Morning light spilt through the thin curtains and warmed the edge of Soren's pillow.
He woke slowly, then blinked up at the ceiling for a few seconds as his breathing evened out.
He had slept.
Properly.
Ever since the night at Lilliana's, the broken edges of his sleep had begun to knit.
It wasn't perfect, but it was better.
When he closed his eyes, he found dark and quiet instead of hands and death.
He owed her for that, far more than he knew how to put into words.
He pushed himself upright and dragged a hand through his messy hair.
The bed looked like a beast had torn its way out of it; sheets twisted, blanket half on the floor, pillow shoved against the headboard.
He slept messily, but that was nothing new.
He swung his legs over the side and stood, joints protesting after a night of rolling around.
The air carried a faint clean chill from the window's imperfect seal, and he passed across the floor into the small bathroom.
Cold water bit his skin when he splashed it over his face.
He welcomed the sting; it swept away the last patches of sleep.
He lifted his eyes to the mirror while reaching for his toothbrush.
His reflection stared back: pale skin, the familiar red in his eyes, hair falling past his shoulders.
It had grown long over the break.
He turned his head slightly and fiddled with the ends.
"Should I cut it?" he murmured to the empty room, toothbrush paused.
He pictured himself with shorter hair and immediately shook his head.
The longer length had always suited him better, both here and on earth.
He brushed his teeth while considering it, then spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth.
The decision had been made.
He picked up a comb and worked through the strands carefully.
He had learned to be gentle with it; yanking only made the knots worse.
When the last tangle loosened, he nodded to himself and set the comb aside.
"「Clean」," he whispered, the magic circle in his palm glowing faintly.
The familiar lightness passed through him from shoulders to feet, lifting the faint dust of morning and the slight stickiness of sweat from his sleep.
He lifted the hem of his pyjama shirt, then peeled it off and tossed the whole set toward the laundry basket.
The full-length mirror on the wall caught him as he reached for his uniform, and he stopped in place.
The body in the mirror was still thin at a glance.
Soft lines, narrow wrists, but under the pale skin, the shape had changed since he first arrived in this world.
His shoulders were a little broader, his stomach cut a little tighter.
Lean muscle appeared where there had been none before.
It was nothing that would scare anyone in a fight, but it was enough to be obvious to him.
A small, quiet pride flickered and went.
He didn't cling to the thought, just smiled and moved on.
He dressed without rushing, his shirt crisp, buttons neat, tie straight, cloak smooth.
He then opened his inventory and ran through the essentials by habit: Labrys, emergency food, a spare set of clothes, his textbooks, and the manticore fang from Amelia.
Everything was where it should be.
He gathered his hair in his hands and tied it into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, no prettier than that, just practical.
When he pulled the curtains open, sunlight fell across the room and chased the thin shadows to the corners.
Outside, students crossed paths in twos and threes.
Boots clicked, voices carried.
The academy moved in the quiet bustle that came before classes.
Soren watched a moment longer, then exhaled.
"I can do this," he said, not loud or dramatic, just steady.
He took the doorknob, turned it, and stepped into the corridor.
The dorm hallway was already busy.
Students flowed toward stairwells and common rooms, laughter and footsteps stacking into a soft noise that pressed lightly at the edges of Soren's hearing.
He joined the stream and matched its pace.
It was manageable.
When someone brushed too close, his breath caught for a second, then steadied.
When the noise suddenly increased, he flinched, then exhaled and kept walking.
The instinctive reflexes woke, looked around, and went back to sleep.
It was better than yesterday, better than last week.
He took the main stairs down, crossed the courtyard, and walked down the path that cut toward the auditorium.
Trees threw shadows over the stone, and the banners had been replaced, their colours clean and deep.
Soren looked for familiar faces without making it obvious: Amelia's ears, Esper's hair, Felix's grin, but the crowd shifted too quickly to stay still.
By the time he reached the front steps of the auditorium, his breathing had settled fully.
The inside doors stood open, and students passed through without lines or roll calls.
It was looser than the ceremonies he had seen on earth, allowing students to enter at their own leisure, as long as they sat with their class.
Soren squared his shoulders and went in.
Light pooled from the high mana lamps and turned the air pale gold.
Rows of seats ran the length of the hall, and the front stage was set with a simple lectern and a long table where faculty would sit later.
He scanned the nearby rows and spotted a familiar pink colour; it was Lilliana.
She stood with her class against one of the small aisles, already gathered into a neat block, a few students lingering nearby, chatting in quiet tones.
When their eyes met, her smile was easy and warm.
Lilliana lifted her hand and waved once, a small and subtle gesture.
He waved back, just as subtly.
Soren took the nearest seat to her; he hadn't thought about his action, his feet had led him there without asking.
A pair of students a few rows back muttered something he didn't quite catch.
One looked in his direction longer than necessary; the glance was sharp.
He felt it and let it pass, his eyes staying focused on the stage.
Time stretched and filled as the hall drew in more students until the rows were complete.
The conversations gradually thinned, then settled into a hush like silence.
After around twenty minutes, it felt like the building had inhaled and was holding it.
On cue, Dorothy Ibrahim stepped onto the stage.
The headmistress did not need to raise her voice to be heard; she never did.
The calm, dignified presence she exuded commanded everyone's attention.
"Good morning," she said, and the word welcomed rather than commanded. "Welcome back to Stellaris Academy."
She spoke simply at first, of journeys completed, of families seen, of the small comforts that made a return easier.
Then she shifted, as all headmasters must, to purpose.
"Stellaris Academy exists for your growth," Dorothy said. "For your safety while you grow. The world is wide. It will demand much of you soon enough. Here, we prepare you, and we protect you, until you are ready to meet it."
Her eyes moved once over the hall.
"Last semester, we failed in that duty."
The words moved through the hall like a cloth pulled across a table.
"Six of your fellow students died. I will not let their names be buried under the rush of a new term. We have mourned them. We will remember them, and we will change," she continued.
She did not elaborate on grief; instead, she spoke of measures.
"Over the past months, we have strengthened the magic that protects our grounds. We have refined response protocols for anomalies on campus. We have also invited additional protection, under the authority of the three kingdoms allied to our academy."
She turned and lifted a hand, inviting others to join her.
Three figures walked from the wings and took their places beside her.
The first, a male elf, wore the thin cloth that was a signature of the Yggdrasil knights, who were known for their agility.
His expression held the stillness of winter trees.
Dorothy introduced him with a slight incline of her head.
"Sir Thalanor Enfaris of the Kingdom of Yggdrasil," she said. "Commander of the Yggdrasil contingent assigned to Stellaris."
He placed a fist over his heart and bowed, short and exact.
The second, a human man, wearing an extravagant uniform lined with gold thread, the cut crisp and impeccable.
His face was composed, almost gentle.
Dorothy gestured.
"Sir Morcant Calder of the Kingdom of Fialova. Commander of the Fialovan contingent."
He smiled the way officials do, reassuring yet practised, and bowed.
The third, a tiger beastkin woman, wore a revealing outfit, the fabric rough and unadorned.
Strength shaped her posture without weight, and Dorothy's voice warmed.
"Dame Brynja of the Kingdom of Einhardt. Commander of the Einhardt contingent.
Brynja's bow was more like a nod as she smiled widely.
Dorothy turned back to the hall.
"These commanders, and the teams under them, will operate with our faculty to ensure a timely response to any threat that touches Stellaris. They are here for one reason: to protect you while you learn."
A small current of sound moved through the rows; interest, relief, a few sceptical snorts here and there.
Soren's gaze, however, was already fixed on the human, Morcant Calder.
The man's expression never changed, but when he lifted his eyes over the crowd and swept the hall, they landed on Soren, and his face broke into a friendly smile.
Soren exhaled under his breath and looked away.
It was too late; an enemy had already infiltrated.
He continued to watch Dorothy give her speech while organising the facts and memories in his head.
The Lunar Cult.
The name had not yet appeared in the story.
Until now, it had been biding its time, building its strength, but now it was finally beginning to move.
Its founders were not priests, as the name might suggest, but demons.
Several of the Seventy-Two Demons found more delight not in direct conquest but in pure chaos.
When you could not win a fortress by a siege, you set fires to the food and made the water taste like iron.
That was the Cult's method.
They did not stand on battlefields and announce themselves.
They did not care for banners.
They preferred to incite, to infiltrate, to create conflict.
The man on stage right now, the man who wore a friendly smile, Morcant Calder, was a bishop of that cult.
Dorothy's voice carried over the hall again.
"On behalf of Stellaris Academy, I thank our allies and their commanders for their presence here. Your role here is to protect and support. I trust you will honour that."
Thalanor bowed, Brynja nodded once more, and Calder's smile stayed friendly.
Soren watched Dorothy's eyes as she looked at each of them.
The trust and gratitude in her gaze were apparent.
Dorothy lifted her chin just slightly.
"To our students: we will do our utmost. I will do my utmost. On my title, I promise to keep you safe while you are ours."
It was not a grand oath; it was a promise spoken like a personal vow.
"With that, allow me to invite our Vice Principal to the stage to address the practical matters of the term—"
Her voice softened into the hall, still audible but smaller as she stepped back and turned toward the side stairs.
Soren watched the edge of her robe move.
In his head, as plain as ink on paper, a line wrote itself and stopped.
Act 2 had begun.
————「❤︎」————