"Hmm… that name rings a bell."
Serenya's voice softly echoed in my mind.
Elowynn turned to glance at me, her gaze sharp yet composed. "It seems your spirit is about to speak," she said.
A moment later, a second voice joined in—deep and resonant, distinctly male.
"I see it does indeed," the voice said. "Pardon the intrusion."
Elowynn gave a slight nod, unbothered. "Marivek?"
"Yes," her spirit answered. "That name—Jhenna Ferez—it resonates with memory even older than most spirits recall."
"You know her?" I asked, surprised.
"She was more than a figure of history," Marivek said. "Jhenna was the Left Hand of the First King—the one known to have walked beside him during the Day of Mourning. A master of the runic language and the only immortal to wield it at its full potential."
Serenya hummed. "That... explains the familiarity. I wasn't certain, but now I see why it tugged at memory."
Elowynn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You never mentioned she served under the First King."
"She was one of the few who could," Marivek replied. "She was not born with immense power but rather carved her legacy by mastering what others feared or abandoned. She did not follow the mana system we have now—she pioneered something older, more precise."
"And that's why she still lives?" I asked.
"Yes," Serenya responded. "The power of the runes does not just shape magic—it preserves the very essence of one's existence if mastered. Jhenna may have transcended mortality through her understanding of language and thought itself."
"Why don't others learn it then?" I muttered.
Marivek answered, "Because the path she walked was not made for convenience. In a world that now values efficiency, few would endure centuries to unlock even a fragment of true knowledge."
Elowynn folded her arms. "And to think she once stood beside the king who founded this world's very structure."
I leaned back slightly, processing all of it. "So... she was there at the beginning?"
"Yes," Marivek confirmed. "And so was I."
Both Elowynn and I turned to him in surprise.
"You were there?" she asked.
"I am far older than I appear through your contract," he said. "In the days before even kingdoms bore names, I walked the lands as a whisper. Spirits are not always born—they emerge. And some, like myself, were formed in the silence of creation."
A quiet fell over us.
Elowynn broke it first. "So even among spirits, you're an ancient one."
"Older than most," Marivek replied. "And though Serenya is of a noble circle, she is still... young."
"Hey—" Serenya interjected, a little flustered. "That may be true, but I've done my part."
"Of course," Marivek said with a respectful tone. "Your contractor is fortunate to have you."
I couldn't help but smirk at the odd but warming exchange between the two spirits.
"Still, how can I hear you and even feel your presence when a spirit and its awakener are supposed to resonate into one soul?" I asked, puzzled.
"I can, because it's one of my inherited skills," Marivek replied calmly.
"You're of the Fifth Circle, right?"
"Yes, indeed," he confirmed. "But you must understand—among spirits, age holds just as much weight as rank. Even if two spirits belong to the same circle, the older and more ancient ones often possess more influence and power."
"So... I guess Serenya couldn't do that?" I glanced inwardly.
"Hey!" Serenya's voice chimed in with a light protest. "It's not that I'm weak—my affinity just doesn't allow for that kind of projection, okay?"
"Marivek's affinity is flame and destruction, isn't it?" I asked.
"Correct," he said. "As a spirit of flame and destruction, I can extend my presence across a wider range. That includes brushing against the perception of other spirits near my contractor. But I rarely choose to do so—it tends to be... intrusive."
"That explains the sudden overlap," I muttered.
"Exactly," Marivek continued. "It's not common for spirits to speak across contracts unless one of them forces a link. But don't worry—I have no intention of prying beyond what's necessary."
Serenya sighed softly. "At least warn me next time, ancient one."
Marivek let out a faint chuckle. "Duly noted, young spirit."
"Right, Ezekiel," Elowynn suddenly spoke, her tone calm but curious. "How did you know my spirit's affinity?"
I shifted slightly in my seat before answering. "The servants usually talk about it when they think I'm not listening. I just took note of it."
She gave me a glance, unreadable as ever, then turned her attention back to the window.
The conversation was short, but it lingered in the quiet hum of the carriage.
The wheels of the carriage rumbled against the cobblestone path that led toward a massive iron gate adorned with intricate carvings—spirals of stars, ancient runes, and the symbol of a great phoenix rising from the ashes.
Guards in polished armor stepped forward as our carriage slowed to a stop. Two of them approached the door with practiced precision. One gave a sharp knock, the signal for us to disembark.
As I stepped down, the air shifted. It wasn't just colder—it was heavier, like the atmosphere itself carried the weight of prestige. Beyond the gate, the Academy walls stood like an ancient fortress woven with elegance—arched windows, towers wrapped in ivy, and banners of midnight blue embroidered with silver threads.
Dozens of students were already entering through the main gate, some carried by ornate carriages like ours, others walking in groups—nobles, merchants' sons, and a few who wore the hardened eyes of warriors.
I caught a glimpse of the Academy's front garden—manicured trees shaped into mythical beasts, flowerbeds blooming in unnatural symmetry, and a central statue of a robed figure holding an open tome, his other hand outstretched toward the heavens.
"Welcome to Aetherfall Academy," Elowynn said beside me, her tone devoid of excitement—but even she paused a moment to take it in.
Behind us, the servants began unloading her luggage. All twelve of them.
Meanwhile, I tightened my grip on my one, modest case.
This was going to be… something.
During the admission phase, we were given a simple order: follow directions without question.
It didn't take long for me to get separated from Elowynn, funneled into the far more chaotic group of attendants and servants. We were clustered together like baggage left out in the sun—no noble blood, no privilege, just background players entering the grand stage.
The whole process wasn't that different from enrolling into a new school back in my world.
We were told to sit in lines, wait for our names to be called, and then directed from one room to another like a bureaucratic relay race. There was a lot of staring, some subtle judgment, and an overwhelming silence broken only by occasional orders barked by staff dressed in formal Academy robes.
Eventually, I ended up in a large room where a tired-looking clerk handed me a stack of forms to fill out.
Thankfully, I was able to write in their language, Magika Kema, thanks to two things: the battered old language primer Tharus lent me during my first days in the Pale March... and the relentless servant training sessions that forced me to adapt.
My penmanship was still awkward by their standards, but at least I didn't look like a complete outsider.
One of the servants beside me whispered, "You write smoother than most of the new ones. You from the Capital?"
I gave a vague shrug. "Something like that."
I didn't really want to explain that I used to write essays in another life, on another planet, with a coffee beside me and Wi-Fi.
Here, all I had was a worn quill, a rough desk, and the looming realization that I was now officially part of a place I didn't belong to.
The stone hallways of Aetherfall Academy were polished to a mirror-like shine, so clean that my shoes made an audible echo with each step. The walls were lined with glowing sconces powered by runes, casting a soft bluish hue that felt both calming and ominous at the same time.
I clutched the parchment in my hand—the one that had my dormitory assignment scrawled in elegant script I barely recognized.
As I turned a corner, I almost bumped into another servant, a boy a bit older than me with short, dark hair tied back neatly. He glanced at me, then at the parchment in my hand.
"New too?" he asked casually, his tone neither welcoming nor dismissive.
"Yeah. Just got my room," I replied, holding up the parchment.
He gave a small nod. "West Wing. If you're near the kitchens, good luck sleeping. Place never really goes quiet."
"Duly noted," I said. We exchanged a faint smile, not exactly friendly, but not cold either.
Another girl passed by, arms full of laundry. She gave me a side glance and said, "Don't fall for the trick where someone tells you to polish the statues in the East Garden. They're enchanted. One blink and they're covered in moss again."
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious," she said, walking past without stopping.
I kept walking.
There wasn't much warmth here—not yet anyway—but there also wasn't outright hostility. Everyone seemed too focused on settling in and avoiding attention. It reminded me a bit of the first days of high school back on Earth. People were just... trying to survive.
A boy sitting on a bench looked up from his boot he was polishing. "Which House are you assigned to?"
"House Varis."
"Ah, nobles with cold eyes and high expectations," he said, returning to his task.
"Sounds about right."
He snorted quietly. "Good luck, outsider."
Outsider. Yeah, I suppose that word would follow me for a while.
I finally found the hallway marked Servant Dorms – House Varis and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. At least the door wasn't cursed or anything.
I pushed it open, stepping into the next phase of my strange, misplaced life.