Nathan stumbled out of the gate and into a world that didn’t make sense—not in the way physics and form should dictate, anyway.

  The ground beneath his shoes wasn’t earth, not quite. It was stone laced with shimmering veins of something gold and faintly alive. The path curled into a soft spiral that glowed with its own breath. Trees towered around him, pale-silver trunks rising like columns into a navy sky that pulsed gently with light. The leaves overhead whispered without wind, glowing softly at the edges. Every color here was just a little too vivid.

  The first thing Nathan noticed—truly noticed—was the stillness. Not the absence of sound, but the presence of quiet. A thick, full silence, like the moment after a symphony stops but the air is still vibrating. He stood there, stunned, until his brain caught up to the rest of him. The gate behind him was gone. Not closed—gone. No arch, no shimmer, not even disturbed grass. Just trees where moments ago there had been impossible iron runes and swirling blue light.

  “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “This is fine.”

  He lied beautifully. Nathan turned back to the path, because there was nothing else. He followed it without thinking, because what else was there to do? His legs moved like they knew something his brain didn’t. And ahead of him, something was glowing brighter. He crested a hill—and stopped breathing.

  The structure at the heart of the clearing was not a building. It was a statement. Spiraling towers looped through the air in patterns that made his eyes ache to follow. Archways glowed in soft reds and golds, and floating lanterns drifted like slow stars above the entrance plaza. Water flowed from walls into stone basins and vanished without splashing.

  And at the base of the largest tower stood a woman. Young. Unbothered. Draped in green robes trimmed with copper thread that shimmered like circuitry. Her hair was braided and looped down her spine like a snake, and her eyes were the flat silver of mirrors—not glowing, just unnervingly reflective. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  Nathan blinked. “Excuse me?”

  She nodded toward the path behind him. “The gate doesn’t usually open until the last chord of orientation week. You weren’t supposed to arrive until, well—later.” Nathan stared, still breathing like a runner mid-race. “I don’t—where am I?” A small smile curved her lips. “At the beginning.”

  “You’re not going to answer that, are you?”

  “I did,” she said cheerfully. “You’re at the beginning. The threshold. And possibly the end, too, depending on how things go. Shall we walk?”

  And without waiting, she turned and started up the stone steps leading toward the great building. Nathan, in what had become a recurring theme lately, followed. “Do you have a name?” he asked as he caught up to her.

  “Several,” she replied. “But you may call me Calisan. I’m one of the guides.”

  “Just one?”

  She nodded. “This place doesn’t do one-size-fits-all. Every student gets what they need.”

  “I’m not a student,” he said automatically.

  “You passed through the gate.”

  “That wasn’t—I didn’t even mean to. I was being chased.”

  “You arrived,” she said simply, “and that means something saw fit to let you through.”

  Nathan frowned. “You make it sound like it was… conscious.”

  “It wasn’t,” she said, “but you are. That’s what matters.”

  They reached a grand plaza of floating stones that formed a perfect circle. Each step brought a subtle shimmer beneath his feet. Magic, Nathan guessed. Or gravity just gave up here. Could be both.

  From this vantage point, he could see the university properly. Dozens of towers spun into the sky at impossible angles. Staircases coiled between buildings, half of them not attached to anything. Walkways shimmered in and out of view. Distant students floated by on hover-pads, flying beasts, or… clouds?

  “This place is—”

  “Yes,” Calisan said before he finished. “It is.”

  She turned to face him fully. “You’ll be assigned a tower, a room, a schedule. Orientation starts at dawn. I’d recommend sleeping tonight, if you can. The first week tends to be… disorienting.”

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  “You think?” he muttered.

  She ignored him and gestured to a tall man waiting near a floating desk. “Enrollment.” The man had dark skin, a long silver braid, and a ledger that turned its own pages. He peered at Nathan without surprise.

  “Name?” he asked.

  “Nathan Quinn.” The man nodded and said nothing else. The ledger flipped once, then again, and a rune glowed in the air.

  “North Tower, Level Four, Room 4G. You’ll be paired with Lissandre. Element: Pending Evaluation.”

  He handed Nathan a glowing stone and gestured vaguely behind him. Nathan opened his mouth to ask where he was going, but the man had already turned away, talking to a floating paper bird.

  Calisan smiled again. “Take the blue lights. Don’t step on the flickering ones.”

  “Why?”

  “They bite.”

  Then she walked off and vanished behind a spiraling arch. Nathan stared at the stone in his hand. It pulsed once, softly, like a heartbeat. Then it projected a floating arrow and blinked twice.

  “Sure,” he said aloud. “Why not. Let’s follow the magic rock.”

  And he did. The floating stone led Nathan along a spiraling path that shouldn’t have worked in the laws of gravity—but clearly, this world didn’t care. The steps he climbed looped around the outside of one of the tallest towers, its surface made of glimmering obsidian brick overgrown with ivy that shimmered faintly in the dusk.

  Occasionally, he passed other students on wide floating stairs. A girl rode a broom, though it looked more like a metallic flute with a seat. A boy leapt between walkways made of shimmering light. No one gave him more than a glance, and yet he felt seen, like the tower itself was watching.

  Room 4G

  The door was made of dark wood veined with silver. The rune for Fire glowed faintly on the top panel, pulsating like it was breathing. Nathan knocked. Hard clattering from within, followed by a loud crash and someone cursing: “Shit on a salamander’s tongue—hold on!”

  A gust of wind blew through the crack beneath the door. Then the door swung open with a dramatic whoosh. A girl stood in the doorway wearing mismatched socks, black leggings, and a shirt that said: "I Do My Best Work With Fire". Her hair was thick, coily, and piled on top of her head in a chaotic bun, half of which had caught a small glowing ember. She blew it out without flinching.

  “You must be Nathan,” she said brightly, stepping aside. “Ignore everything you see behind me.”

  He stepped in.

  The room was pure, beautiful chaos. Clothes spun midair in a looped wind current. A fire orb floated over a desk, surrounded by half-burned parchment. One corner held a potted plant encased in a magical dome, possibly screaming. A cloak kept crawling toward the window on its own. The girl closed the door with a flourish and extended a hand. “Lissandre Velle. Fire affinity, certified emotional arsonist, roommate extraordinaire.”

  “Nathan,” he said, blinking. “Quinn.”

  “Oh, I know,” she replied. “I checked the registry this morning. I always do. Gotta know who I’m living with in case I need to hex someone in their sleep.”

  “You… what?”

  She waved him off. “Relax, I haven’t hexed a roommate in months.”

  Nathan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or back out slowly.

  Lissandre grabbed a floating scarf out of the air and snapped it into place on a hook. “That side’s yours,” she said, pointing to the bed by the window. “Sunlight hits it early. Very poetic. Makes you look like a tragic hero with secrets.” Nathan moved to the bed and sat down, slowly. It was softer than anything back home.

  “Element?” Lissandre asked casually.

  “They haven’t… tested it yet,” Nathan said.

  Lissandre blinked, then grinned. “Ooooh. A mystery boy. I love it. That’s way more exciting than the air mages I usually get stuck with. No offense to air mages. Actually, no—total offense. I’m still not over the time one of them caused a wind tunnel in the bathroom because he panicked during a storm.”

  Nathan stared.

  “You’ll get used to me,” she added helpfully. “Eventually.”

  She flopped onto her bed, conjured a glowing fire sphere, and began juggling it lazily between her hands.

  “What was your arrival like?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Oh, the usual,” she said. “Fell through a portal, landed on a cactus, threatened a squirrel, got processed through registration. They said I had ‘untamed potential,’ which I think was just code for too loud to ignore.”

  Nathan chuckled. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “It is,” she said confidently. “They’ve got enough quiet genius types around here. What this school really needs is someone who sets off a few fire alarms and keeps everyone humble.”

  She paused, then looked at him sideways. “So what’s your story?”

  “I don’t really have one,” Nathan replied, lying with practiced ease.

  Lissandre didn’t push. “Fair. But if you ever want to talk about your tragic backstory, I’m all ears. Bonus points if it involves forbidden magic, secret royalty, or a mysterious twin.”

  Nathan froze.

  Her grin widened. “I’m kidding! …Unless?”

  He gave her a faint smile. “Maybe someday.”

  “Deal.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Outside, the sky darkened to indigo, and stars began to pulse slowly across the horizon. A constellation rearranged itself into the shape of a dragon, then slithered toward the moon.

  “I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve been somewhere that didn’t feel… wrong,” Nathan admitted.

  Lissandre didn’t joke this time. She just nodded. “Yeah. This place has a weird way of finding you when you’re ready. Or when you’ve hit rock bottom.”

  “That feels targeted.”

  She tossed him a pillow. “I’m an Aries. Targeting people is how I flirt.”

  “I’m gay.”

  “I can tell. I’m chaossexual.”

  Nathan blinked. “That’s not a real thing.”

  “It is now,” she said smugly. “Now go to sleep, mystery boy. Orientation’s at dawn. And I will set you on fire if you don’t get up when I say so.”

  He smiled as he lay back in bed, staring up at the floating rune lantern above him. For the first time in months, maybe years, he didn’t feel like a mistake. Outside the window, the stars hummed faintly. And from somewhere just beyond hearing, the music began again, a symphony composed eons ago at the beginning of all that was.