Page 3

I left Twobble in his room, though it took some gentle insistence on my part. He’d tried to play it cool, but I could tell he was barely keeping it together, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of having his own space in the Academy.

He’d muttered something about reorganizing the desk drawers by importance and then flopped onto the bed like he might never move again.

I smiled as I closed the door behind me. I hoped to get to the dragon’s wing before the day ended, but beyond that, I had little planned.

“Give him time,” I whispered to myself. “He deserves it.”

But as soon as the door latched, I felt my grandma’s presence at my side, like a familiar shadow.

She walked with that same quiet grace she always carried, but there was something thoughtful, almost… heavy, in the way she kept glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

We wandered deeper into the Academy together, down the winding corridors that pulsed with faint threads of magic, until the air grew thicker, warmer, tinged with the scent of ancient ink and parchment.

The library.

Even now, after all I’d seen, stepping into the vast, cavernous heart of the Academy’s library caught my breath.

The lanterns flickered as we entered, pools of light stretching across rows upon rows of towering bookshelves that seemed to go on forever. The stillness wrapped around me like a velvet shawl, heavy with whispers of the past.

My grandma walked quietly beside me, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze tracing the spines of books she probably hadn’t seen in decades.

I waited, expecting her to say something.

And she did.

Eventually.

“I admit,” she said softly, “I did not expect Twobble.”

I kept walking, letting the hum of the library muffle my irritation. “What did you expect, Grandma? A parade of polished heirs? Someone with the right lineage?” My brows lifted. “I always got the feeling you weren’t about all that, especially after…my dad.”

Her sigh was delicate but audible. “It’s not about lineage, Maeve. It’s about tradition. The Academy has always had… standards.”

“Maybe those standards are part of the problem. Didn’t Dad’s shifter clan have standards, too? Look where that got him.”

She stopped. So did I.

Her expression was unreadable in the dim light, her silver hair catching the glow like moonlight. “You’re angry.”

“I am,” I admitted, crossing my arms. “Because I saw your face. You weren’t happy he was the first student.”

“It surprised me,” she corrected gently. “And perhaps I… struggle to see what you see in him.”

I bristled, heat flaring in my chest. “He’s loyal. Braver than most people. He never once gave up on this place, Grandma. Not even when you thought about it.”

Her face flickered at that, the pain surfacing just long enough for me to see it before she masked it again.

“I never gave up,” she said quietly. “I was trapped, Maeve.”

“Then maybe you’ve been stuck in old ways of thinking for too long, too,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.

We stood there, facing each other in the long shadow of the towering shelves, the air between us thick and tense.

Grandma Elira’s eyes softened, though, and after a long pause, she gave me the barest hint of a nod. “Perhaps I have.”

I exhaled as the anger bled out just enough for guilt to sneak in.

I didn’t like fighting with her.

But I wouldn’t back down either. Not on this.

“He’s going to be great,” I said, quieter now.

She smiled faintly. “For your sake, I hope so. You know, the first student is meant to be your confidant.”

“I recognize that and couldn’t imagine a better fit.” I looked at my grandma, wishing she’d understand.

“Then that is all that matters.”

The fluttering came then, soft and insistent.

Book sprites.

A swarm of them.

The tiny creatures' personalities ranged from fussy to downright prickly. They zipped around my head, tugged at my sleeves, and chirped at me in their scratchy little voices.

“Oh no,” I muttered, brushing one off my hair. “What now?”

“They want something,” my grandmother said dryly, watching them with mild amusement. “They always want something.”

The sprites tugged harder, pulling at my red top, steering me toward a narrow aisle near the back of the library. A place I hadn’t dared to explore yet.

My grandma followed, curiosity in her gaze.

They led us to a small alcove, barely wide enough for two people, lined floor to ceiling with dusty scrolls and ledgers.

I blinked. “What is this?”

Grandma Elira’s mouth twitched. “Ah. I recognize this section.”

The sprites circled an ancient, gilded ledger perched on a pedestal, clearly waiting for me to notice.

I did.

The cracked and worn cover had barely legible writing now. But I could just make out the title: The Academy’s Mission: A Chronicle of Purpose.

I frowned. “Mission statements?”

My grandma nodded, stepping forward, her hand hovering over the ledger like she was afraid to touch it. “Every headmistress wrote one. Every generation added its vision for the Academy’s purpose.”

The ledger shimmered faintly as I opened it, the pages brittle but alive with old magic. Each entry was written in a different hand, some elaborate, others simple. And each one, I realized, reflected the time it was written.

Unity.

Excellence.

Power through knowledge.

Balance between factions.

Every generation had shaped the Academy into what they believed it needed to be.

And now…

I turned to the next page.

Blank.

Grandma Elira watched me, her expression unreadable. “It’s waiting for you, Maeve.”

I swallowed hard, staring at the empty space.

It felt like the weight of the entire Academy pressed down on me in that moment.

“What if I don’t know what to write?” I whispered.

She smiled softly. “Then you listen. To the Academy. To the students. To your heart. It’s always been about the people who walk these halls and those who leave to make our world better.”

I ran my fingers over the empty page, the texture rough beneath my fingertips.

I didn’t have the words yet.

But I would.

And when I did… it would be something no one ever forgot.

The library had always been a place of comfort for me. The hum of old magic, the scent of ancient paper and leather, and the way the lantern light flickered across the worn pages made everything feel timeless and sacred.

My grandma wandered off, and I took a deep breath and sat alone at one of the long wooden tables. I let the weight of the blank mission statement eat at me a little bit.

My grandma had left me to my thoughts, giving me space in a way only she could—silent, graceful, a lingering presence that didn’t hover but never truly left.

The sprites still hovered close, fussing over the books, arranging scrolls, bringing me mugs of tea I never remembered asking for.

Yet, the library felt too big.

Too empty.

Too much like a place holding its breath.

Until this moment, I hadn’t felt this level of anticipation and expectation.

Frustration prickled under my skin. I tapped my fingers against the blank page. Words usually came easily to me. But this? This felt… monumental. Like I had to get it perfect. Like the Academy’s future hinged on every letter.

My head thudded softly against the table. “Come on, Maeve. Just write something.”

But all that echoed in my head was static.

Until I heard the unmistakable sound of tiny feet pattering frantically down the hallway.

I lifted my head just in time to see Twobble barrel into the library, a new hat askew, his vest flapping behind him like a hero in one of his beloved pulp adventure tales.

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the table, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“Twobble?” I blinked at him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

His mouth opened, and for a heartbeat, I braced for some disaster, maybe the stove in his room had exploded or the bedsheets had turned into snakes.

But instead, he rubbed at his eyes and muttered, “It’s too quiet.”

My heart squeezed.

“Oh, Twobble…”

“It’s creepy,” he admitted, almost whispering now. “The wing’s all echo-y and… I dunno. Big. Goblins aren’t used to that much space, you know? Usually, we have cousins stacked up in every corner, snoring and bickering. Even the shadows feel lonely.”

I pushed back my chair and reached for him without thinking.

“Come here, you ridiculous goblin,” I said softly.

He scrambled up onto the chair beside me, curling into himself, his oversized hat drooping over his ears as he huffed dramatically. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here for… educational enrichment.”

“Of course you are.”

But I wasn’t fooling myself.

Neither was he.

I reached for one of the spare wool blankets the library seemed to conjure when needed and draped it over his shoulders.

“Better?”

He grunted. “A little.”

Almost immediately, the book sprites descended, chattering excitedly as they brought over a thick, well-worn book and plopped it onto the table in front of him.

Twobble’s mood lifted instantly. “Ooh. Legends of the Lesser-Known Moon Wars. Now that’s what I call enrichment.”

I laughed, the sound easing something tight in my chest. “See? The library likes you.”

“Course it does. I’m very likable.”

I tousled his hat, and for a few blissful moments, everything felt… right.

Cozy.

Safe.

Ours.

But the moment shattered like glass when the visitor summons echoed through the hallway.

It was soft at first, a low chime, like distant bells.

Then louder.

The notes drifted down the stone corridors, pulsing through the air, wrapping around us like a spectral thread.

Twobble froze, the book sliding from his lap.

I felt my stomach drop.

Again?

I exchanged glances with my grandmother, who had drifted back to us when she heard the summons.

Her face was calm, too calm.

But I knew that look.

Underneath the serenity was a current of concern.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said softly.

But my gut churned.

My mind couldn’t stop going there.

Gideon.

Had he come back?

Was he testing the Wards again?

Had the Academy’s sudden stirring drawn more attention than I realized?

“Stay here,” I told Twobble, pushing up from my chair, forcing my legs to move even though they felt like jelly. “I’ll check.”

“I’m coming,” Twobble said immediately, sliding off the chair.

“No, you’re not. You’re safe here. The Academy’ll keep you safe.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but something in my tone must have made him pause.

Twobble nodded reluctantly, curling back into the chair, blanket wrapped tight around him like armor.

My grandma touched my arm gently as I passed. “Maeve…”

“I know,” I whispered. “I’ll be careful.”

I hurried down the hallway, the library’s warmth fading with every step, replaced by that cold, eerie silence that only the Academy’s entry hall seemed capable of conjuring.

The summons echoed again, closer this time.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I reached the heavy doors.

Who would it be this time?

A lost traveler?

An enemy?

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlpool in my chest, and placed my hand against the old wood.

It pulsed warm under my palm.

The Academy was awake.

And it was waiting for me to open the door.

Another breath.

I pulled.

The doors creaked open, the wind curling inside like a curious cat.

And I froze.

Because what I saw on the other side of the door was the last thing I had expected.