The first night at the academy passed without incident.
I fell asleep faster than I expected — a body exhausted from half a day of travel apparently didn't care about all the worries still spinning around in my head. I lay down, stared at the ceiling that was different from the one in the Raybak estate, and at some point my eyes just closed on their own.
No dreams I could remember.
Just morning — autumn light coming through the gap in the curtains, sound of footsteps in the corridor outside starting to pick up, and the faint smell of breakfast being prepared in the dining room downstairs.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed my face, and took a long breath.
Day one.
Breakfast in the west dining room was busier than the night before.
Almost all the students had arrived — tables that were half empty yesterday were now full, overlapping conversations filling the room with a familiar hum. There was something that felt like normalcy here, even in the middle of everything that had changed.
Glen was already at the usual table with a plate of toast and the expression of someone who'd been up since way too early. Eric arrived not long after me, hair still slightly messy, ordered something hot before sitting down.
Lisa took her usual spot at the servant's table.
"Schedule today?" Glen asked, mouth half full.
"Semester opening ceremony at nine," I answered. "West hall."
"Not the main hall?" Eric raised an eyebrow.
"No."
Neither of them commented further on that. But I noticed Glen set down his toast for a moment — a small gesture that on anyone else might not mean anything, but on Glen who never stopped chewing during breakfast, was worth noting.
The main hall. That same place.
Nobody wants to go back there any sooner than they have to.
Breakfast continued with lighter conversation — complaints about the new courses, speculation about the replacement instructor who'd never taught at the academy before, and a small argument between Glen and Eric about whether the new physical training schedule was too early in the morning or not.
Normal. Normal enough.
I ate, listened, and answered occasionally — but most of my attention was on the dining room entrance.
Diana hadn't shown up yet.
The semester opening ceremony was held in the west hall — a smaller room than the main hall, with wooden benches arranged facing a podium, and tall windows on the left side letting in morning light at an angle that was slightly blinding.
The Headmaster spoke longer than usual.
I didn't pay much attention to what he was actually saying — most of it was predictable before it was even said, about resilience, about continuing forward, about the new semester as an opportunity to move ahead. The right words for the right situation, delivered in the right tone.
What I paid attention to was everything else.
Seating positions. Who sat close to who. Who talked to who before the ceremony started and stopped when it began. Small reactions when the incident was mentioned indirectly — some people looked down slightly, some kept completely blank expressions, some were just a little too aware of trying to look like they weren't reacting.
In the front row, a few seats from the left, Crown Prince Aldric sat with a straight posture. Two people beside him — maybe undercover guards, maybe actual friends. Couldn't tell from here.
Felix Voss was in the middle rows, alone at the end of a bench, eyes forward the whole ceremony. Didn't talk to anyone before or after.
The brother of the convicted suspect.
What's it like coming back here carrying that label on your back.
I couldn't decide whether what I felt about that was sympathy or just an observation that hadn't been categorized yet.
In the student council section sitting separately on the right side, Diana sat at the far end. Back straight, hands in her lap, looking at the podium with an expression that gave nothing away. But I noticed that a few times her eyes moved — not toward the podium, but toward the audience. Scanning. Taking notes.
Same habit as mine.
Once, her eyes found mine. Not long. No expression changed. She just looked back at the podium like nothing had happened.
After the ceremony, the flow of students filled the corridors.
Glen and Eric went straight to the schedule board at the end of the hall to check their classes. I followed, but my head was somewhere else.
In the mix of conversations in the corridor, I caught one name mentioned in a whisper — Voss. Then a small laugh immediately cut short. Then someone nudging their friend's arm and directing their eyes toward Felix who was walking to class with his head slightly down.
Schools never change no matter what world you're in.
I didn't do anything. Not because I didn't care — but because every move I made now carried different weight than before, and an uncalculated reaction was more dangerous than staying quiet for now.
"Which class do you have this morning?" Glen asked, coming back from the schedule board.
"Advanced magic theory. Ten o'clock."
"Same." He nodded. "Eric?"
"History of magical conflicts." Eric folded his schedule. "Second floor."
We split at the corridor junction.
Advanced magic theory was in a classroom in the north wing — a smaller room than the ones used for general classes, with desks arranged in a semicircle facing a large chalkboard. Capacity around twelve people, and this was one of the smaller classes only attended by elite-track students.
From Richard's memories — this class mixed students from different years, selected by ability not age. Richard got in during his second semester of first year, which was apparently pretty unusual.
I walked in and immediately scanned the room.
Ten students already there. Two empty seats.
Glen was in the left corner, gave a small wave. Next to him, an empty seat that was clearly being held without anyone having to say anything — a habit that formed on its own over months of sitting together.
I sat down.
The instructor walked in two minutes later — a middle-aged woman with white hair neatly braided, wearing a dark grey robe that wasn't the standard academy uniform. From Richard's memories — Instructor Vera, magic formulation specialist. Known for rarely giving tolerance for lateness and even more rarely giving compliments.
"New semester," she said, no opener, straight to standing in front of the chalkboard. "But that doesn't mean we start from scratch. We continue from the last point before..." She paused for one second. "Before the extended break."
The most neutral possible way to refer to two months of chaos.
"This week we go back to basics first. Not because you've forgotten — but because some things need to be recalibrated after a long gap." Her eyes swept the room, stopped briefly on me. "Raybak. Individual evaluation after class."
Not a question.
"Understood," I said.
Class continued — Instructor Vera went over the basic concepts of magical energy condensation, not because the material was new but because reading it after a long break always felt different from reading it the first time. I followed well enough — Richard's memories were solid enough for this material, and two weeks of going back through books at the Raybak estate before leaving turned out not to be wasted.
But at the end of class, when the other students started packing up — the door opened from outside before anyone could get out.
Diana.
She walked in with unhurried steps, gave Instructor Vera a short nod — the greeting between people who knew each other, not student to instructor — then her eyes immediately found me.
"Got a minute?" she asked.
The way she said it didn't sound like a question you could say no to.
Glen glanced at me for a second, then at Diana, then back at me with an expression that was quietly asking do you need me to wait?
I gave a slight shake of my head.
He shrugged and walked out with the rest of the students, leaving me, Diana, and Instructor Vera who was tidying her notes at the front desk.
"Evaluation first," said Instructor Vera without looking up, her tone clearly directed at Diana. "Then talk."
Diana nodded and stepped back toward the door, waiting.
The individual evaluation with Instructor Vera took twenty minutes.
No written test — more like a series of short demonstrations. Basic control, channeling precision, output stability. Instructor Vera had me hold one magic formation for thirty seconds while she asked unrelated theory questions — a technique for measuring cognitive multitasking while using magic.
The results weren't embarrassing. Weren't impressive either.
The lightning sparks I produced were stable but weak — roughly sixty percent of the capacity in Richard's pre-incident memories. Instructor Vera wrote something down without comment for almost a full minute before finally setting her pen down.
"Better than I expected," she said, which coming from her felt like a standing ovation from anyone else. "But you're still far from where you were last semester. Independent practice every morning before class. I'll give you a special module this week."
"Understood."
"And don't force big outputs yet. A body that just recovered from magic trauma doesn't respond well to being pushed." She looked at me briefly with an expression I couldn't fully read. "You're lucky you can still access your element at all after what happened."
I didn't ask further about that. But I filed it away.
Diana was already standing in the corridor when I came out.
Not sitting, not leaning against the wall — just standing, books held in front of her chest, eyes going straight to me the moment the door opened.
"Walk with me," she said.
We walked together down the corridor that was now empty — everyone was in their classes or in the dining room for a short break before the next schedule. Diana's steps were steady, not rushed but not leisurely either.
I waited for her to start.
A few seconds passed. Then —
"How are you actually doing?" she asked. Not the version asked with visible concern — more like someone who needed accurate data before continuing something.
"Good enough," I answered. "Magic is still below normal capacity. Everything else is almost back."
Diana nodded. "Vera said you need time?"
"Vera told you directly?"
"Vera and I have... more direct communication than usual since the incident." Her tone didn't change, but something in her word choice felt deliberate. "She was one of the first instructors to report anomalies in the academy's security system to the headmaster. Before the royal investigation started."
I slowed my steps slightly. "What anomalies?"
"That's what I want to talk about." Diana also slowed, stopped at a corridor junction leading to the inner courtyard. She glanced in both directions, making sure no one was around — a movement that already felt like a habit. "But not here. Inner courtyard, after lunch. No classes until two."
I looked at her for a moment.
She already picked the place and time before she came to my class.
"Okay," I said.
Diana nodded once, then turned in the opposite direction — back to her own business, no extra pleasantries.
I watched her back for a moment before turning the other way.
Decisions she didn't agree with.
Anomalies in the security system.
Two weeks she spent keeping the council running on her own.
More pieces showing up. Less and less of the full picture visible.
Lunch passed faster than usual.
Glen and Eric were already at the table when I arrived — Eric was explaining something about his morning class with unusual enthusiasm for him, and Glen was listening with the expression of someone who was half interested and half not sure he should care.
I ate, participated in the conversation just enough, and kept an eye on the time.
"You in a hurry?" Glen asked eventually, catching something in how I was acting.
"Something to take care of before afternoon class."
Glen looked at me for one second. Then glanced toward the council table on the other side of the dining room — where Diana was talking to two other council members while still eating, with an expression that showed she was running two conversations at the same time.
Glen didn't comment. Just nodded.
He understands more than he shows.
The academy's inner courtyard at lunch break was nearly empty.
Not a large garden — more like a small open space in the middle of the academy buildings, with a few stone benches around it and small trees now dropping their leaves one by one. Wind occasionally carried those leaves drifting through the air before they landed on the stone path below.
Quiet place. Too open for anything too sensitive, but secluded enough that you couldn't easily be overheard from close range.
A thought-out choice.
Diana was already there when I arrived — sitting on the bench facing the center of the courtyard, the books she'd been carrying now closed beside her. She wasn't reading. Just sitting and waiting.
I sat next to her, leaving enough space between us — not so close that it looked like a private conversation to anyone who might pass by, not so far that we'd have to speak up.
A few seconds of silence.
Then Diana started, her eyes staying forward — toward the middle of the courtyard, not toward me.
"Two weeks before we came back here," she said, "the council was called in for several discussion sessions about the new academy security protocols. With the headmaster, some senior staff, and one representative from the royal investigation."
I listened without interrupting.
"Most of the protocols made sense. Artifact checks at the gates, stricter identity verification, reduced free access to certain areas of the building." Diana paused briefly. "What I didn't agree with was one decision that was made outside the official sessions. It wasn't in the minutes. It wasn't announced to the full council."
"What decision?"
Diana finally turned to look at me. Her blue eyes looked at me differently from how she looked at other people — more direct, like she didn't have time for anything unnecessary.
"A list was made," she said. "A list of students who would be placed under unofficial surveillance for this semester. Not surveillance from the royal security side — but from an internal academy network. Certain staff, certain council members given special assignments."
Internal spies.
"Who's on the list?" I asked, though part of me had already guessed the answer.
"Twelve names." Diana looked forward again. "Felix Voss. Several students known to be close to the Maren family. Some with connections to territories that directly border the Valdres Empire." She paused for one second. "And you."
I didn't react externally. But inside — something responded to that sentence in a way I couldn't fully categorize.
Of course.
A living witness to the Crown Prince's assassination attempt gets put on the surveillance list. Is that to protect, or to monitor how much I know?
"Who made that list?" I asked.
"Officially — nobody knows who initiated it. The royal investigation representative present that night just said it was direction from 'a higher level.'" Diana quoted that phrase in a tone that made clear she hadn't just accepted it at face value. "The headmaster approved it without asking much."
"And you didn't agree."
"I didn't agree because the process was wrong," said Diana, and for the first time I heard something in her voice that wasn't just analysis — something sharper than that. "A surveillance list without a clear legal basis, without transparency to the people being watched, without a set time limit — that's not a security protocol. That's a control tool." She stopped. "And whoever has access to that list has the power to shape the narrative of who's 'suspicious' at this academy."
I stared at the leaves falling onto the stone path in front of us.
Control tool.
Not to protect. To decide who gets seen as a threat — and by who.
"You said this was decided outside the official session," I said. "So some people were there and some weren't."
"Three other council members were there that night besides me." Diana turned slightly. "Two of them agreed without any objection. The other one — I'm not sure they really understood the implications at the time."
"Who were the two that agreed?"
Diana was quiet for a moment. Not hesitating to answer — more like weighing how much she needed to say now versus later.
"That's what I haven't decided who to share yet," she said finally. "Not because I don't trust you. But because naming council members to someone who's on the surveillance list — outside an official meeting, no witnesses — is something I need to think through more carefully."
I nodded.
That's a reasonable answer. Not avoidance — this is caution.
"One more thing," said Diana. Her voice dropped one level — not dramatizing, more like a marker that what came next was heavier than what came before. "The anomaly Vera reported before the royal investigation started."
"What was it?"
"Vera found something that didn't make it into the official investigation report." Diana looked forward. "The device that exploded that night — one of the two devices found — left behind magic residue with a pattern inconsistent with Valdres weaponry."
I turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"The formula used the Valdres crystal condensation base — that's what was reported to the royal investigators, and that's accurate." Diana chose her words carefully. "But in the outer layer of the residue, there was an element that shouldn't be in a standard Valdres formula. Like someone had added something to the original formula."
Modified.
Someone who knew the Valdres formula — well enough to modify it.
"Did Vera report this to the royal investigators?"
"She tried." Something in Diana's expression changed — harder at the edges. "Her report was received, noted, and then never appeared in the official investigation conclusions that were published."
The small space enclosed by the academy walls suddenly felt smaller than its actual size.
A report that was received but not included in the final conclusions.
Someone decided that information didn't need to be in the final report.
"Does Vera still have the original notes?" I asked.
"That needs to be confirmed," said Diana. She stood up, smoothed her clothes briefly. "But not now. And not in a way that makes too many people wonder why someone is suddenly very interested in magic analysis notes from the night of the incident."
I stood up too.
In that small courtyard, the wind blew once — carrying two or three leaves from the nearest tree, drifting between us before landing on the stone path.
"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked.
Diana looked at me with those blue eyes that stayed just as clear and just as hard to fully read.
"Because your name is on that surveillance list," she said. "And because someone on a surveillance list deserves to know they're being watched." She picked up her books. "And because I can't do this alone."
That last sentence was delivered in exactly the same flat, direct tone as everything else she'd said. No vulnerability in it — more like a logistical statement from someone who had already counted the resources she had and decided she needed one more.
I watched her for a moment.
Two weeks running the council on her own. Attending an unofficial meeting and disagreeing with its decision. Finding information that didn't make it into the official report. And now bringing all of it to me.
Whether this is full trust or a very carefully planned calculation — or maybe both at the same time.
"Okay," I said.
Diana nodded once. "Class at two. Don't be late, Vera doesn't like—"
"I know."
She almost smiled again — same corner of the mouth, brief, not complete. Then she walked toward the courtyard exit, steps steady as always.
At the door, she stopped briefly without turning around. "Oh — and don't tell Glen or Eric about this conversation yet."
"Why?"
Now she turned, just slightly. "Not because I don't trust them. But because the fewer people who know we've already talked, the smaller the chance this information reaches the wrong person before we're ready." Her eyes held on me for a moment. "You understand."
Not a question.
"Yeah," I answered.
Diana nodded once more, then left.
I stood alone in that small courtyard for a few minutes after she was gone.
The wind blew again, colder than before.
Surveillance list.
Modified magic residue.
A report that disappeared from the official conclusions.
And a Student Council President who chose to bring all of it to me, not to academy security, not to the headmaster, not to her parents or guardian.
Too many pieces. But this time — for the first time since waking up in this world — some of those pieces were starting to show how they might connect.
The incident wasn't entirely a Valdres product. There were local hands in it — someone who knew the Valdres formula well enough to modify it. Someone on the inside, close enough to make sure a critical report didn't make it into the official conclusions.
Someone who's still here.
Probably walking the same corridors right now.
Damn it, I thought, watching the leaves keep falling.
And this is only day one.