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"They absolutely can." Dax says.

"They absolutely can't." Lyss argues. "They're smarter than you." She adds.

"That's a low standard." Dax laughs.

Behind us, Caelen and Maelis debate tomorrow's training schedule. Rhyven is walking alone. Hands in his pockets. Looking like he'd rather wrestle a mountain than participate in group activities.

The Academy stretches before us like a city carved into the mountains themselves. Courtyards spill over with students. Dragons cast enormous shadows overhead. Somewhere a bell rings. Not harshly. Warmly. Its sound rolls through the mountains. Every student pauses. Just for a heartbeat. Then life continues.

I don't know why. But I smile. For the first time since arriving this place doesn't feel overwhelming. It feels alive. And somehow I already have the strange feeling that one day it might feel like home.

Caelen's version of an Academy tour begins with a threat. "If any of you interrupt me every thirty seconds, I'm leaving."

Dax immediately raises his hand. Caelen keeps walking. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say." Dax argues.

"I've known you for three years." Caelen answers.

"That feels prejudicial." Dax frowns.

"It's experience."

Soren catches up beside us, adjusting the strap of his bag over one shoulder. "In fairness, your tours are notoriously incomplete."

"I showed you everything important." Caelen replies.

I laugh as we step beneath an enormous stone archway connecting the residential towers to the central Academy grounds.

Morning light pours across the courtyard. Last night, the Crystal Dome made Varethia feel polished. Ceremonial. Almost unreal.

This morning, the Academy belongs to its students. Uniform jackets hang open. Sleeves are rolled. Books are tucked beneath arms beside blades and training gloves. Someone has abandoned a single boot in the middle of the path. No one seems concerned.

A dragon passes overhead, low enough that the wind from its wings sends papers flying from a second-year's hands. The student watches them scatter.

"Every fucking morning."

Caelen turns while still moving backward. "The Academy is divided into six primary wings, but students aren't." He gestures toward the residence towers behind us. "Dormitories are mixed by year and magical classification, not Family. Classes are mixed too, except for inheritance-specific training." He adds.

"Why magical classification?" I ask.

"Safety," Maelis answers. She walks with her book open, somehow avoiding every person in her path without looking up. "A first-year who accidentally petrifies furniture should not share a room with someone whose reflex is to set it on fire."

Dax looks toward Rhyven. "That feels targeted." Rhyven is still following several steps behind us in complete silence, hands tucked into his pockets.

"It should." He says. "That tapestry was ugly."

"It was six hundred years old." Dax says.

"Still ugly."

Lyss looks at me. "He burned a historical artifact."

Rhyven finally glances up. "I improved a historical artifact."

"You reduced it to ash." Lyss says.

"Exactly."