POV: Cain

  She knocked like someone trained in etiquette, then entered like someone who already knew everything about me.

  The maid.

  She was young—maybe a year or two older than me, with snow-blonde hair braided in a tight loop, emerald-green eyes that didn’t blink enough, and the kind of smile that looked genuine if you squinted hard enough to get a migraine. Her uniform was impeccable, not a single wrinkle, and her posture screamed “noble servant,” which is apparently a job title around here.

  “Master Cain,” she said, bowing deeply. “It is my honor to serve as your attendant during your time at the Academy of Ethera. I look forward to supporting your every need.”

  I blinked. “Okay. And… who the hell are you?”

  Before she could answer, a familiar voice chimed in from behind her like a judgmental echo.

  “She will be your personal maid while you’re enrolled,” Elyndor said, walking into the room with that same grace that made me want to trip him. “She’ll take care of your room, wash your clothes, handle letters, deliveries, even cook for you if you ask.”

  The maid nodded silently behind him, like a very polite ghost.

  I looked at her again, narrowed my eyes. She stood completely still, hands csped, face bnk. The kind of bnk you only see in trained spies or waiters who’ve given up.

  “Well,” I muttered, turning to Luna, “what do you think?”

  Luna sniffed the air without moving. “Clean. Efficient. No malice on the surface. Good enough.”

  Which in Luna-speak meant “acceptable until proven treacherous.”

  I turned back to the maid. “Name?”

  “Selene, Master Cain.”

  Of course it was something elegant and moon-themed. I could practically feel the paperwork Elyndor must’ve filled out to match her aesthetic with the family branding.

  “Alright, Selene. If you’re going to spy on me, at least make my tea right.”

  She blinked once. “Yes, Master Cain.”

  No denial. Just silence.

  Well, she’ll fit in fine.

  Three days passed in a blur of fake conversations, measured meals, and the slow, aching stretch of awkward noble hospitality. Finally, the day arrived.

  We were led through winding paths that threaded between the thick canopy of the elven nds until the trees thinned, and stone pilrs marked the boundary. The air here tasted like ozone—heavy with magic, sharp and electric.

  At the center of a small, warded clearing, stood a circur ptform of etched stone glowing faintly. Runes spiraled along the edges, pulsing with a quiet hum.

  “The teleport gate,” Elyndor announced like a tour guide with too much authority. “It will take you directly to Ethera, to a holding chamber near the academy. From there, academy staff will escort you and the other heirs to the grounds.”

  I walked slowly to the gate, Luna beside me, Selene behind. I paused near the edge of the ptform, squinting at the glowing glyphs like they might bite me.

  I leaned toward Luna and whispered, “This thing safe?”

  “As safe as mortal-crafted space magic can be,” she answered dryly. “Step on the circle.”

  “I hate this already.”

  But I did as told.

  Light surged. My stomach flipped like a rabbit being skinned, and suddenly, we weren’t in the forest anymore.

  We nded in what looked like a teleportation terminal—a round, sterile chamber made of stone and gss, with soft light filtering through enchanted skylights. Several other elves were already standing in neat clusters. Each one wore the same look: aloof, elegant, and faintly annoyed, like they were here for a vacation but someone told them it involved schoolwork.

  I recognized none of them. And, as usual, they didn’t bother looking my way. I wasn’t disappointed. That would require expectations.

  The chamber’s door slid open with a soft hiss, and a man in long brown robes entered—mid-forties, with a book tucked under one arm and spectacles banced on the bridge of his nose.

  “I am Professor Leomar,” he announced. “Welcome to Ethera. You will follow me now.”

  We followed.

  And then I saw the city.

  Ethera wasn't like the glittering crystal cities of the elves. It wasn’t like the moss-covered hut I’d grown up in either. It was… somewhere in between. The streets were cobbled but clean. Carriages moved beside mplights that buzzed with static magic. People walked in yered coats and corseted uniforms. It reminded me of early 20th-century Europe—if electricity was repced with bottled lightning.

  I hated how much I liked it.

  The academy towered at the edge of the city: tall spires, vast courtyards, and looming statues of ancient mages who all looked like they’d failed therapy in different ways.

  Upon entering the academy gates, we were scanned. Literal glowing circles scanned our bodies and belongings. Wards checked our mana flow, our magical alignments, and probably what we had for breakfast.

  A staff member handed each of us a questionnaire.

  “Please list your magical affinity, family name, household rank, and contracted spirits.”

  Cain-mode: sarcasm cranked to 2%. I recited Elyndor’s script like a bored actor.

  “Cain William. House William, secondary branch. No combat rank. Wind affinity. Contracted spirit: Luna.”

  They accepted it. Barely looked at me. Good.

  We were split into groups and guided through separate dorm wings. I was relieved to find I’d been assigned a single room—not because of my blood, but because of my “spirit-bound mage” status. Apparently, having an ancient wolf goddess as your bunkmate gets you private quarters.

  Score one for me.

  Selene was given a servant’s chamber attached to mine—small, efficient, and already furnished with everything she’d need to “tend to my needs.” I had no interest in testing what those needs might include.

  She moved in wordlessly. No fuss. No conversation. Just clean bedding and unsettling silence.

  I colpsed onto my new bed like a corpse returning home. Clean sheets. Solid mattress. No mold. No leaking roof.

  Heaven.

  Then—knock knock.

  I groaned, dragged myself up, and opened the door.

  No one there.

  Just a folded bundle on the ground.

  A crisp uniform—bck with silver trim. A silver badge marked “Ethera – First Year.” An ID card with my name etched in arcane script. And a small pamphlet.

  Luna stepped beside me, gncing over my shoulder.

  The pamphlet had the academy’s history in small print, which I skipped, and an invitation card slipped into the back:

  “Welcome to the honored students of the Elven Realms. A formal welcome ceremony and feast will be held tomorrow evening in the Grand Hall. Formal dress required. Do not bring weapons. Or familiars without contracts.”

  Luna snorted. “They assume I’m decorative.”

  “Same.”

  Attached to the back was my css schedule. First day of lessons: three days from now.

  I had three days to figure out what half these words meant and learn how to not explode when casting wind magic.

  No pressure.

  I fell backward onto the bed again, muttering toward the ceiling, “This better be worth the food.”