The North Wing of the Royal Academy was a stark contrast to the marble-clad Obsidian Spire. Here, the air smelled of floor wax, old sweat, and cheap stew. This was the dormitory for the "F-Class"—the students whose cores were either too weak, too erratic, or too strange to fit into the prestigious tracks of the Knights or Mages.
Matthew walked down the narrow corridor, clutching a small canvas bag containing two sets of grey tunics and a wooden training sword. His mind was still reeling from the Dean's lecture. A vacuum. A hole in the world. He didn't feel like a weapon of mass negation; he felt like an intruder.
He stopped in front of a door marked Room 402. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.
The room was surprisingly spacious and clean, though it was currently cluttered with half-disassembled mechanical parts and scrolls. Sitting on one of the beds was a boy with messy, light-brown hair and an easy, confident posture. He was reading a complex manual on mana-conduits, but he looked up the moment the door creaked.
The boy's eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. "You must be Matthew. I heard the Sun-Guards brought in a survivor today."
Matthew hesitated, his hand lingering on the doorframe. "I'm Matthew. And you are?"
"Andrew," the boy said, standing up and offering a firm, friendly hand. "Andrew Miller. I'm your roommate for the term."
Matthew shook his hand, but his eyes drifted to the insignia on Andrew's cloak. It wasn't the dull grey of the F-Class. It was a bright, shimmering silver with gold trim—the mark of the Elite Class, the top-tier first-years.
"You're in the Elite Class?" Matthew asked, confused. "Then why are you in the North Wing? This is the... well, the dregs."
Andrew laughed, a warm, relaxed sound. "The Academy has a 'Pairing Initiative.' They put one top-tier student in the lower dorms to act as a mentor—and to keep the peace. Most of the Elites hate the assignment, but I requested it. I'd rather spend my time around people who are actually interesting than listen to Lucius brag about his family's gold mines all night."
"Come on," Andrew said, grabbing his cloak. "Curfew isn't for another hour. Let me show you around. If you're going to survive the first week, you need to know where the traps are—and I don't mean the ones the monsters set."
As Andrew led him through the halls, the difference in their status was immediately apparent. Students stepped aside for Andrew, nodding with respect, while casting suspicious or pitying glances at Matthew.
"Don't mind them," Andrew said, noticing Matthew's stiff shoulders. "They see the grey tunic and think 'weakness.' They don't realize that in a real fight, the person who has had to struggle for every inch of ground is the one who usually wins."
Andrew pointed out the Great Library, the alchemical labs, and finally, the massive, glowing archway of the Training Arena.
"That's where the real work happens," Andrew explained. "The Academy is a hierarchy, Matt. You're starting at Rank 0, which is tough. But you've got a core that the Dean himself is interested in. That makes you a target, but it also makes you a wildcard."
They headed toward the Common Room of the North Wing. Unlike the quiet, stuffy lounges of the Elite towers, this room was a chaotic hub of noise.
"Hey, everyone!" Andrew called out, leaning against the doorframe. The room went quiet as the students looked at the Elite-class boy and the newcomer. "This is Matthew. He's the one from Oakhaven. Treat him well, or you'll have to spar with me tomorrow morning."
A girl with her hair tied in a practical ponytail looked up from a practice dummy. "The Void-boy? I'm Sarah. My core is Earth, but I can only move pebbles. Still, it's better than nothing."
"And I'm David," a lanky boy added from a corner table. "Speed-type core. I'm fast for about five seconds, then I pass out. We're the 'unlucky' bunch."
Despite their jokes, the atmosphere was welcoming. They didn't look at Matthew with the clinical coldness of the Inquisitors or the mocking sneer of the merchant sons. They looked at him as one of their own.
"It's not so bad here," Andrew said, leaning in closer to Matthew. "These people have heart. The Elites? They have power, but most of them have never bled for it. You have."
As they walked back to their room, Andrew stopped at the window overlooking the city lights.
"Listen, Matthew," Andrew said, his voice turning serious. "The first few days are going to be a gauntlet. The teachers will push you, and the other students will try to provoke you. They want to see what that 'Null' power actually looks like. If you ever feel like that vacuum in your chest is getting too heavy to hold, you tell me. I'm one of the few people here who can actually handle a mana-spike without falling over."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Matthew asked, his voice low. "You don't even know me."
Andrew looked out at the horizon, a shadow of a memory crossing his face. "Because my father was a Knight who didn't come home, too. And I know what it's like to stand in a room full of people and feel like the only person who can see the truth of how dangerous the world really is."
He clapped a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "We're roommates, Matt. In this school, that means we're brothers. I've got your back."
As Matthew eventually lay down on his narrow cot in Room 402, he felt a strange sensation. For the first time since the sky tore open, he didn't feel completely alone. Andrew's presence was like a steady light in the dark—calm, powerful, and protective.
Matthew looked at the iron ring on his finger, then at the sleeping form of the Elite student across the room. He was an F-Class survivor, but he had a brother in the best class in the school.
The "True Face of the Gods" might have taken his home, but in the heart of the enemy's citadel, Matthew had found his first ally.