Freya woke before the bell.
For a moment she'd forgotten where she was. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, carved with delicate patterns that caught the pale light of dawn. The air smelled faintly of leaves and clean stone. Her heart kicked once in startled confusion.
Then her memory settled.
The academy.
She lay still, listening. The dormitory hummed with quiet life. Footsteps in the hallway. A distant door closing. The soft rustle of fabric as someone moved in the adjacent room.
Inky sat on the windowsill, a dark silhouette against the brightening sky. He was watching the city below with an intensity that bordered on predatory.
Freya pushed herself upright. Her muscles felt tight, coiled with nervous energy. Today would be her first full day of classes. The thought sat heavy in her stomach.
She reached for her sketchbook on the bedside table and flipped it open. Her pencil moved automatically, tracing the curve of the window frame, the line of Inky's back. The act steadied her breathing.
"You're staring," she murmured.
Inky's ear flicked. He did not turn.
The bell rang.
The sound rolled through the dormitory in a clear, resonant wave. Voices rose in response. Doors opened. The day began in earnest.
Freya dressed quickly in the academy uniform. The fabric was crisp and unfamiliar against her skin. She caught her reflection in the small mirror above the desk. For a second, she barely recognized the girl staring back.
You chose this, she reminded herself.
She slipped her sketchbook into her bag and stepped into the hallway. Students flowed toward the central stairwell in a steady stream. Sera waved when she spotted Freya.
"First day," she said brightly. "Ready to survive?"
"I think so," Freya replied.
"That's the spirit. Combat Arts first. They like to throw us into the deep end early."
They joined the tide of students heading toward the training complex. The air outside was cool and sharp. Freya's pulse quickened as the massive arena came into view.
The Combat Arts hall was cavernous. Training rings spread across the polished floor, each marked by glowing boundary lines. Instructors moved among the students, their presence commanding immediate attention.
A tall man with a scar tracing his jaw stepped onto the central platform.
"I am Instructor Halvren," he announced. "Today we assess your baseline."
A ripple of tension passed through the crowd.
"You will enter the ring in pairs," Halvren continued. "No lethal intent. Demonstrate control. Demonstrate awareness. And most importantly, do not freeze."
The words struck Freya like a physical blow.
Do not freeze.
Her throat tightened. The memory rose unbidden. Her mother falling. Her body locked in place.
She forced the image down.
Names were called. Students stepped into the rings, contracts flaring to life. The air crackled with energy as the first bouts began.
"Freya Valemont."
Her head snapped up.
"And… Darius Kelm."
A boy stepped forward from the opposite side of the hall. He was broad-shouldered, his expression confident. A wolf-like contract materialized at his side, its fur shimmering with faint light.
Freya walked into the ring. The boundary line pulsed beneath her feet. Inky remained just outside, watching.
Darius grinned. "Ready?"
She nodded, though her palms were slick with sweat.
"Begin." Halvren called.
Darius moved first. The wolf lunged, a blur of motion. Freya's heart slammed against her ribs. For a split second, her body threatened to lock.
Not again.
She threw herself sideways. The wolf's claws scraped the floor where she had stood. She rolled to her feet, breath ragged.
Think.
She did not have Inky's power. Not openly. She had her own body, her own instincts. Darius pressed forward, confident in his advantage.
Freya watched his shoulders. The shift of his weight. When he feinted left, she anticipated the real strike from the right and ducked under it. Her hand shot out, tapping his wrist.
A clean point.
Halvren's eyebrow lifted slightly.
The bout continued in a blur of movement. Freya stayed light on her feet, reading Darius's rhythm. Each successful dodge chipped away at the ice in her chest. She was moving. Acting.
When Halvren called a halt, her lungs burned and her muscles trembled. But she was standing.
"Well done," the instructor said curtly. "Both of you."
The training hall did not empty immediately after assessments.
Clusters of students lingered around the rings, replaying bouts with animated gestures. Instructors drifted among them, offering clipped feedback that students clung to like lifelines.
Freya stood at the edge of her ring, flexing her fingers. The tremor in them had faded, replaced by a deep, satisfying ache. Sweat cooled on her skin.
"You read my partner like a book," a voice said.
She turned. Darius stood a few steps away, wolf contract pacing lazily at his side.
"He's very fast," Freya replied.
He shrugged. "You're calm. That's rarer."
The word lodged oddly in her chest. Calm was not how she would have described the storm that had raged inside her during the match. But from the outside, perhaps it looked that way.
"Good fight," he added, extending a hand.
She shook it. His grip was firm, respectful. A small exchange, but it anchored her more firmly in this new social terrain.
As students filtered out toward their next sessions, Freya lingered. Instructor Halvren approached, boots echoing softly against the polished floor.
"Valemont," he said.
She straightened instinctively. "Yes, sir?"
"You compensate well," he observed. "Lack of overt contract use forces you to rely on awareness. Do not lose that edge when your partner chooses to participate."
Her gaze flicked to Inky. He sat just beyond the boundary line, looking profoundly uninterested in the conversation.
"I understand," she said.
Halvren studied her for a heartbeat longer, as if weighing something unspoken. Then he nodded once and moved on.
The comment settled heavily in her thoughts as she followed Sera into the corridor.
"He doesn't praise easily," Sera whispered. "That's practically a standing ovation."
Freya let out a small breath. "I'll take it."
Their next class unfolded in a tiered lecture hall overlooking a suspended mana construct that rotated slowly in midair. An instructor traced glowing lines through it, explaining the fundamentals of contract resonance and energy flow.
Freya took meticulous notes, her pencil scratching steadily across the page. The terminology was dense, but patterns emerged. Contracts were not just weapons or companions. They were systems. Networks of intent and exchange.
She felt Inky's presence at the edge of her awareness, distant and vast. The lecture's language brushed uncomfortably close to something she sensed but could not articulate.
During a brief break, a student slid into the empty seat beside her.
"You're the one who fought Darius right?" the girl said. "Nice work."
Freya blinked. "Thank you."
"I'm Rin," she continued. A thin ribbon of water coiled lazily around her wrist, her contract manifesting in a miniature scale. "People notice when someone fights like that without leaning on their partner."
Freya glanced at Inky. "He has his reasons."
Rin followed her gaze. The water ribbon stuttered. For a fraction of a second, it lost cohesion before snapping back into shape.
"…Right," Rin said slowly. "Well. If you ever want to spar outside class, let me know."
"I will," Freya replied, surprised by how much she meant it.
By the time the final lecture ended, her mind buzzed with new information. The academy was not just a place of combat. It was a lattice of disciplines woven together. Strategy. History. Ethics. Each thread pulled at her curiosity.
The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of assessments. Strategy drills. Endurance tests. By the time the midday bell rang, Freya's limbs felt like lead.
The dining hall buzzed with conversation. She sank onto a bench beside Sera, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. Inky curled at her feet, his presence a quiet anchor.
"So like, why did you hold back?" Sera observed between bites of food.
Freya stilled. "What do you mean?"
"Your contract," Sera said. "He didn't participate or manifest."
Freya's gaze dropped to Inky. "He… doesn't really."
Sera frowned slightly but did not press. "Well, you did fine without him. That's impressive."
A shadow fell across the table.
Freya looked up.
A figure stood a short distance away, surrounded by a subtle hush. Students nearby stole glances in his direction. He was older than them by several years, his posture relaxed but coiled with latent power. A contract hovered at his shoulder, its form indistinct and luminous.
The air thickened.
Inky's head lifted. His eyes locked onto the other contract. For an instant, the hall seemed to recede. Pressure coiled in the space between them.
The luminous being tilted its head.
A voice brushed the edges of Freya's awareness. Not sound. Thought.
Kaelithar.
The name rang like a struck bell.
Inky did not move. His silence was absolute.
The pressure spiked, then vanished. The figure turned away, the moment dissolving into the din of the hall. Conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.
Freya's hands shook.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Sera blinked. "What?"
"Oh. Nothing," Freya said quickly. "I just… thought I felt something."
Her gaze drifted to Inky. He had resumed his casual posture, tail flicking lazily.
But she had felt it. The recognition. The weight of a name she did not understand.
The rest of the day unfolded in a haze. Lectures blurred together. Faces and names slipped past her grasp. Beneath it all, a current of unease pulsed steadily.
The encounter in the dining hall returned to her thoughts with unwelcome clarity. The name still echoed faintly in her skull.
Kaelithar.
She found herself scanning the crowd for the older figure, but he was gone. Only the memory of pressure remained, like the afterimage of lightning.
That evening, many of the Verdant students gathered in a smaller common hall overlooking the gardens. Lantern light pooled warmly across low tables. Students sprawled in loose circles, the day's tension dissolving into laughter and quiet conversation.
Sera dropped onto a cushion beside Freya. "Survived day one," she declared. "Statistically impressive."
Freya smiled faintly. "Barely."
"You did more than barely," Sera insisted. "People are already talking about that match."
Heat crept up Freya's neck. She deflected with a question. "Does it always feel this… intense?"
"The first weeks? Yes," Sera said. "They're watching to see how we bend. Not break, but bend."
Freya considered that. Bend. Adapt. Verdant's philosophy distilled into a single motion.
Inky lounged at her side, eyes half lidded. Yet she felt his awareness stretching outward, brushing the edges of the academy like a cautious probe.
"What are you looking for?" she murmured under her breath.
He did not answer. But the sense of vigilance sharpened.
When she finally returned to her room, exhaustion settled over her like a heavy cloak. She sat at the desk and opened her sketchbook again. The page filled with intersecting lines. Two silhouettes facing one another across a widening gulf. Above them, towers spiraled into a sky dense with stars.
Her pencil slowed.
She whispered the name once more. "Kaelithar."
The air tightened.
Inky's gaze snapped to hers. For an instant, the room felt too small to contain the presence coiled behind his eyes. Not anger. Not exactly. Something older. Measured.
A memory not her own brushed her consciousness. Vast halls. Shattered light. The echo of voices speaking in a language that tasted like thunder.
Then it was gone.
Freya's hand trembled. The pencil clattered softly against the desk.
"You're… not just a cat," she said unnecessarily.
Silence answered her. But it was a different silence than before. Not indifference. Deliberation.
Outside, wind stirred the leaves in the garden. The academy breathed around her, unaware of the ancient tension threading through her small room.
She closed the sketchbook with careful hands and lay back on the bed. The ceiling patterns swam faintly in the dim light.
Today had given her fragments. Praise. Fear. Recognition. Questions layered atop questions.
Sleep crept toward her slowly. As her thoughts unraveled, she felt Inky leap lightly onto the foot of the bed. His presence anchored her drifting mind.
In the space between waking and dreams, she sensed his attention fixed outward. Guarding. Waiting.
And beneath that vigil, something else stirred. A quiet acknowledgment. Not in words, but in weight.
She was no longer walking alone.
The realization settled gently in her chest as darkness closed in.
Tomorrow would bring more answers. Or more questions. Perhaps both.
Freya surrendered to sleep with the certainty that whatever lay ahead, the path had begun to reveal its true depth.
And in the hush of the academy night, the fallen sovereign kept watch, measuring the currents of a world that had forgotten his name, and the girl who would one day force it to remember.