Morning arrives with a knock on the door that jolts me out of whatever half-sleep I'd managed to achieve sometime around dawn, and I'm disoriented for a solid three seconds before remembering where I am, which is not my apartment but a guest room in a fantasy mansion where I've become a demon chick.
"Miss Nyx?" A voice calls through the door, female, older, with that particular tone of professional politeness that service workers use. "Lady Celine requests your presence at breakfast."
Right. Eight bells. Whatever that means. I scramble off the bed, nearly tripping over the dress because I still haven't figured out how to move properly in this body, and call back, "I'll be down in a moment!" which comes out higher and younger than I expect because, oh yeah, vocal cords are different now too.
The black dress the servants left is actually beautiful once I figure out how to get into it, though the process involves more layers than I thought physically possible, and several minutes of struggling with buttons that are clearly designed for someone with a ladies' maid.
I catch my reflection in the mirror above the washbasin and have to stop for a moment because… hmmm that's me now!… that small pale girl with ram horns and dark eyes. I look twelve. I look like I should be worried about homework and friendship drama, not interdimensional displacement and the structural damage I definitely caused last night.
Speaking of which, I should probably check on that before someone else does.
I turn around and—yep. There it is. What I'd thought were cracks in the wall from [Void Strike] are actually significantly worse in daylight, which is to say there's a hole, an actual hole, roughly the size of a tire, punched straight through the plaster and into what looks like empty space beyond.
Oops. That's not great. That's actually pretty bad.
I walk over and peer through it, seeing darkness and maybe the edge of another room, and I'm considering whether I should try to cover it with furniture when there's another knock.
"Miss Nyx, breakfast is getting cold."
"Coming!" I grab a decorative pillow from the chair and shove it against the wall over the hole, which does exactly nothing to hide it but makes me feel slightly better, and then I'm out the door following a maid through corridors I definitely couldn't navigate alone. Breakfast is served in what they're calling the "morning room", which is flooded with light from tall windows overlooking manicured gardens. And the food, oh God the food, I wasn't prepared for how good it would smell.
Fresh bread, actual butter, eggs that look like they came from chickens this morning and not from a grocery store two weeks ago, and then strips of bacon that are somehow both crispy and tender, preserves in little crystal dishes, beside that there's a cheese that's probably artisanal because everything here seems artisanal, fruit that's perfectly ripe, and some kind of pastry that's making my mouth water despite the anxiety currently eating my stomach.
Celine is already seated, looking disgustingly well-rested in a yellow dress that matches her hair, and she brightens when she sees me.
"Nyx! You look lovely!"
Huh? Is she this bright last night?
Ah! I think that's part of the acting.
"Thanks," I say, sliding into the chair across from her while trying not to stare at the food. "You have good taste in guest wardrobes."
"The servants chose it actually, but I'll pass along the compliment." She's pouring tea from a porcelain pot that probably costs more than my monthly rent used to, and the cup she hands me is delicate enough that I'm genuinely worried about breaking it. "Did you sleep well?"
"Define well."
Vivienne enters looking like she didn't sleep at all. Dark circles under her eyes and hair pulled back in a hasty braid. But she's carrying what looks like a leather folder stuffed with papers.
Mara follows behind her in riding clothes, practical leather and sturdy boots, like she's already been up for hours doing something athletic while the rest of us were unconscious.
We go through the motions of serving food; passing dishes, a basic ritualized breakfast choreography that wealthy people apparently do, and I'm trying not to shovel eggs into my face despite being absolutely starving. Because I don't know what the etiquette is here, and I don't want to immediately blow my character by eating like a feral girl who survives on instant noodles and energy drinks.
The bread is incredible though. Warm and soft and butter melts into it in a way that makes me understand why people talk about "breaking bread together" like it means something. The bacon tastes like actual pork. Even the tea is good, herbal and floral and complex in ways that make me realize I've been drinking garbage my entire life.
I take a bite of the pastry—some kind of fruit-filled thing with a flaky crust that dissolves on my tongue—and nearly moan out loud before catching myself. Celine is watching me with barely suppressed amusement.
"You really like the food," she observes.
"Where I come from, breakfast is just coffee and whatever you can eat while answering emails." I take another bite, slower this time, savoring it. "This is... different."
"In a good way, right?"
"In a very good way."
Mara is spreading jam on bread, not really eating so much as going through motions, and Vivienne hasn't touched her plate at all, just staring at her folder like it contains state secrets.
The silence stretches out, increasingly awkward, until I can't take it anymore.
"So?" I set down my teacup carefully. "Do you have anything to say?"
The three of them exchange looks - that silent communication thing again! - and finally Vivienne opens her folder and pulls out several sheets of paper covered in neat handwriting.
"We've been working on your cover story. Basically it contains identity documentation, background details, and, well, everything you'll need to be convincing."
"You worked on this all night?"
"Some of us did." She shoots a pointed look at Celine, who has the grace to look slightly guilty. "Here's the basic framework: You're a transfer student to the Royal Academy, you're from the eastern provinces, and your family name is Shadowmere."
"Shadowmere, huh. Really. That's not going to make people suspicious at all."
"It's a real family," Mara interjects. "Distant, and reclusive, mostly known for producing decent mages. They keep to themselves which means nobody in the capital will know enough to contradict our story."
"And they won't mind you forging documents with their name on them?"
"They won't know. The eastern provinces are three months travel away and the Shadowmere family hasn't attended court in decades." Vivienne slides a piece of paper across the table, an official-looking document with fancy script and what might be a wax seal. "This is your enrollment confirmation for the Academy. Celine's father's secretary prepared it this morning."
I pick it up, scanning the text.
Nyx Shadowmere, accepted as transfer student, Magic Theory and Practical Applications track, sponsorship provided by House Montclair.
"House Montclair is...?"
"My family," Celine says. "It's not unusual for established houses to sponsor promising students from minor nobility. Adds to our prestige, provides you with legitimacy and financial support."
"You're really committing to this."
"We summoned you, and you said we're responsible for you." She says it with the kind of earnest conviction that makes me believe she actually means it, not just covering her own ass. "Besides, having a powerful mage in our social circle could be advantageous."
"I haven't told you I'm powerful."
"You soloed the Abyss Sanctum for four hours, you said, and based on the residual mana," Vivienne says dryly. "We're making assumptions."
Fair point. I set the document down and reach for more bacon because stress eating is a thing and this bacon deserves to be eaten. "Okay, so I'm Nyx Shadowmere, transfer student, sponsored by your family. What else do I need to know?"
Mara pulls out another sheet, this one with bullet points. "Your story is that your family has been tutoring you privately but decided Academy socialization would be beneficial. You're skilled in magic theory but lack practical combat experience, hence the transfer. You're quiet, bookish, prefer studying to social events."
"That's... actually pretty close to the truth. Minus the magic part."
"It also explains why you might not know certain social conventions or current events," Vivienne adds. "Sheltered upbringing in the provinces, limited contact with capital society."
"And the horns?" I tap one for emphasis.
Another exchange of looks. Celine clears her throat. "Half-demons have been accepted at the Academy for about five years now. There's still prejudice, but it's not illegal or forbidden anymore."
"Just heavily discriminated against," Mara adds bluntly. "You'll face challenges… probably harassment, hmm, the pureblood noble families aren't exactly progressive."
"Excellent! So I'm playing a marginalized minority dealing with fantasy racism. This just keeps getting better."
"We'll support you, Nyx," Celine says quickly. "Having our sponsorship means something. People won't openly antagonize someone under House Montclair's protection."
"Openly being the key word there."
"Yes."
I eat more pastry while processing this. It's actually a decent cover story, thorough enough to hold up under casual scrutiny, flexible enough to excuse gaps in my knowledge. The half-demon thing is a problem but at least it means I don't have to hide what I am, just let people make assumptions about my parentage rather than my actual origin. And if there's already prejudice against half-demons then my wariness and lack of social integration would seem normal rather than suspicious.
"When does the Academy term start?" I ask.
"Two weeks," Vivienne says. "Classes resume after the summer recess. Which gives us time to—"
She's interrupted by a sharp knock, and then the door opens without waiting for permission, a middle-aged woman in servant's dress bustling in with an expression of barely contained distress. "Lady Celine, I must speak with you about the guest room."
Celine's face does something complicated. "Mrs. Ashford, we're in the middle of breakfast—"
"There is a smell of sulfur in the east wing room," Mrs. Ashford continues, voice tight with disapproval. "Quite pronounced. And when the maids went to investigate they found structural damage to the wall."
Oh no. Oh shit. I try to keep my expression neutral while Celine pales slightly.
"Damage?" Vivienne asks, smooth and calm like this is only mildly interesting news.
"A crack, my lady. Quite significant. And the smell suggests..." Mrs. Ashford glances at me, at my horns, and her mouth purses. "Suggests fire magic may have been involved."
Everyone looks at me.
I take a sip of tea, channeling every ounce of casual confidence I can muster, and…
"Teehee!"
"Teehee?" Mara repeats, flat and incredulous.
"It's not a crack," I say, setting down my cup. "It's more of a hole. Tire-plate sized. Maybe a bit bigger. I was testing my abilities and things got a bit enthusiastic."
Mrs. Ashford looks like I just confirmed her worst nightmare. "Uh, you were practicing combat magic in a guest room?"
"I prefer to think of it as constructive experimentation."
"The construction you were experimenting on was the wall!"
"Technically it was my own magical capabilities, the wall was just collateral damage."
Celine stands up quickly, smoothing her dress with a bright smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Mrs. Ashford, thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll speak with our guest about appropriate venues for magical practice. In the meantime, please have the wall repaired and the room aired out."
"The expense—"
"Put it on the household accounts. These things happen when hosting young mages." She says it with the kind of casual authority that comes from growing up wealthy, like property damage is just a minor inconvenience rather than a financial disaster. "That will be all." Mrs. Ashford leaves with visible reluctance, clearly wanting to say more but unable to contradict a direct dismissal, and the moment the door closes Celine turns to me with an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
"A hole. In the wall."
"I said I was sorry!"
"You said 'teehee.'"
"Which is basically the same thing."
Mara is pinching the bridge of her nose. "We've had her for less than twelve hours and she's already destroying property."
"It was one wall! And I was being scientific about it!"
"Scientific," Vivienne repeats, and there's definitely suppressed laughter in her voice. "You punched a hole through a wall scientifically."
"I needed to test my spell strength in a practical environment!" I'm defensive now, which probably isn't helping, but at least I committed to the bit. "How was I supposed to know [Void Strike] would have that much impact?!"
"But the hole," Mara says slowly, "is there."
"Well I know that now!"
Celine is definitely laughing, trying to hide it behind her hand but failing. "Oh Gods, we're going to be dealing with property damage reports all summer, aren't we."
"Only if I keep practicing indoors. Which I won't. Probably."
"Probably is not reassuring."
"It's the best I can offer given my track record."
Vivienne closes her folder with a decisive snap. "New rule: all magical experimentation happens outside, away from buildings, and preferably with supervision."
"I'm not a child."
"You have a child's body and you just blew a hole in a wall. Supervision is happening."
She's not wrong, which is annoying. I slouch in my chair, picking at the remains of my pastry. "Fine. Supervised magical practice. Whatever. Can we talk about literally anything else now?"
"Actually yes," Mara says, and her expression shifts into something that might be excitement if Mara did excitement. "I have a proposal. Since we have two weeks before the Academy term starts, and since Nyx needs to learn about this world, and since we need to establish her as our friend to avoid servant suspicion..."
"You want to do something reckless," Vivienne finishes.
"I want to explore a dungeon."
Celine nearly spits out her tea. "You want to what?"
"Explore a dungeon. There's one three days' ride from here, ruins from the old kingdom, supposed to have decent loot and moderate danger level, so it's perfect for a training exercise." Mara is warming to the topic now, leaning forward with actual enthusiasm. "We take Nyx, let her see how combat works here versus her world, gather some practical experience, and maybe find something valuable. Makes for a good bonding story if anyone asks why we're suddenly so close with a transfer student."
"That's insane," I say.
"That's brilliant!" Celine counters. "It's exactly the kind of thing we'd do. Girls summer adventure before term starts." "Have you done this before?"
"No, which makes it more believable that we'd try it now that we have a fourth person to round out the party composition."
Vivienne is making a face like she's doing complex calculations in her head. "The Old Thornwood Crypt? That's the one you're thinking of?"
"Exactly."
"Moderate danger is a generous assessment for that. There are reports of undead, possibly some remnant magical constructs, and that's to say nothing about the environmental hazards—"
"Which is why we'd prepare properly. A week of training and equipment gathering, then three days travel, one day in the dungeon, three days back. We'd return with two days to spare before term starts."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Then we have a demon from another dimension who solos legendary bosses for fun." Mara looks at me. "You can handle undead, right?" I think about my spell list. "Yeah. Yeah, I can handle undead."
"See? Perfectly reasonable plan."
"Your definition of reasonable is deeply flawed," Vivienne says, but she's not actually arguing, just pointing out facts. "But I admit it solves several problems at once. Information gathering, practical training, cover story establishment, and Nyx gets to see how magic works in actual dungeon environments rather than destroying guest rooms."
"I said I was sorry about the wall!"
"You said 'teehee.'"
"Can we please move past the wall incident?"
Celine is grinning now, that particular expression that suggests she's made a decision and is very pleased about it. "I think it's a wonderful idea. We'll spend the week preparing, teaching Nyx about the world, gathering supplies, and then we'll have a proper adventure. Like something out of a story!"
"Your enthusiasm is concerning," I say, but honestly I'm kind of into it too. Dungeon crawling with actual stakes instead of just pixels and respawn timers? Count me in! Real magic, real danger, and real loot potentially! It sounds terrifying and exciting and exactly the kind of distraction I need from existential questions about being trapped in another dimension. "But okay. Sure. Let's explore a dungeon. What could possibly go wrong?"
"So many things," Vivienne mutters.
"That's the spirit!"
We spend the rest of breakfast going over logistics, Mara outlining what equipment we'd need and what supplies to gather, Vivienne making lists of information I should learn before we attempt anything dangerous, Celine suggesting outfits because apparently fashion is important even in life-threatening situations.
I'm mostly just eating, working through the remaining food while listening to them plan, and something occurs to me as I watch them debate the merits of different healing potion recipes.
These girls are feral.
Not in a literal sense obviously, but in the way they approach problems.
Celine summoned a demon because she thought it would be fun.
Mara's response to "we have two weeks of vacation" is "let's risk our lives in ancient ruins."
Vivienne is the most reasonable of the three and even she's going along with this plan after minimal argument.
They're noble daughters with resources and education and presumably some kind of adult supervision, and they're acting like impulsive teenagers with too much power and not enough sense.
Which, fair, they are teenagers. But still. Someone should probably be supervising them, making sure they don't accidentally get themselves killed through sheer enthusiastic recklessness.
And apparently that someone is now me. The twenty-six-year-old graphic designer in a twelve-year-old OP demon body, who's going to spend the next week trying to keep three noble girls alive while teaching them basic risk assessment and maybe, possibly, learning enough about this world to survive in it.
Ahhhh this is my life now.
"So about my horns," I say, interrupting a heated discussion about rope quality. "You said half-demons are accepted at the Academy. What's the actual situation there? What am I walking into?"
The conversation dies. Vivienne sets down her tea carefully.
"The Academy opened admission to non-human students five years ago," she says. "Progressive policy, meant to encourage magical diversity and reduce racial tensions. In practice... it's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"Half-demons face social isolation," Mara says bluntly. "Pureblood nobles won't associate with them openly. They're excluded from most social circles, face constant scrutiny, and have to work twice as hard to receive half the recognition."
"But they're not expelled or attacked?"
"Not officially. The Academy has strict policies against discrimination, but enforcement is selective."
"So I'll be tolerated but not accepted."
"Most likely yes."
I consider this, weighing options. It's not ideal but it's workable. I've dealt with hostile work environments before, clients who underestimated me because of age or gender or perceived inexperience. This is just that with magic and horns.
"And your sponsorship helps?"
"It provides social cover, yes," Celine confirms. "House Montclair has enough influence that people will be cautious about open hostility. They might talk behind your back but they won't risk my father's displeasure."
"Your father who doesn't know I'm actually a demon from another dimension."
"Correct."
"And we're planning to keep it that way."
"Very much so."
I drain my teacup, considering the absolute insanity of this situation. Secret identity, forged documents, social discrimination, dungeon exploration with three girls who have more enthusiasm than sense, and I still don't know basic things about this world like how the political system works or what constitutes normal magical ability or whether there are actual gods here or just magic that people worship.
"Okay," I say finally. "I'm in. Week of preparation and information gathering, then dungeon crawling, then Academy in two weeks. But I need you three to actually teach me things. Culture, politics, social rules, how magic works here versus how it worked in my world. Everything."
"We can do that," Vivienne says, and she's already opening her folder again, making notes. "I'll prepare a curriculum. History, magical theory, current events, social etiquette—"
"Not too formal. I learn better through conversation than lectures."
"Alright! Conversational lessons with practical examples."
Mara stands up, stretching. "I'll handle combat training, then. See how your power soloed dungeons."
"And I'll teach you about noble society!" Celine adds brightly. "Fashion, manners, who's allied with whom, all the gossip you need to navigate the Academy social scene."
"Perfect. So I'll spend the next week getting a crash course in fantasy world survival, and you'll spend it learning that maybe, possibly, you should think before doing wildly dangerous things."
"We think before we act!" Celine protests.
"You summoned a demon on a whim."
"We thought about it for at least ten minutes!"
"That's not better."
Vivienne is smiling behind her teacup. "She's not wrong, Celine. We are somewhat impulsive."
"Somewhat is generous," I mutter, but I'm smiling too because honestly… this is kind of fun. Chaotic and terrifying and completely outside anything I've experienced, but fun in a way my old life never was. These girls are disasters but they're interesting disasters, and I have two weeks to figure out how to keep them alive while learning enough about this world to survive in it.