Garry's eyes snapped open before the first hint of sunlight touched his window. He wasn't sure what jolted him awake. The room was silent. No lingering dreams clung to the edges of his mind. He just had a gut feeling that staying in bed would be a mistake.
He lay still for a few minutes, gazing up at the ceiling. The house seemed different in the stillness of the early morning, almost smaller. Every little sound was amplified—the faint groan of the old wood somewhere deep within the house, the whisper of wind against the outside walls, the gentle breathing of the only place he'd ever called home.
Today was the day he was leaving.
The thought didn't flood his mind all at once, it came in small pieces.
He pushed himself up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was freezing. He didn't mind, the cold helped wake him up.
His bag was already packed. That bothered him more than it should have.
The bag wasn't full–just a few changes of clothes folded neatly, a couple of books he'd read countless times, things light in weight, felt heavier than they should need to. He looked through them anyway, not once but twice, as if something might have magically changed while he slept.
It hadn't.
His family wasn't rich, that was obvious. The house, the worn furniture, his mother's habit of saving every little thing and finding another use; none of it hid the truth.
The only reason he was able to attend Arcaseic Magic Academy wasn't because of money.
It was because of his father. More specifically, what was left of his legacy.
Garry didn't remember much about him, just small fragments. A kind voice. The fleeting memory of a hand gently resting on his head. Then years of absence that, over time, had stopped stinging so sharply, fading into something that felt normal.
His father had passed away over ten years, not in some glorious battle, but a slow, quiet sickness.
But some people still remembered his name.
Enough that a letter, written a long time ago and never intended for this specific use, opened one single door.
Just one.
Garry didn't dwell on it or over think things, he never had.
He grabbed his bag and quietly left the room.
The smell of baking bread hit him before he even saw his mother.
She was already up, standing by the table with two cups set out. Her movements were practiced, efficient. She didn't turn around right away when she heard him.
"You're up early," she said.
"Couldn't sleep," Garry answered. Which was mostly true
They sat down across from each other at the table, which suddenly felt wider than ever before. He wrapped his hands around the warm cup, letting the warmth sink in.
"You packed everything?" she asked.
"Yes."
She glanced towards the bag. "Books?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Silence followed. It wasn't awkward; it just existed.
"You'll be gone a while," she said after a bit.
Garry nodded. "I know."
She reached out and straightened his collar, then paused as if she realized it was unnecessary. Her hand lingered for a moment before she pulled it away.
"Write," she said, not soft, not sharp, just firm.
"I will."
"And don't pretend you're too busy to come back."
He looked up at her. "I won't."
She gave a small nod.
When it was time to leave, she walked him to the front door. The village was still quiet, bathed in the early morning light. The road stretched on ahead, ordinary, dusty, and narrow.
It didn't look like the start of anything special. His mother placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Go," she said. "See for yourself."
Garry hesitated, then stepped forward.
He didn't look back.
The carriage was already waiting when Garry reached the edge of the village. It was nothing special to gaze upon–a wooden carriage frame, wheels that were worn, and a tired looking driver, who looked like he had taken the same route for many years, to the point he looked bothered. Garry climbed inside without a word, placed his bag at his feet, and sat down by the window.
The driver pulled on the reins.
The village started to fade away.
At first, the road was recognizable. Fields he remembered, trees he thought that he could name. Low fences and uneven stone paths that followed the shape of the land instead of trying to change it. Garry looked out the window quietly, resting his forehead against the glass as the rhythm of the wheels became steady.
Time passed.
The first day went by slowly, then faster, then not at all.
The scenery slowly changed ways that were easy to miss if you weren't paying attention to them. The grass got shorter. The roads straighter. Small villages eventually became larger ones, then smaller again. The air felt different – less damp with sharper scents of stone and dust.
Sometimes, other passengers spoke to each other in hushed voices. Most of the time they were silent.
Garry didn't mind the silence.
He watched carts pass by, merchants going on their way, and guards riding together in pairs. Once, he saw a tower way off in the distance, the outline of it was barely noticeable against the sky. It disappeared behind the rise of the land. No one mentioned it.
The second night, he slept lightly, waking up when the carriage slowed or turned suddenly. Each time, the world outside had shifted slightly – with new terrain, different colors, and horizons he didn't recognize.
By the third day, the road felt older.
Stone replaced the dirt packed which was placed on the ground. Markers were placed at regular spots, worn smooth by something like time. Not from neglect or lack of looking after. The driver sat up straighter in his seat without knowing they were doing so.
And then, without warning, the view opened up.
The carriage went over a gentle rise, and Garry saw it.
The Arcaseic Magic Academy didn't just appear out of no where.
It was already there settled and as if the world had taken shape around it.
Eight buildings stood in a large, open area, each one different in design and style. Some were tall and narrow, while others were wider and heavier, built using dark stone. Worn smooth by constant footsteps, paths connected them in patterns.
In the middle was the main hall.
The white stone reflected the sunlight softly, it caught Garry's eyes, not blinding him, but bright enough to attract his gaze to it. The building was solid and symmetrical, with small carvings across the surface that looked less like decoration but old and thought-out.
Garry realized that his breathing had slowed.
The carriage stopped near the outer grounds. The sounds of students talking, some were laughing, and others were arguing, carried through the air. Some wore simple clothes. Others were dressed better, standing straighter, radiating quiet confidence.
Garry stepped out of the carriage.
For a moment, he just stood there.
The academy didn't feel inviting.
But it didn't feel like he was not wanted or welcomed either.
It felt like they didn't care who he was yet.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and looked up at the white stone building one last time.
"Arcaseic Magic Academy," he whispered.
Then he moved forward, joining the flow of new faces, just another new student. Unnoticed, ordinary, and aware that the world had just gotten a whole lot bigger.