After the class ended, they didn't return to the dorms right away.
Instead, without saying much, they drifted toward the road that led to the port.
Evening had already begun to settle in.
The sun hung low on the horizon, its light thin and weak, barely clinging to the edge of the sea before slipping away.
The sky was painted in muted shades of orange and violet, blurred together like damp ink on parchment.
Cold air rolled in from the water, carrying the sharp scent of salt and fish, brushing against their faces and seeping into their clothes.
The port was quieter than during the day.
Ships creaked softly as they rested against the docks, ropes swaying with gentle, rhythmic knocks that echoed through the stillness.
Lanterns flickered one by one, their warm glow reflecting on the darkening water.
Shadows stretched long across the wooden planks, and their footsteps sounded louder than usual in the calm.
No one spoke.
The walk itself felt enough — a slow, silent way to let the weight of the day fade as night finally claimed the sky.
They walked toward the far end of the port, where the wooden docks gradually gave way to a stretch of rough stone and damp sand. Waves rolled in slowly, brushing against the shore before retreating with a soft, dragging whisper. The sound of water striking the rocks echoed gently through the cooling evening air.
Their footsteps slowed as they reached the shoreline. The sea reflected the fading sunlight in trembling streaks of gold and crimson. The last rays stretched across the horizon, thin and fragile, as if they might snap at any moment.
They walked together in silence. No one felt the need to speak. The steady rhythm of the waves and the distant creaking of anchored ships filled the empty spaces between them.
As they followed the shoreline, they noticed a narrow stone path branching from the main road. Near its entrance, a small roadside stall stood against the wind. A vendor leaned over a charcoal grill, carefully turning skewered fish. Smoke curled upward in thin grey ribbons, carrying the rich, savory aroma of roasted fish into the evening air.
The smell lingered around them, warm and inviting against the cold breeze from the sea.
Selene was the first to slow her steps. She glanced toward the stall before quietly saying, "Should we… go there?"
Tessa gave a small shrug, trying to sound casual. "We already walked this far. Might as well."
No one objected.
After placing their orders, they carried the freshly grilled fish toward a large, flat stone near the shoreline. The stone still held a faint trace of warmth from the sunlight, though the cold was already beginning to claim it.
They sat side by side, their breaths faintly visible in the cooling air.
The fish was simple — lightly salted, slightly charred, and wrapped in thin parchment. Steam rose as they opened it. Hunger from the long day made them eat quickly, though the taste still lingered pleasantly on their tongues.
For a while, they simply watched the horizon as the sun slowly sank lower, its reflection breaking apart across the restless water.
"This feels… surreal," Mira finally said, her voice barely louder than the waves.
Rowan adjusted the scarf around his neck before replying quietly, "Being able to sit like this… eating without worrying about the next task… I never thought something like this would happen to me."
Elias let out a small, nervous laugh. "And we haven't even started working yet… They're already investing so much in us."
"They're putting a lot of effort into us," Liora said softly, her eyes still fixed on the fading sunlight. "More than anyone ever has before."
Tessa traced a small line across the surface of the stone with her finger. "At my last workplace… sitting on a beach like this… eating while watching the sunset…" She shook her head slowly. "That would've been considered slacking off. We would've been punished for it."
Selene hugged her knees slightly closer to herself. "Same here. Even eating properly felt like a luxury sometimes."
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the distant cries of seabirds returning to their nests. Lantern lights from the port flickered alive behind them, their glow stretching faintly across the water's surface.
"And the teachers…" Elias hesitated before continuing. "He doesn't look down on us."
"No," Mira agreed. "Not like the nobles we used to see."
"He actually listens," Liora added. "Even when we ask simple questions."
Rowan watched the last sliver of sunlight disappear beneath the horizon before speaking. "It feels strange… being treated like we're worth teaching."
For a moment, none of them spoke again.
The sky darkened into deep shades of violet and blue. Stars slowly began appearing one by one, faint at first, then clearer as night settled over the sea.
The cold grew sharper, but none of them moved to leave immediately.
The sound of waves continued its endless rhythm, steady and reassuring, as if marking the quiet turning of a new chapter in their lives.
One of them stood up.
His expression had changed — the softness from earlier replaced by something firm and unshakable.
"Let's go back," he said quietly. "There are still many things we can do on our own."
He looked toward the dark sea, his jaw tightening.
"There were so many people during the recruitment. We took someone else's place… just because of how we looked."
Silence followed his words, heavier than before.
"I don't want to be mocked later for having no skills," he continued. "I don't want to stand there one day and realize I don't deserve it."
Someone clenched their hands. Another lowered their head.
"The teacher…," he said after a short pause, his voice steadier now. "There was hope in his eyes. Hope for us."
"I don't want to see that hope turn into disappointment."
His gaze shifted back toward the academy, faint lights visible in the distance.
"And especially… for the people who gave us everything we have now."
"My mother sleeps in a warm bed," he said softly. "She has clean clothes. She doesn't have to worry about rain leaking through the roof anymore."
The wind passed between them, cold but clear.
One by one, they rose to their feet.
No more hesitation. No more silence filled with doubt.
They turned away from the sea and began walking back toward the dormitory together, their steps quiet but resolute.
Behind them, the waves continued to wash against the shore — and ahead of them, a future they were finally determined to learn.
That night, the dormitory lights stayed on longer than usual.
Some reviewed notes with tired eyes. Some practiced writing until their fingers cramped. Others repeated lessons in hushed voices, correcting one another without complaint.
They were still clumsy. Still slow. Still far from skilled.
But no one skipped a step.
Days turned into weeks.
The early classes quietly ended, and their desks were folded away without ceremony. When regular lessons began, they no longer stood out. They listened. They followed. They endured.
They were no longer chosen for their looks alone.
They were learning to become worthy of the place they had been given.
And so, without fanfare, their story blended back into the rhythm of the academy — not as exceptions, but as part of it.