I made it approximately ten steps into the dormitory building before they surrounded me.
Not physically threatening. Not aggressive in any overt way. But the crowd formed around me nonetheless, a loose semicircle of Class A-1 students who had somehow arrived at the dormitory before me and positioned themselves perfectly to intercept my route to the stairs.
"Theodore," one of them said, a noble whose name I thought was something like Darian or Damien. "What you did in the arena — how did you learn that technique?"
"Is it a family secret?" another asked, leaning in closer. "A Roosevelt house specialty?"
"I heard you were sick until recently," said a girl with dark hair tied back in a practical braid. "How did you recover so quickly and develop power like that?"
The questions came faster than I could process them, overlapping, building on each other, creating a wall of sound and expectation that made the air feel too thin.
I raised my hands, palms out, trying to create space without actually pushing anyone.
"I don't fully understand it myself," I said, keeping my voice as level as possible. "It just happened. I reacted on instinct."
"Instinct doesn't vaporize divine arts," someone muttered from the back of the group.
Before the questions could resume, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Give him some room."
Cassian Hartwell stepped forward, his broad frame naturally creating space as the crowd shifted to accommodate him. He looked at me, his expression curious but not hostile, the kind of interest that came from genuine respect rather than suspicion.
"Whatever Theodore did," Cassian said, turning to address the others, "Instructor Kaelen will explain it when she's ready. Mobbing him in the dormitory won't get you answers faster."
A few students looked like they wanted to argue, but Cassian's social weight was enough to make them reconsider. The crowd began to disperse, some reluctantly, others already shifting their conversations to speculation and theory.
Cassian remained.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"Don't mention it." He studied me for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in details I probably didn't want noticed. "That really wasn't a planned technique?"
"No," I said. "I've never done anything like that before."
"Interesting." He didn't sound skeptical, just thoughtful. "Well, whatever it was, it was impressive. Try not to let the attention overwhelm you. Half of them are just trying to figure out if you're a threat to their own standing."
He clapped me once on the shoulder, a gesture that somehow managed to be both friendly and cautionary, then headed toward the stairs.
I started to follow, but movement in my peripheral vision made me pause.
Kael Rendis stood near the far wall, half-hidden behind a pillar, watching the entire scene with an expression I recognized because I had probably worn it myself in my previous life. The look of someone observing from the outside, understanding the dynamics but not permitted to participate in them.
Our eyes met for a brief second.
He gave a small nod, something like solidarity passing between us, then turned and disappeared up the staircase without a word.
The only one who understands feeling out of place, I thought.
I made it to the second-floor landing before the next interruption.
Lannorr Valtair Feymim stood at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing with studied casualness, clearly waiting. Two other students from Class A-2 flanked him, their postures suggesting they were there more for moral support than actual backup.
"Theodore," Lannorr said, straightening as I approached. His tone was light, almost friendly, but there was an edge underneath that made every word feel like a threat wrapped in courtesy. "I heard some interesting rumors from your class today."
I stopped a few steps below him, maintaining the high ground disadvantage but refusing to retreat.
"Did you."
"They say you displayed power that shouldn't be possible for a first-year," Lannorr continued, his smile never reaching his eyes. "That you negated a divine art with nothing but presence. That Instructor Kaelen herself was impressed."
"News travels fast," I said neutrally.
"It always does when it's interesting." He descended one step, closing the distance slightly. "I find it curious, though. You were known as weak. Fragile. Black bone syndrome, wasn't it? And now suddenly you're performing feats that even advanced students struggle with."
His eyes narrowed.
"Makes a person wonder what else you might be hiding. Or lying about."
The accusation hung in the air between us, veiled just enough to maintain plausible deniability but clear enough that we both understood it.
"I'm not hiding anything," I said, which was technically a lie but the only answer I could give. "And I'm not interested in whatever game you're trying to start."
"Game?" Lannorr laughed, but there was no humor in it. "This isn't a game, cousin. This is hierarchy. Order. You might have impressed some people today, but that doesn't change the fact that you're untested. Unproven. One lucky moment doesn't make you exceptional."
He took another step down, now close enough that I could see the calculation in his expression.
"When you inevitably fail to live up to whatever reputation you just accidentally built," he said quietly, "remember that I gave you the chance to stay in your proper place."
He brushed past me, his shoulder hitting mine with just enough force to be intentional but not enough to be openly aggressive. His companions followed, one of them shooting me a look that might have been apologetic or might have been pitying.
I stood on the stairs, hands clenched at my sides, breathing carefully through the anger that wanted to surge up and say something reckless.
Not worth it, I told myself. He's trying to provoke you. Don't give him the satisfaction.
I climbed the remaining stairs and made it to my room, unlocking the door with hands that were steadier than I expected and closing it behind me with a controlled click that felt like a small victory.
The room was exactly as I had left it this morning. Bed made. Desk organized. Everything in its place.
But it felt different now. Smaller. Less like a refuge and more like a temporary shelter that could be revoked at any moment.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to slow my breathing, trying to process the last few hours.
Divine Resonance.
Attention from every direction.
Suspicion. Curiosity. Veiled threats.
And underneath it all, the lingering sensation of the figure in the darkness, the man made of light who had pointed at my chest and triggered something I still didn't understand.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
I stood, crossed the room, and opened it to find an academy staff member holding a sealed letter.
"Delivery for Theodore Valtair Roosevelt," the young woman said formally.
I took the letter. The seal was pressed into dark wax, marked with the academy's crest. Official correspondence.
"Thank you," I said.
She bowed slightly and left.
I closed the door and turned the letter over in my hands. Heavy paper, the kind used for important messages. My name written in precise script across the front.
I broke the seal and unfolded it.
The message was brief:
Theodore Valtair Roosevelt,
Your presence is requested in the Headmaster'soffice at eight o'clock this evening. This is not optional.
— Headmaster Volneir Basalin
I read it twice, then set it down on my desk, staring at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something less ominous.
Eight o'clock.
Four hours from now.
A private meeting with the man who had told me about Aeriel's true identity. Who had said the king himself took an interest in me. Who spoke like someone who saw several moves ahead on a game board I was only beginning to understand existed.
And now I would have to explain what had happened in the arena.
What I had done.
What I had seen.
How was I supposed to explain something I didn't understand myself?
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the enchanted lamps dim slightly in response to my stillness.
Four hours until I had to face questions I had no good answers for.
Four hours to figure out how much truth I could afford to tell.
The letter sat on my desk, innocuous and damning in equal measure.
And all I could do was wait.