly pointier than the other. It’s a prestige thing.”

“Oh, naturally.”

He snickered, the sound crackling down the empty space. “So, when nothing exploded, I figured the Academy must be asleep at the wheel. Or it was a trap. Either way, I scurried from the hatch to the first tree…real stealthy-like. Then to the next. Then I belly-crawled to a bush.”

“You belly-crawled?”

He smirked. “What, you think goblins don’t know how to sneak? It’s an art. I had to blend into the foliage. I even rubbed dirt on my face for extra camouflage.”

I snorted. “That explains the smudge on your cheek.”

“Dedication, Maeve,” he said with mock scorn. “Anyway, I even kept expecting the Butterfly Ward to zap me into the sky. But nothing. At first, I thought I’d just gotten better at sneaking around.”

I swallowed a laugh, picturing him scampering from bush to tree like some misfit soldier on a mission.

“But when I made it to the door,” he said softly, eyes wide again, “I… I just stood there for a while.”

His voice dropped into something almost reverent.

“It was beautiful,” he whispered. “The way the light hit the stone… the glass shimmerin’ like a rainbow… and the smell.” He closed his eyes. “Like old paper, cracked leather, and somethin’... somethin’ alive.”

I let him have the silence, let him fill it with the things I sometimes forgot to notice.

“Maybe,” I said gently, “the Academy was waiting for you, too.”

He blinked at me, cheeks flushing a deep, mossy green. “Don’t go getting poetic on me, Maeve.”

“Too late.”

We strolled further, the sconces flickering to life as we passed.

“You know,” I added, watching his awed expression as he brushed his stubby fingers along the carvings on the wall, “you can take it all in now. Nobody’s going to chase you off.”

He perked up. “You’re serious? No traps? No angry gargoyles? No charms ready to fry my pants?”

“Nope. You’re an official student now. You belong here.”

He blinked rapidly, like the words short-circuited his brain. “Huh.”

“Just ‘huh?’” I teased.

“I’m processing,” he muttered, fiddling with the hem of a patched vest. “Goblins don’t usually belong in places like this.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “They do now.”

He smiled, crooked and bashful. “Well. Guess I’ll have to learn how to walk down a hall without scuttling from shadow to shadow.”

“Please do. You look like a squirrel on too much caffeine.”

He gasped. “I’ll have you know my scuttle is refined.”

“Oh, I can tell,” I said dryly, dodging a playful swat. “I want to show you something before we get to your room.”

We reached the old library doors, looming and silent, and Twobble stopped, his mouth falling open.

“Maeve,” His voice was a breath. “It’s huge. ”

“Welcome to the Academy library.” I smiled. “Or at least one of them.”

He whistled low. “It’s… it’s more books than I’ve ever seen in one place.”

“You might explode from happiness.”

“I might.”

His gaze swept every shelf, every curve of the arched windows, every speck of dust dancing in the streams of amber light. For once, Twobble was completely, blissfully silent.

And in that moment, with the scent of old magic wrapping around us and the warmth of the Academy blooming like a hearth fire, I realized how right this felt.

The Academy wasn’t awake because I’d forced it.

It wasn’t just opening for me.

It was opening for him.

For all the misfits.

For all the ones the old world forgot.

For those who loved it enough to try again.