A bell tolls somewhere in the distance, low and steady, and I roll over with a groan. I haven’t been sleeping well this week. My joints feel tight, like I didn’t quite lay right during the night.

  I stretch without thinking, rolling onto my side, and feel nothing in my way.

  I lie there a second longer than I should, arm extended, then huff and push myself upright. I don’t think I like this feeling.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and yawn, planting my feet on the timeworn wooden floor. The boards are pale, worn smooth from years of bare feet, and warm in a way that still surprises me. Some kind of embedded magic, probably. Old Academy stuff. I don’t know how it works, but gods, it feels good first thing in the morning.

  The room’s small but comfortable. White stone walls, cut clean and fitted tight. A big double window framed in heavy timber looks out over the valley beyond the Academy grounds. Morning mist hangs low between the ridges. It’s not a fancy room, but it’s home. Mine, and his, for the last six years.

  If we’re lucky, maybe another four, which seems like a lifetime to my sixteen year old brain.

  That thought makes my stomach twist, just a little.

  I stretch again and reach down for my pants, crumpled on the floor where I left them. I snort softly.

  He’d yell at me for that.

  The smile sneaks up on me before I can stop it.

  The pants are light-colored, thin, and tougher than they have any right to be. They stretch enough that I never feel restricted during drills or sparring. At this point, they’re basically my uniform. I pull them on and grab the short vest from the chair. It ends just below my sternum, embroidered with some old Sect pattern I’ve stopped noticing.

  I’d rather be shirtless, but apparently that’s “undisciplined presentation” or whatever.

  Old guys.

  I grab my staff from where it leans against the wall and step out into the hall.

  The Academy corridors always feel the same, pale wooden floors, white stone walls, wide and open. There’s a lightness to the space that I’ve grown to appreciate. Air moves easily here. It reminds me of staff work sometimes. Balance. Flow. Room to move.

  That probably sounds dumb, but that’s my life. Hallways and staff forms.

  I start toward the cafeteria, then slow as I reach the junction and turn without really thinking about it. Breakfast can wait. I’d rather move first.

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  The training halls are quieter at this hour. I catch myself whistling as I walk, some half-remembered tune, and grin when I realize it.

  He’s coming back today.

  The thought gives me a little extra bounce in my step.

  The main training hall is huge, big enough to hold all five hundred students if they packed us in tight. Combined drills happen sometimes, but usually things are staggered. Our Sect focuses on the quarterstaff. Adepts were called. Martial and magic mixed close enough that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. We’re meant to be flexible. Frontline capable. The kind of fighters who can adapt when things go sideways. The reality is we’ll probably end up as personal body guards for rich merchants or minor nobility, rather than soldiers.

  I shake my head and push the thought away. Too early for that.

  I duck into one of the side practice rooms, tucked off in a corner most people ignore. Same pale stone, same wood floors. A single light panel in the ceiling simulates daylight without being harsh. I like this room. People don’t bother us here.

  A wooden training dummy waits off to one side, already scarred but half-healed from yesterdays abuse.

  I stretch, bounce lightly on my feet, then step in.

  The staff moves easily in my hands. Familiar weight. Familiar balance. I run through forms, nothing heavy, just enough to get my blood moving. Strikes, turns, footwork. The dummy absorbs it all, wood creaking softly as it repairs itself between hits.

  An hour slips by before I really notice my breathing starting to flag.

  I rinse my face, stretch out any remaining fatigue and head back toward the cafeteria.

  The halls are busier now. I nod at a few passing students, say hello where it’s expected. I’m not popular, but I’m not an outcast either. I’ve landed in a good place, known well enough to be left alone.

  The cafeteria looks like every other room in the Academy. Tables. Stone. Wood. Noise starting to build as people wake up properly.

  I grab a tray, scoop oatmeal into a bowl, add some fruit. Simple. Reliable. People think it’s bland, but I like oatmeal. Always have.

  I sit in my usual spot, nod to a couple familiar faces, and settle in, already looking forward to a quiet breakfast.

  Then the bench shifts, just a little. A familiar weight settling beside me.

  I don’t even try to hide the grin as I turn my head.

  Kai’s here, He's back early.

  Kai wasn’t supposed to be back until this evening.

  He’s been gone four days. Family business, that’s all he said. I thought about asking more than once, but didn’t. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. We don’t keep important things from each other.

  He finishes settling onto the bench and slides a little closer, close enough that our sides touch. Then he leans his head against my shoulder.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  So I don’t either.

  I stare at my bowl for a second, spoon hovering, then set it down. I want to jump up and hug him. The urge hits hard enough that my shoulders tense before I catch myself. We don’t really do that. It’s strange to think about, because he’s already pressed against me, but that’s different.

  That’s how it’s always been.

  We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. Long enough that I don’t really remember a time before this, before him just being there. Near enough that the world feels steadier.

  I shift slightly so he’s more comfortable. The weight of his head settles, familiar, grounding in a way I don’t need to think about. My breathing evens out without me meaning it to.

  I don’t try to fill the silence. He’ll talk when he wants to. Until then, this is enough.

  I pick my spoon back up and keep eating, careful not to jostle him. I can feel the warmth through my shoulder, the solid, quiet presence of him beside me.

  If anyone’s watching, they don’t say anything. Probably because it doesn’t look like much from the outside.

  To me, it feels like standing on solid ground again.