The dormitory for first year students was located in the eastern wing of the academy, in a long three story building made of the same black stone as everything around. Nox was led there by a silent servant in gray livery who appeared out of nowhere as soon as Lady Morvane finished her conversation and dismissed him. The servant did not introduce himself, did not say a single word the entire way, only walked ahead holding a magical lantern, even though the academy corridors were already well lit. Apparently, this was customary. Or perhaps etiquette, about which Nox had no idea, demanded it.
The room he was assigned was small but clean. A narrow bed with a hard mattress, covered with a gray blanket bearing the academy crest, a small table by a window overlooking the inner courtyard, a chair, and a wardrobe containing two robes. One was gray, everyday, made of rough but sturdy fabric, with a hood and a silver border along the edges indicating the first year. The other was black, formal, of finer material, with the Noxspire crest embroidered on the chest: a dragon and a gear intertwined into a single symbol. On a shelf lay a stack of clean linens, a pair of thick soled boots, and a small leather purse with the academy emblem, inside which were writing supplies: a quill, an inkwell, and several sheets of thick paper.
Nox stood in the middle of the room, unable to believe that all of this was now his. Just yesterday, he had slept in a tavern with a leaky roof, and before that in Sylvana's house, and before that in a scrap metal shack in the Ravnes slums. And now he had his own room. Small, with a hard bed and a view of a stone wall, but his own. And a robe. And the right to study where the children of dukes and kings studied.
He changed into the gray everyday robe, and the fabric settled on his shoulders, unfamiliar but pleasant. He looked at himself in the small mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. The reflection showed the same Nox: scars on the right side of his face, dark hair falling over his forehead, wary eyes. But something had changed. Something elusive. Perhaps it was the robe. Perhaps it was the fact that he had finally arrived where he was meant to be.
Someone knocked on the door. Nox opened it and saw a boy about his age, but half a head taller and broader in the shoulders, standing on the threshold. He had sand colored hair, cut short, and eyes of the same shade, calm and attentive. He was dressed in the same gray first year robe, and his face lacked the arrogant expression Nox had already come to expect from academy students.
«Hey. I am Kane. They put me in the room next door. The prefect said we would share a bathroom and that I should introduce myself to my new neighbor. So here I am, introducing myself.»
Nox looked at him for a second, assessing. In the slums, he had learned to read people by small details: how they stood, how they held their hands, where they looked when they spoke. Kane stood relaxed, his hands open, looking him straight in the eyes. He was not lying and was not trying to be something he was not. That was already good.
«Nox,» he said shortly.
«Nox? No last name?»
«No last name.»
Kane nodded, accepting the answer, and did not press further. That was also a good sign.
«What is your specialization? I mean, what kind of magic do you have? I have Sand. Not the coolest, of course, but I am used to it. In the desert where I come from, you cannot get by without Sand. You can build a house, protect yourself from sand worms, find water if you know how.»
Nox almost smiled. The boy spoke of his magic without boasting, but also without apology. Simply stating a fact. It earned respect.
«I have dark magic,» Nox said. «It is fuzzy. I do not fully understand it myself yet.»
It was almost the truth. Shadow was indeed dark magic, and he did not yet fully understand its limits. And that he had not mentioned Shadow, dragon blood, or his bloodline was simply caution. Sylvana had taught him: trust, but verify. And never reveal all your cards at once.
«Dark is good,» Kane said as if discussing the weather. «They say almost everyone in our year has light specializations. Light, Wind, Water, all that. There are few dark ones. It will be interesting to see how they react.»
«They?»
«Well, the aristocrats. You have probably noticed by now: half the students here come from noble families. They look at everyone else like dirt under their feet. Especially those with dark magic. They think it is the lot of lower races, demons, vampires, and the lower class, like you and me. I am a nobody, by the way. My father was a desert guide, my mother a weaver. No crests or centuries old lineages.»
Nox listened, and something inside him slowly warmed. He had not expected to meet someone like himself here. A nobody, without a famous name, without patrons. And with dark magic, even if different. It was unexpectedly pleasant.
«I am a nobody too,» he said. «I grew up in the slums. So we are in the same boat.»
Kane smiled, and his smile was open, sincere, without a trace of mockery or superiority.
«Then stick with me. It is more fun together. And safer. Aristocrats are like sand worms: they do not attack alone, but a swarm can devour you. But if you know where to strike, you can fight them off.»
They went down together to the common dining hall, a huge room with high vaulted ceilings and long wooden tables where dozens of students were already seated. The food was simple but filling: porridge, bread, cheese, vegetables, hot meat stew, herbal brew instead of water. Nox took a tray, filled it, and sat at the farthest table, in the corner, from which he had a good view of the entire hall. Kane sat beside him without asking why he had chosen that spot, which was also right.
They ate in silence, and Nox observed. The students at other tables clustered in groups, and these groups were clearly divided by some invisible signs. There was a company of arrogant young men and women in perfectly fitted robes, with expensive rings on their fingers and crests on their chests, laughing louder than everyone and looking at others with poorly concealed contempt. The aristocrats. There was a more modest group, in the same gray robes but without jewelry, quieter, speaking in low voices and trying not to draw attention. The children of merchants, craftsmen, petty officials. And then there were a few students sitting alone, like himself. One had unnaturally pale skin and reddish eyes, a vampire or half breed. Another had scales visible on his temple, a dragonid or descendant of dragonids. A third had hands covered in thin scars, like ritual patterns, a demon or a person who had undergone demonic rituals. They were all outsiders here, like Nox.
«See that one with the crossed swords crest?» Kane asked quietly, nodding toward the aristocrats' group. «That is Reinhart van Drake. The third son of Duke van Drake, who owns the largest magic rail lines in the north. They say his older brother is in the third year and terrorizes half the academy. And this one has been trying to prove he is just as good from the first day. Mean as a demon and just as dangerous. Better not cross his path.»
Nox looked at Reinhart. Blond, with an arrogant, handsome face, he was telling something loudly to his friends, who laughed obsequiously. In his movements, in the way he held his head, in the way he pushed his plate aside without looking so a servant could take it away, was the confidence of someone who had never doubted his right to be there. Nox had met such people in Ravnes. Not aristocrats, of course, but people sure of their impunity. The Fangs had been like that. And he knew that sooner or later, such people always met someone who shattered their confidence. Sometimes literally.
«I will remember,» he said and returned to his food.
After breakfast was the first class. «Introduction to Magical Theory,» a general course for all first years regardless of specialization. It was taught by Master Veld, a dry, elderly man with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail and eyes that seemed to see everything at once. He spoke monotonously, without emotion, but every word was precise and measured, like the strike of a clockwork mechanism. He spoke of the nineteen basic magics, of hybrids, of how magic manifested in different races, of the tattoos every mage wore, and of how power without control was not a gift but a curse.
Nox listened more attentively than anyone in the room. He memorized every word, every detail, every classification. He already knew much of what the master spoke, Sylvana had managed to teach him the basics, but here the information was systematized, complete, with examples and references to the works of ancient mages. He absorbed it like a sponge, feeling a complete picture of the magical world taking shape in his mind, a picture he had so lacked before.
After the lecture, as the students filed out, a girl approached him. Short, with chestnut hair braided into two plaits, and eyes of an amazing golden color that seemed to glow from within. Her robe bore no crest, only the silver border of a first year, but she carried herself with a dignity rivaling the aristocrats.
«Hello. You are Nox, right? I am Iris. I heard you have dark magic. I have Light. I thought maybe we should, well, help each other? Opposites attract and all that.»
Nox looked at her. Light. The magic that was the direct opposite of Shadow. The magic the Moon Goddess had stolen from the God of Light, if what Sylvana had told him was true. He did not know if he could trust a Light bearer. He did not know if he could trust anyone here except perhaps Kane, who stood nearby watching the conversation with interest.
«Why me?» he asked.
Iris blushed slightly but did not look away.
«Because you are not like them.» She nodded toward Reinhart's group, who were again discussing something loudly, ignoring everyone around. «You look and you listen. And you have scars. That means you have already fought. Truly, not just in training. I think you know something they do not. And I want to understand what.»
Nox was silent, considering her words. She was perceptive, this Iris of the Light. Too perceptive. That could be dangerous. But it could also be useful. Sylvana had said: know your enemies by sight, and test your friends with time. For now, she would be neither. Just a girl who had offered help.
«We will see,» he said. «For now, I am just studying. Like everyone else.»
Iris smiled, and her smile was as bright as her magic.
«Alright. I am in no hurry. But if you need anything, I am in room three on the second floor of the west wing. Come by if you want to talk. Or just because.»
She left, and Kane whistled.
«Wow. First day, and a Light bearer has already set her sights on you. Fast work.»
«She has not set her sights. She suspects something.»
«Even better. That means you are interesting. And interest is worth a lot in this world. Anyway, let us go, we have another class, Fundamentals of Artificing. They say it is deadly boring, but you cannot skip it.»
The day flew by unnoticed. Lectures alternated with practical classes, practical classes with lunch, lunch with new lectures. Nox absorbed everything he was given, trying not to stand out, not to reveal his true abilities. In the practical class on magic control, he deliberately showed an average result, enough not to arouse suspicion but insufficient to attract attention. Kane, by contrast, gave it his all, and his Sand, obedient and precise, earned an approving nod from the master. Iris also performed well, her Light soft but confident, and the master praised her control.
In the evening, when classes were over and the students had dispersed to their rooms, Nox did not go to sleep. He waited until the footsteps in the corridor fell silent, put on his hooded robe, and went out. The academy at night was a different place. Quiet, dark, full of rustles and shadows that lived their own lives. The magical lanterns burned at half power, casting long, trembling shadows on the walls, and Nox felt as comfortable here as a fish in water. Shadow inside him responded to every movement, every sound, reaching for the darkness as if for an old friend.
He went down into the catacombs. Lady Morvane had mentioned them in their conversation, saying there was a network of ancient tunnels beneath the academy that had once been used for secret rituals but were now abandoned and off limits to students. But Nox found the entrance. An old door in the basement of the east wing, blocked by crates, led to a narrow passage leading downward. He squeezed inside and found himself in a labyrinth of dark corridors lined with rough stone, with low ceilings and the smell of dampness and ancient magic.
Here he could train. Truly, without worrying about prying eyes, without fear of revealing himself. He stood in the center of a small round chamber that, judging by the remains of an altar in the middle, had once been used for rituals, and called on Shadow. It came instantly, alive and obedient, swirling around him, taking the form of a sword, a spear, a chain, a battle axe, changing weapons so fast the air sang. Nox moved in a dance that only his Shadow knew, striking at invisible enemies, dodging, jumping, rolling, and felt himself growing stronger with each movement. Not physically. Deeper. Shadow and dragon blood within him were slowly learning to exist together, not hindering but complementing each other.
He trained until his hands began to shake with fatigue and Shadow became sluggish and unresponsive. Then he stopped, leaned his back against the cold stone wall, and closed his eyes. The silence of the catacombs pressed on his ears, but there was something soothing in that silence. Here, deep underground, away from prying eyes and ears, he could be himself. Nox Endragon. The last of his bloodline. Heir to Shadow and dragon blood.
He thought of Lin. How was she at Marta's tavern? Was she managing? Was anyone bothering her? Tomorrow he would try to find a way to visit her. Lady Morvane had said students were allowed to leave the academy once a week, on weekends. He would wait until Sunday and go to the Coppersmith Quarter. Check that everything was alright. And tell Lin about his first day.
With that thought, he left the catacombs, returned to his room, and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day. New knowledge. New challenges. And he would be ready for them.
And somewhere far away, in the halls of the Moon Goddess, Sylvana awoke in darkness. She was chained to a wall with chains of pure Shadow, and her Blood, usually obedient and alive, did not respond to her call. The Goddess had drunk her power, leaving just enough so the witch would not die. The Harbinger stood nearby, its dark eyes burning in the half light.
«Where are the children?» it asked. Its voice was soft, almost gentle.
Sylvana looked at it, and a smile flickered across her exhausted face.
«Where you cannot reach them. At Noxspire. In the academy. And when they leave there, they will be strong enough to destroy you. And your mistress.»
The Harbinger did not answer. It simply stood and looked at her, and in its eyes there was neither anger nor fear. Only patience. The endless, inhuman patience of a creature that lived forever and knew how to wait.
«We will see,» it said finally. «We will see.»
And it dissolved into the shadows, leaving the witch alone in the darkness.