Sleep did not come easily that night.
Even after the cottage fell silent and the road outside grew still, my thoughts refused to settle. They drifted in slow circles, returning again and again to the same moments. The weight of the letter leaving my hands. The quiet pride in Winston's voice. The stranger in the library and the strange stillness that had followed our brief exchange.
Beneath it all was a restlessness I could not explain, a sensation that lingered just under my skin, neither pain nor warmth, but something expectant.
When sleep finally claimed me, it was not gentle.
I dreamed of light.
Not the soft glow of candle flame or the pale warmth of morning sun, but something deeper and far more alive. It moved beneath my skin like a current, threading through me with purpose. The light pulsed in time with my heartbeat, growing brighter with every breath I took, until it felt as though it no longer belonged inside me.
I tried to pull away from it.
The light followed.
I woke with a sharp gasp.
The cottage was dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the shutters. My chest rose and fell quickly as I sat upright, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like mist.
Then I saw my hands.
They were glowing.
The light pooled softly in my palms, tracing faint lines along my fingers as though responding to my awareness. It was not blinding, but it was unmistakable, warm without heat, steady without effort.
I froze, afraid that even breathing might make it worse.
Slowly, as if disappointed, the light faded.
My hands trembled as I stared at them, my pulse loud in my ears.
"Rose?" Sylvester murmured beside me, his voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," I whispered. "I think my magic did something new."
He shifted and hopped closer, his ears lifting as his eyes focused on me. "New how?"
"I didn't call it," I said. "It just… answered."
The cottage felt unusually quiet, as though it were holding its breath. Even the familiar sounds from the road were absent, the world outside suspended in an uneasy stillness.
I slipped out of bed and crossed the room slowly, my bare feet cold against the stone floor. The pressure in my chest had not faded. If anything, it felt sharper now, like something waiting to be acknowledged.
That was when I noticed the desk.
An envelope lay at its center.
I stopped short.
It had not been there the night before. I knew that with certainty. I had cleared the desk before sleeping, stacking my books neatly, returning the pamphlets to their place, tucking my quill away.
Now the envelope sat alone, sealed with dark blue wax.
My name was written across the front in elegant, careful script.
Genevieve Rose.
Sylvester hopped onto the desk, nose twitching. "That smells official," he said.
My fingers hovered over the parchment, my heart pounding. A part of me expected it to disappear the moment I touched it, as though it were nothing more than a trick of the light or a lingering dream.
It did not.
The seal bore a sigil I recognized immediately from the academy pamphlets.
Agragore the School of Enchantment.
I broke the wax with shaking hands and unfolded the letter inside.
The parchment was thick and cool beneath my fingers. The writing was precise, deliberate, as though every word had been chosen with care.
To Genevieve Rose,
Your application has been received and reviewed by the Admissions Council of Agragore the School of Enchantment.
In consideration of the circumstances surrounding your submission and the nature of your recorded aptitude, you are hereby summoned to present yourself for an entrance examination.
My breath caught.
Summoned.
Not accepted.
Not rejected.
I read on.
The examination will take place at the capital campus of Agragore at the end of the week. Travel arrangements have been prepared on your behalf and are enclosed within this correspondence.
Your presence is required.
There was no warmth in the words, no reassurance. Only certainty.
I lowered myself into the chair, clutching the letter to my chest as though it might vanish if I let go.
"I did it," I whispered. "Syl, they want me to come."
He leaned closer, reading over my shoulder. "That means they noticed you."
As if his words had unlocked something, warmth surged through me again.
The air around the desk shimmered faintly. That familiar pressure built in my chest, stronger than before, pushing outward. Before I could stop it, light spilled from my hands once more, brighter and steadier this time, illuminating the room in a soft, pulsing glow.
The sigil on the letter responded.
It shimmered faintly, its lines glowing as though recognizing me.
I gasped and pulled my hands back, the light fading instantly. The room returned to normal, but my heart continued to race.
"I've never made magic react like that," I said quietly. "Not to words. Not to symbols."
Sylvester's gaze did not leave the letter. "That letter didn't find you by chance."
A sharp knock at the door made me jump.
"Rose?" Winston Hawthorne's voice called from outside. "Are you awake?"
I folded the letter carefully and pressed it against my chest. "Just a moment."
As I crossed the room, I felt it again. That strange pull, like invisible threads stretching outward from me, brushing against something beyond the cottage walls.
Something had shifted.
And for the first time, I understood that the academy was not simply an opportunity.
It was a summons.
And whatever awaited me beyond that door had already begun to take notice.