The academy was alive.
Students packed every path and corridor, voices overlapping like a restless tide. Some were exploring wide-eyed, others already gathering in groups, swapping names and hometowns. A few seniors showed off with effortless flicks of magic — one launching shimmering runes through the air, another demonstrating a Stellar skill in the middle of a walkway. A pair of first-years had even broken into a duel in one of the halls, swords clashing in a burst of light before a staff member stormed in and barked them apart.
Most students, though, hovered near the long conveyor belts lining the courtyard plaza, waiting for their luggage. The academy encouraged sending belongings ahead by staffs, so no one had to haul bags across airships.
Claire stood there with Rose and Takumi, watching as names were called and crates of gear clattered down the line.
"You know," Takumi muttered, leaning on one arm, "for a place with, what — a thousand students crammed in at once? Service isn't as awful as I expected."
"Oh please," Rose shot back, flicking his shoulder. "Mister Latecomer shouldn't be complaining about anything."
"In my defense, I was airsick," Takumi grumbled. "And by the time I made it down the ramp, no staff in sight."
"Uh huh. Sounds like skill issue to me."
Claire let their banter drift around her as she kept her eyes on the conveyor. Her bow, Tearful Embrace, was strapped to her back, quiver slung neatly over one shoulder. The plain dark wood case rested against her hip. When her bag finally rolled out, she quickly scooped it up, hugging it close like it might settle the flurry of nerves still tucked beneath her skin. Her fingers absently traced the edge of her journal.
She turned to find Rose and Takumi somehow deep in conversation about air currents.
"I'm just saying," Takumi argued, "some people are naturally worse with high altitudes, it messes with your inner balance."
"It's called gravity, dumbass," Rose grinned. "It messes with everyone."
Claire blinked, baffled how the topic even started.
"W-well, I think I'm gonna go find my dorm," she murmured, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Rose's grin widened. "Look at her — already eager to ditch us."
"N-no! I-I just wanna set up my stuff early. I can meet you guys later if you're still… um, air-dynamics debating."
"Pretty sure we'll still be standing here next semester," Takumi deadpanned.
"Oh please," Rose rolled her eyes. "More like after graduation."
"Wow, aiming high already."
Claire gave a flustered little smile, clutching her journal tighter. "Anyway… I'll catch you later."
And with a shy wave, she slipped away into the restless tide of students.
The courtyard stretched ahead, and for the first time since arriving, she wasn't surrounded by familiar voices. Her steps felt lighter, but her heart beat a little too fast. Every turn, every archway, every soaring window held something new — not grand declarations of destiny, but simple, ordinary details that made the place feel impossibly real. A patch of climbing ivy curling up a stone wall. A pair of students perched on a banister, talking animatedly over a textbook. The soft shimmer of a floating lantern above a stairwell, casting little rings of light on the polished floor.
Claire clutched her bag tighter and let her gaze flicker from one small wonder to the next. The echo of footsteps. The murmur of conversation. The hush of the wind spilling in through open archways.
This was a place she'd seen a hundred times in half-formed dreams. And now it breathed around her.
Her boots clicked softly against the smooth stone as she followed the signs toward the dormitories, weaving between groups of students and staff. Some darted past with wide, eager grins, others moved slow and wide-eyed. She passed one boy conjuring harmless spark trails in his hand to impress a girl who rolled her eyes. Another was juggling his bags poorly with magic as his books floated in uneven circles over his head.
Claire's lips tugged into a small, genuine smile before her nerves tugged her back down.
Eventually, she reached an elevator tucked between two towering walls of dark stone. She pressed the call button, the number display blinking its steady, deliberate climb toward her floor. The noise of the academy dulled here, only distant echoes of excitement and hurried steps.
She rubbed her thumb over the edge of her journal again, fidgeting with the worn corner.
"I wonder what the dorms are like…" she murmured under her breath, voice barely a whisper.
A few seconds later, footsteps approached, and a figure stopped beside her. Claire stiffened, her breath catching. Out of instinct she glanced up — and there he was. The black-haired boy from the airship. The one she'd brushed against without meaning to. The one from…
Her stomach dropped.
Memories flared unbidden — the rush of panic, Maomao bolting into the street, that awful moment of him shoving her aside before the blast, his body flung like a ragdoll.
Claire's throat went dry.
Eep.
She shrank inward, the hood of her dark blue coat still drawn low, casting a faint shadow over her face. Her eyes flicked anywhere but at him — the floor tiles, the blinking elevator numbers, a scuff mark near the corner of his sleeve. Her palms dampened against the leather of her journal, fingers worrying at its edges.
Claire willed herself invisible, shoulders tucked tight beneath her cloak as if she could disappear into it.
Just one more floor.
Please.
The seconds stretched, thick with a silence that made her skin crawl. Guilt gnawed at her chest — not the old kind she was used to, but heavier. Different. It pooled under her ribs, sharp and restless.
Is he… mad at me?
A furtive glance. His expression didn't budge. Eyes forward, face unreadable, every inch of him still as stone. No flicker of recognition.
Her stomach twisted.
The elevator chimed with a soft metallic tone, making her jump. She moved first, nearly stumbling through the open doors. He followed — silent, steady, the weight of his sword a dark line against the pale glow of the overhead lights.
Claire stayed close to the corner, the hood of her coat brushing her cheek, her bow and quiver heavy on her back. The dark wood case jostled against her side as the elevator descended in thick quiet.
Kazuki.
The name surfaced unbidden. She hated that she remembered it so easily.
He still wore his uniform properly, a brown shoulder bag slung over one shoulder, fingerless gloves, that frayed scarf still clinging stubbornly around his neck. The old earphones — the ones broken during the blast — hung loosely by the cord.
The air felt tighter with every passing second.
Claire fidgeted with the strap of her bag, rocking slightly onto the tips of her toes, then back down. The elevator's hum and the soft shudder of the cables above were the only sounds.
Another chime. The doors slid open.
He stepped out immediately, without so much as a glance her way.
Claire followed a heartbeat later, her throat dry. Realizing with a sharp pang that they'd landed on the same floor. Of course they had.
Her hand clenched tight around her journal, the hood of her coat casting a faint shadow over the blush rising on her face.
I was careless that day.
And now, without quite meaning to, Claire found herself unconsciously matching his pace — one step, then another.
She clutched her dorm key tighter, glancing at the numbers on the doors as they passed. 192… 193… 194… Her hand brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, still gripping her journal awkwardly against her side. Her stomach twisted.
Almost there.
At last, she found it — Room 195. She stepped forward to slot her key into the lock… only for another hand to reach for it at the same time.
Her heart skipped. She looked up — and met pale gray eyes.
For the first time, he was looking right at her.
Kazuki's expression didn't shift, unreadable as ever, but there was a flicker — something quick and muted like a spark dying out. Recognition, maybe. Claire froze, caught in place, her fingers hovering uselessly over the keyhole. Neither of them spoke.
Then, wordlessly, Kazuki turned his gaze aside and stepped away.
Claire's face burned hot. She fumbled the key into the lock, turned it with a soft click, and pushed the door open in a flustered hurry. Her head ducked, letting her hair tumble down like a curtain to shield her face.
This isn't happening. No way.
The room barely registered — a bunk bed, desks, a balcony, a faint scent of fresh wood polish.
Kazuki crossed the room without a sound, pulling out a chair with a soft scrape. He sat down, setting his sword carefully against the desk's side before opening a book in a single, practiced motion.
Claire's pulse wouldn't settle. The room felt tight, the air too heavy.
Without thinking, she dropped her bags against the wall. Her journal slipped from her hand onto the floor, but she didn't even look back. She bolted for the balcony, tugging the glass door closed behind her with a little too much force.
The moment the door shut, the world outside hit her in a rush.
Her hood slipped off in the wind, tugged free as though the air itself had claimed it. Morning light brushed over her face, and the crisp, high air stung her cheeks in the best way. Strands of long yellow hair whipped loose, catching on the breeze as it swept around her.
The balcony stretched out toward endless clouds and mist, and far below, the lake shimmered like a sheet of pale glass. The distant edges of the floating island blurred into the haze. Everything smelled of cold stone, clean air, and sky.
Claire let out a shaky breath, bracing her arms against the railing, letting the wind tug at her hair and clothes. She closed her eyes for a moment — not to calm herself, but to feel it. The height, the weightlessness of being this far from the ground, the thin, clean air so far above everything familiar.
It was quiet up here. Distant. Detached.
Okay. Okay. Breathe.
Behind her, she caught the faint scrape of a chair shifting. Instinct twitched through her nerves. She rose on her tiptoes, peeking awkwardly through the edge of the glass door.
There he was — still at the desk, the same book open in his hands, completely absorbed.
Claire let out a long sigh. Shoulders sagged. A mixture of relief and a little frayed frustration.
"…Seriously…?" she mumbled, pressing her forehead against the cool glass.
With a tiny groan, Claire gave both her cheeks a soft slap — pat, pat — chasing the heat from them.
Get a grip, Claire.
One last glance inside. Still reading.
She sighed and leaned into the railing again, the morning breeze catching loose strands of her hair. The view stretched endlessly out in front of her — clouds spilling over the distant lake's edge, the distant shapes of other floating islands barely visible through the mist. A strange calm settled over her, if only for a second.
Then her phone chimed.
A sharp beep in her pocket.
Her stomach jumped, and in a flurry of awkward, eager motion, she fished it out and swiped the screen.
The message sat waiting at the top of her chat window — C1's name beside the little green dot, profile picture still blank.
Hello, PB.
Another beep.
Apologies for the delay. I've been occupied. Public areas, as you know, are not my favorite.
I hope you weren't too upset.
Claire grinned and tapped out her reply in a rush, her thumbs stumbling a little over the keys.
nah nah its fine!!
i kinda got caught up too tbh lol
and um i think i technically fought a bunch of ppl this morning??
long story
Really? I'm intrigued.
eh, you kno what? i'm gonna make u wait for it. payback for making ME wait lol
I thought you weren't mad.
Claire bit her lip, trying not to giggle.
im not! but impatient claire wants u to feel it
Not cool.
She blinked, then grinned wider.
wait YOU just said not cool? informality?? is this growth im seeing??
Yes.
lmao okay okay fine. anyway gotta go for real now!! promise i'll tell u later!!
Understood. Stay safe.
Claire let out a soft laugh under her breath, tucking the phone back into her coat pocket. The breeze tousled her hair again as she lingered there for a second longer.
She let herself breathe.
Finally calm.
And then, with quiet resolve, she slid the balcony door open and stepped lightly back inside.
Kazuki sat where he had been, still reading, the steady turn of a page the only sound.
Claire's gaze drifted to the desk — and paused.
A small flip phone rested there beside his book. Not on. Not in use. Just sitting there like it belonged in a museum.
Her brow furrowed.
"…Huh." Weird.
But she left it alone.
Claire scooped up her journal and pen, now neatly placed on the desk like someone had picked them up for her. She blinked at it, hesitated, then gathered her things and climbed onto the top bunk, the bed creaking gently under her weight.
She leaned back against the wall, letting her legs dangle, and opened her journal to a fresh page.
The pen moved easily this time, her thoughts spilling out, one line at a time.
"I'm not even sure what to call today. It was a mess. It was fun. It was… weird."
She stared out the window through the open balcony door, the clouds rolling by.
"And it's only just getting started."