Riding in a noble carriage is an experience I never knew I needed until now. Plush velvet seats more comfortable than my old apartment couch, windows made of actual glass instead of the plastic I'm used to, and a smooth ride suggesting suspension systems far more advanced than they have any right to be in a pseudo-medieval world.
I'm sprawled across the bench, and Vivienne keeps telling me that I'm sitting in a way that isn't ladylike, but Celine just laughs and says I look comfortable.
"You're adapting to a life of nobility very well," Mara says from across the carriage.
"It's literally so easy. I'm adapting to having money for the first time in my life," I correct her. "Back home, I was living paycheck to paycheck. I'm amazed that I have servants who do my laundry and bring me food now, and I don't even have to worry about paying rent! It's amazing."
"Most people would find the lack of independence restrictive."
"Most people haven't spent years being too broke to afford decent coffee. This is great. I love this."
Vivienne is reading through orientation materials and making notes in her journal. "Remember what we talked about. At the Academy, you need to show confidence without being arrogant, competence without showing off, and noble bearing even though you're half-demon."
"So basically lie about everything."
"Not lie. Manage perceptions carefully."
"That's lying with extra steps."
"That's politics."
"Still lying."
Celine leans over to look at what I'm wearing and adjusts the collar of my dress. "It looks perfect. It's got a gothic look, but it's also elegant and sophisticated. The horns actually work as a statement piece rather than a liability."
"I'm a fashion accessory now?"
"You're a carefully designed image intended to create a positive social impact while reducing negative assumptions about demonic heritage."
"So yes, I'm a fashion accessory."
"The most elegant fashion accessory."
I look out the window as the Academy comes into view, and my breath catches. The architecture is amazing. It's like a Gothic cathedral and a palace, but with magic and a big budget. The cathedral's spires reach toward the sky. It has stained-glass windows that probably cost more than my old apartment building. The stone is carved with such detail that it must have taken decades to complete. Gardens surround the main buildings, with neat paths winding through flower beds and trees. I can see students moving between buildings in robes that show which year and house they belong to.
"Wow," I say.
"Wow?" Vivienne looks up from her notes.
"This place is gorgeous. Just look at the intricate details of the flying buttresses! And the way they added magical lighting to the outside of the building? Someone really understood both form and function."
"You're really into architecture."
"I'm a designer! This is incredible! Look at how the different elements are proportionate to each other, how they use negative space, and the colors they use."
"She's gone," Celine says fondly. "Lost to aesthetic appreciation."
"Can you blame me? This is art."
The carriage pulls up to what looks like the main entrance, and servants immediately appear to handle our luggage. I watch them work with the efficiency of people who've done this a thousand times, carrying trunks and bags that probably weigh more than I do with practiced ease.
"Remember," Vivienne says as we prepare to disembark. "You're Nyx Shadowmere, minor nobility from the eastern provinces, sponsored by House Montclair. Quiet, studious, competent but not exceptional."
"Not exceptional," I repeat.
"Well, competent enough to justify our sponsorship, but not so competent that you attract unwanted attention."
"That's a very narrow range."
"You'll manage."
We step out of the carriage, and I immediately notice that people are looking at us. Students pause in their conversations to watch us, their expressions ranging from assessment and curiosity to outright hostility. My horns make me stand out, and I can feel people judging me.
Celine immediately links her arm through mine, making her association with me clear. "Ignore them. They'll get used to you."
"Or they won't, and I'll spend the entire year being stared at."
"Also possible. But at least you'll look amazing while being stared at."
Fair point.
We're led to the dormitory buildings, which are arranged by year and gender. I realize this is the first time since arriving that I'll be separated from the girls. The thought makes me nervous. I don't want to think about it too much.
"Fourth-year girls are in the east wing," a staff member explains while consulting a list. "Miss Shadowmere, you're in room 347. Your roommates should already be settling in."
"Roommates, plural?"
"Three to a room for fourth years. Apologies if that's different from what you're used to."
"No, that's fine. Just clarifying."
Celine squeezes my arm. "We'll meet for dinner in the great hall. Orientation is tomorrow morning. You'll do great."
"What if I accidentally blow something up?"
"Then we'll deal with it. But try not to."
"Very encouraging."
They leave to find their own rooms, and I'm alone with my luggage, a room number, and growing nervousness about meeting whoever I'll be sharing space with for the next year. Room 347 is on the third floor, down a corridor decorated with portraits of past students who probably did amazing things and definitely didn't have imposter syndrome.
I knock before entering because bursting in seems rude, and a voice calls out, "It's open!"
The room is larger than I expected, with three beds arranged along different walls and privacy curtains that can be drawn, desks and wardrobes for each occupant, and tall windows letting in the afternoon light. Sitting on one of the beds is a girl with pointed ears and silver hair that catches the light like metal. She's wearing simple traveling clothes and unpacking a trunk.
An elf. My first elf. I try not to stare.
"Hi," I say, probably too loudly. "I'm Nyx. Nyx Shadowmere. I'm guessing we're roommates?"
She looks up, and her eyes are an incredible silver-blue that matches her hair. When she sees my horns, something I can't identify flickers across her face before her expression settles into friendly neutrality.
"Freya Silverwind. Nice to meet you." She stands and offers her hand. I shake it; her grip is firm but not aggressive. "Half-demon, right? The horns are pretty distinctive."
"Yeah. Is that going to be a problem?"
"Why would it be a problem?"
"Some people have opinions about demons."
"Some people have opinions about elves too. I try not to let it bother me." She goes back to unpacking, pulling out books and carefully arranging them on her desk. "Though I should mention, in the interest of full disclosure, my grandparents were killed in a demon raid about fifty years ago."
I freeze. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"Thanks. I never knew them personally, so it's more like a kind of distant sadness than immediate pain. But I thought you should know in case it came up and you thought I was being weird."
"That's... very mature of you?"
"Actually, talking about these things with my family has been very therapeutic. We processed it together. I decided it's better to blame specific people rather than blame everyone of a certain species." She looks at me with a slight smile. "Uh. You seem uncomfortable."
"I'm trying to figure out if all elves are this direct about trauma."
"Probably not. I might just be weird."
"Weird I can work with."
She laughs, genuinely amused, and I feel some of the tension drain away. Okay, Freya seems cool. Unexpectedly cool. The kind of person who drops a family tragedy into casual conversation but somehow makes it not awkward.
"So what brings you to the Academy?" she asks, organizing her clothes now.
"Sponsorship from House Montclair. They thought formal education would be good for me."
"And what about you? What do you think?"
"Hmmm. I think I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm terrified of accidentally revealing that I'm way more powerful than I should be and becoming a political problem."
The words are out before I can stop them, and I immediately want to take them back, but Freya just nods as if I've said something completely reasonable.
"Fair concern. Politics here are intense. People will absolutely try to use you if they think you're valuable enough." She pauses in her unpacking. "How powerful are we talking?"
"Let's just say I can handle things that normally require teams."
"Interesting. Well, your secret's safe with me. I have no interest in politics beyond surviving them."
"Really?"
"Really. I'm here to study magical theory and maybe figure out what I want to do with my life. Everything else is just noise."
I like her. I definitely like her. This is going way better than I expected.
We chat while unpacking, easy conversation about nothing important, and I'm starting to relax when the door slams open hard enough to bounce off the wall.
A girl stands in the doorway, human, maybe sixteen, with auburn hair in an elaborate style that probably took an hour to arrange and eyes that sweep the room with immediate judgment. She's wearing Academy robes that are clearly custom-tailored, made of expensive fabric with embroidered details, and carrying herself like she owns the place.
"So these are my roommates," she says, her voice dripping with disappointment. "An elf and a demon. How wonderfully diverse."
Oh no. I know this archetype. Celine warned me about her.
"Maribel?" I venture.
"Obviously. Who else would I be?" She sweeps into the room, claiming the third bed like it's a throne. "Maribel Thornheart, top of our year in magical aptitude, youngest person to master seventh-tier casting, and future court mage if I decide that's worth my time."
"Ugh. Modest too," Freya murmurs.
"Modesty is for people with things to hide. I have no such limitations." Maribel turns to examine me properly, and I watch her eyes linger on my horns with something between curiosity and disdain. "Shadowmere. The sponsored transfer student. I heard about you."
"Nothing good, I'm guessing."
"Nothing definite. The rumors are confusing. Either you're very talented or very connected, or maybe even both, or maybe neither." She sits on her bed with perfect posture. "I suppose I'll discover the truth by watching and observing."
"Looking forward to being observed," I say flatly.
"You should be. I am very good at assessing things."
Freya catches my eye and makes a face that clearly says, What did we do to deserve this? I have to fight not to laugh.
"So, Maribel," I say, because apparently I can't leave well enough alone. "What brings someone so talented to room with us ordinary students?"
"Room assignments are random for fourth years. It's unfortunate, but it's not something we can change. I had asked for a room in the corner for better magical resonance, but it seems my request was ignored." She's already rearranging the furniture, moving her desk to a specific position that I assume has some magical significance. "I'll make do."
"How generous of you."
"I think so."
Is she oblivious to sarcasm, or just choosing to ignore it? I honestly can't tell.
"Well, this will be a fun year," Freya says, going back to her unpacking with determinedly cheerful energy. "Three completely different people sharing one room. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Everything will go smoothly if everyone behaves reasonably and respects my need for quiet to study," Maribel says. "I trust that won't be difficult."
"I'm sure we'll all get along great," I lie.
"Sufficient is enough. It seems unlikely, given the circumstances."
Why is my room filled with weird people? Freya, who casually mentions family tragedy like she's discussing the weather, and Maribel, who apparently thinks she's a gift to the magical world and wants everyone to know it. I should have requested a single room. Do they have single rooms? Can I transfer?
"So," Freya says, clearly trying to salvage the situation. "Anyone want to grab dinner together? Get to know each other before the semester starts tomorrow?"
"I have preparations to complete," Maribel says immediately. "Perhaps another time."
"Nyx?"
"I'm meeting friends, but you're welcome to join us if you want."
"Friends already? You work fast."
"Long story. But yeah, they're the ones who sponsored me. We did a dungeon crawl together before term started."
Maribel's attention sharpens. "You've done dungeon exploration? What level?"
"Old Thornwood Crypt. Just a training run."
"That's a moderate danger zone. What did you encounter?"
"Standard undead, mostly."
"Did you handle combat yourself, or rely on your companions?"
"A combination of both. Why?"
"Assessing your capabilities. If we're to share space, I should know whether you're a liability in practical situations."
"I can handle myself."
"We'll see."
She goes back to arranging her space, and I exchange another look with Freya, who's clearly trying not to laugh.
"Your friends sound fun," Freya says. "I'd love to meet them."
"They're chaotic, but in a good way. Mostly."
"Better than chaotic in a bad way."
"Much better."
We finish unpacking while Maribel works on her complicated organizational system, and by the time we're done, it's getting dark and the students are on their way to the dining hall. Freya and I walk together, leaving Maribel to her preparations, and I'm grateful for the company.
"So," Freya says as we walk through the hallways. "That's our roommate."
"That's our roommate."
"She seems... passionate."
"That's a diplomatic way to put it."
"I'm trying to be nice. First day and all."
"How long will we keep being nice?"
"Give it a week. Maybe two, if we're feeling generous."
The dining hall is huge. Long tables are arranged by year and house. Magical lights float near the ceiling. They look like indoor stars. I spot Celine waving from a table near the windows and make my way over, Freya following.
"This is Freya," I introduce her. "My roommate. Freya, this is Celine, Mara, and Vivienne—the chaotic friends I mentioned."
"Chaotic?" Celine objects. "We're perfectly organized."
"That's not the defense you think it is."
Freya sits down next to me and looks around the hall. "This place is incredible. I grew up in a small community of elves, and I've never seen anything like this."
"You're going to love the libraries," Vivienne says. "They're extraordinary. There are four floors, restricted sections, and original manuscripts—"
"You're going to make her think we're all nerds," Mara interrupts.
"We are all nerds."
"Speak for yourself."
"You brought three books on military tactics to read for fun."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Those are practical."
They're bickering, Freya is watching with obvious amusement, and I realize this feels right—this combination of people, chaos, and genuine connection. Maybe the Academy won't be so bad after all.
Even with Maribel as a roommate. Even with the political complications waiting around every corner. For now, sitting with friends old and new and eating food that's better than anything I had in my old life, I let myself just exist in the moment.
That's enough.