The wind was gentler here. Softer than the rest of the campus—brushing across the wide stone path like a ghost that had forgotten how to haunt.
Aurora walked beside me, steps measured, posture poised like she was born of porcelain and stormlight.
Same white hair.
But where mine was tousled and half-wild—Aurora's cascaded down her back in shimmering strands, straight and sleek, almost too perfect.
Her eyes were a fierce silver-blue, sharper than Glory's, brighter than mine—like winter lightning caught inside a glacier.
She wore a high-necked coat of midnight velvet that flared gently at her ankles, its edges stitched with thin silver thread that shimmered like runes when the light hit it.
She wore fitted boots that made no sound when she stepped, a loosely tied cravat at her throat, and a silver brooch in the shape of a snowflake fastened just beneath her collarbone.
Elegant. Immaculate. Effortlessly intimidating.
Aurora Prairie.
Firstborn of the Prairie house.
And walking reminder that I was supposed to be more.
We moved through the Central Garden Crossway, a section of the campus that bloomed with color and grandeur.
Stone arches curved overhead with moss-covered edges, and flowering vines crept along the walls like they had secrets to tell.
A large marble fountain stood at the center, water cascading from a carved wyvern's mouth into a glittering basin below.
It sparkled in the late morning light, drawing in dozens of students who passed through.
Some nodded in greeting.
Others stared—at her, at me.
Some whispered. I heard one girl squeak, "Wait, is that Eden Prairie?"
Another added, "And that's his sister?"
Aurora ignored them all, chin tilted high like their voices didn't exist.
I tried to keep up. Emphasis on tried.
She glanced at me sideways, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"I'll be honest," she said, voice smooth as satin.
"When I heard you were joining Silver Mist... I didn't believe it."
"Oh?" I said flatly, arching a brow.
"Why's that? Thought I'd be too busy being a societal disappointment?"
Her smile didn't fade.
"No. I thought you were too good at running away."
I snorted.
She continued, not unkindly,
"After Mother died… you shut everything out.
You and Glory both, but you—" She paused, eyes narrowing as we passed a trio of third-years in silver cloaks who instantly fell silent.
"—you were different. You were always the light one.
The funny one. The troublemaker. But after she passed…"
"…I stopped being fun," I said simply.
"You stopped being."
Her voice was quiet now.
"You stopped letting anyone in.
Glory said you'd lock yourself in the garden for hours, pretending not to hear her."
I didn't answer that.
The garden had been quiet. That was all I'd wanted.
Just somewhere that didn't ask me to explain why everything hurt.
"I thought you'd vanish," Aurora said finally.
"Join some underground dueling ring.
Get married to a barkeep in southern Tenaria.
Start a new identity as someone named… I don't know, Knox Voidstorm."
I blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
"I may have had theories," she said smoothly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
There was a long pause.
Then I asked, quietly, "So what changed?"
She stopped walking.
Turned to face me fully.
"You did," she said.
I looked at her, unsure what she meant.
She gestured loosely, eyes soft now.
"You're here. Not hiding. Not sabotaging everything just to spite the world.
You're actually trying. That's... more than I thought I'd see again."
A silence stretched between us.
Somewhere, a group of students nearby burst into laughter as a squirrel launched itself from a tree branch and landed squarely in someone's plate of fruit.
Aurora folded her arms. "I'm proud of you, you know."
"You are not broken," she said firmly.
"You're not lost. You're not some classless mistake.
You're Eden Prairie. And you're more than enough."
That last part hit harder than I expected.
"…You almost sound like Glory," I said quietly.
She smiled faintly. "She gets it from me."
I blinked.
"You're still a mess, obviously," she added.
"Still have the emotional intelligence of a stunned fish. But… proud."
"Wow," I muttered, "such warmth. Are you sure you're not part frost elemental?"
"Fifty percent prairie. Fifty percent freeze-your-bones-off," she said with a smirk.
"...And I have to admit," she said, as we resumed walking, "I didn't expect you to place top five."
I blinked at her. "I didn't expect me to even last that long."
She gave a short laugh.
"No class. No weapon. Clothes in tatters.
Somehow still managing to outlast students with years of training and enchanted relics.
I'd say that counts for something."
I shrugged. "More like I stubbornly refused to quit."
"Which is a valid strategy. One I've used myself once or twice," she said with a mischievous smirk.
"Still," she added after a beat, "you fought well, Eden. Brutally. Elegantly, even.
I watched the recording. The way you dodged that Wulfgarn boy's claws, then countered with that drop-kick combo? Genius."
"That wasn't genius. That was my brain being offline while my body panicked professionally."
She snorted. "So modest."
I gave her a look.
"Did you see the part where I leapt off a rock with no plan and crashed into a bunch of murder-children?"
"Oh yes," she said.
"The entire staff saw it. Twice. Someone made a slow-motion edit."
I groaned. "Please tell me they didn't—"
"Added dramatic music and everything. You're very popular, little brother."
I groaned louder.
She laughed, a quiet, tinkling sound that drew a glance from a passing group of second-years.
One of them nearly walked into a tree.
"You were always strong, Eden," Aurora said, tone softer now.
"Even before this place.
Even before Mother died. You have something the others don't."
I glanced at her warily.
"A deeply concerning disregard for my own well-being?"
"No," she said firmly. "A spark.
You don't need a class to be powerful.
You never did. You're clever. Fast.
Ruthless when you need to be.
That's what this academy values. Not titles. Not bloodlines. Strength. And will."
I didn't answer at first.
The path curved ahead, revealing a row of statues carved from translucent blue crystal.
They shimmered faintly as we passed, reacting to the subtle presence of mana.
Beyond them, towering academy halls rose, lined with marble columns and glimmering banners.
I sighed as we crossed another bridge into a corridor flanked by ancient statues.
"Still don't know where the hell I'm going," I admitted.
Aurora smirked. "Figures.
I still can't believe you missed orientation," she said, tone mild but amused.
"Of all the days to be late, Eden."
"I wasn't late," I muttered, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
"Oh?"
"They just started early."
She gave me a sideways look.
"You think the rest of the academy, including four head instructors, six department chairs, and the Headmistress herself all got it wrong—and you were the only one on time?"
"Exactly."
She rolled her eyes and laughed under her breath.
"Still as difficult as ever."
"You're still as dramatic as ever."
"I'm a professor," she said, lifting her chin with mock pride. "It's in the job description."
I gave her a flat look.
"They let you teach?"
"They begged me to teach."
"Must've been desperate."
She laughed again, shaking her head.
"…also," I muttered, "where's the cafeteria?"
She blinked. Then burst out laughing.
I scowled. "What?"
"Gods, some things never change," she said, stepping closer.
"You're still the same boy who once tried to roast bread by setting it on fire with a candle."
"That was an experiment."
"You nearly burned down Father's library."
"It was a controlled experiment."
She reached up, ruffled my hair with one hand—fingers warm, affectionate, a little rough.
The kind of touch only a big sister could get away with.
"Cafeteria's on the eastern promenade.
Two halls past the Combat Theory arena, across from the library tower.
Follow the scent of sugar and poor life choices."
I stared blankly. "...That's incredibly vague."
"You'll figure it out," she said, stepping away. "You always do."
I hesitated. "Wait—what do you teach again?"
She grinned.
"That's a surprise."
"Oh, come on—"
"I'll see you later, Eden."
And just like that, she turned on her heel and strode away down the garden path—coat flaring gently in the breeze, long white hair catching the morning light like threads of moonlit silk.
I watched her go.
Then sighed.
"…Still no idea where I'm going."
And with that, I turned east.
Toward the scent of sugar.
And poor life choices.
---
The cafeteria sat near the eastern promenade just as Aurora said—tucked beneath a low-vaulted dome of glass and vine-laced steel, with three entrance arches guarded by floating runes that shimmered as I passed under them.
Inside the cafeteria was... huge.
Not just big. Not just spacious.
No—this was the kind of architectural lunacy reserved for royal courts, arcane sanctuaries, or possibly some eccentric dragon's personal greenhouse.
The ceiling arched high above like a vault of glass and mana-crystal, casting multicolored light through stained panels that shimmered with memory spells.
One flickered with a battle between mages and sea serpents.
Another showed a lone swordswoman standing atop a mountain of bones, sipping tea.
Below it all, long stone tables stretched out beneath enchanted chandeliers shaped like frozen lightning.
Floating potted flora glowed faintly and bobbed gently in the air.
And the smells—gods, the smells. Spiced meat, bubbling stews, something fruity and sharp, something sweet and fluffy—too much to process, all at once.
The place was alive with noise.
Upperclassmen talked and laughed in clusters. Sophomores gestured dramatically with spoons and mugs.
A few instructors passed through in a straight line, all severe coats and no-nonsense auras.
One student levitated a bowl for reasons that made no practical sense.
Another was trading enchanted napkins that exploded when unfolded.
I walked in—and a few heads turned.
A couple stared.
One girl nudged her friend, whispering something behind her cup.
A tall boy at a nearby table frowned briefly before looking back down at his tablet.
But most of them?
They just looked once… then returned to their meals, their laughter, their notes.
Nothing more.
No gasps. No chaos. No applause.
And for some reason, that was almost more jarring.
So this is what normal looks like, I thought.
I approached the food line without hesitation and grabbed a tray.
It was too polished, almost weightless, and made a soft ding when touched.
The kind of thing that said "magical and unnecessarily fancy."
The dishes on display were steaming, swirling, sparkling.
Some hovered. Some hissed. Others changed color when you looked too long.
I had no idea what half of them were.
Maybe three-quarters.
But they looked good.
So I just started pointing.
That purple-glazed meat? On the tray.
The glossy spiral-shaped bread roll with a glowing center? Yes, please.
Those cubes that shimmered like starlight and sizzled with faint pops of mana? Sure, why not.
Something that might've been seafood or fruit—or both? On the plate.
Something that was still slightly moving? I paused… then added it.
Echo groaned.
{You do realize there were signs. Labels. Menus. Descriptions literally glowing above each section.}
'I was going for the vibe.'
{The vibe of 'confused noble raccoon who's just discovered gourmet garbage'?}
I was too hungry to argue.
By the time I reached the end of the lane, my tray was less of a tray and more of a precarious mountain of culinary ambition.
A few students openly gawked. One guy even paused mid-sip of juice.
Someone at the back muttered, "Is he feeding a battalion?"
{Impressive.} Echo purred.
{In a society defined by class, subtlety, and careful image, you've chosen to broadcast 'unsupervised orphan raised by wolves' energy. Bold. Reckless. Very you.}
"Wolves eat more than I do," I mumbled.
I found a corner table—far away, quiet, mostly in shadow.
Perfect.
I made my way there, ignoring the continued whispers and the very confused looks directed at my tray, then sat with a relieved sigh.
The seat adjusted under me with a soft hiss and faint shimmer of blue runes.
I dug in immediately.
First bite? Sweet, crunchy, a little spicy—no idea what it was. Might've been enchanted mango or something pretending to be.
Second bite? Melted my tongue a little. Possibly dragon chili? Possibly dessert?
Didn't matter.
I kept going.
{Would you like me to identify the contents for safety or digestive compatibility?}
'Nope. Let the mystery kill me.'
{At this point I'm assuming that's your official battle strategy for life in general.}
Another bite. Something exploded in my mouth. Sweet and warm, like cinnamon and magic had a baby.
I leaned back slightly, chewing, staring at the stained-glass panel above me.
It showed a long-dead headmistress punching a demon in the face while sipping tea. She looked weirdly satisfied.
"Respect."
Around me, the cafeteria buzzed. Laughter. The clinking of plates.
Mana fizzled as someone tested a portable enchantment beside their drink.
A floating orb was zipping between tables, projecting someone's battle footage—looked like one of the top 50 students.
No one sat with me.
And that was fine.
It gave me space. Time to eat. To think. To breathe.
I took another bite. Chewed.
{Still alive?} Echo asked, half-teasing.
'For now.'