Mirian jolted awake, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She lay there in the dark, gasping, trying to anchor herself to the present. The echo of a cold, distant scream still vibrated in the chilly air of the dorm—or was it just the remnant of a nightmare? The memory was gone, leaving behind only a hollow, crushing sense of loss that brought hot, unexplained tears to her eyes.
The sound of her quiet sobbing was enough to wake her dorm-mate, Lily.
"Mirian? Are you okay?" Lily mumbled, her voice thick with sleep from the opposite bed.
Mirian choked back a sob, the dread slowly dissipating. "Yeah... wow, sorry. Just a nightmare, I guess," she lied, wiping her eyes.
Then, a drop of water hit her. It struck her right on the chest, cold and sudden, dampening her thin bed-gown.
Outside, she could hear the rhythmic, soothing pitter-patter of rain. But inside? That was a problem. She squinted at the ceiling, and a second later, another drop hit her square in the face.
There was a hole.
It was perfectly circular, no wider than a finger, looking for all the world like a bullet hole. Yet, it had traveled through three floors of solid masonry and a reinforced roof to reach her, and miraculously, it hadn't expanded an inch. Mirian checked her covers—the hole went straight through the duvet. She frantically checked her chest, but there was no wound.
Thank the Gods for that, she thought, her breath hitching.
"What's up?" Lily asked, now awake enough to slide on her thick glasses. The small glyphs etched into the frames glowed faintly as the crystal lenses synced with her vision. Without them, Lily was legally blind; with them, she could see the mana threads of the world.
"There's a hole," Mirian said, pointing up. "It's leaking."
Lily climbed out of bed and squinted at the ceiling. "How the hell? We're on the first floor, Mirian. There are two dorms and an attic above us."
"No idea," Mirian sighed, rubbing her temples. "Just what I needed. Another disaster to manage."
Lily nodded sympathetically. "Don't you have that Enchantments exam today? And the presentation for Artifice?"
Mirian looked at her desk, where a clay cube covered in intricate, flickering glyphs sat waiting. It was her final project. It mostly worked. "Yes. Both."
Lily gave her a quick side-hug, but the moment was cut short when another drop splattered onto Lily's glasses. Grumbling, she wiped them clean. "Listen, I'll talk to housing today. I can skip Botany—the professor loves me anyway. You just focus on not failing."
"You're a lifesaver, Lily. I owe you."
Mirian placed a tin container on her bed to catch the steady ping! ping! ping! of the leak, a rhythmic reminder of her crumbling luck, and began to dress for the academic battles ahead.
The Torrviol Academy was one of the oldest magic universities in Baracuel, and it wore its "historical baggage" proudly. Mirian struggled into the mandatory uniform: a stiff black-and-white coat with orange trim and brass buttons. As a final-year student, she wore the gold tassels on her shoulder pads—a badge of honor that felt more like a weight.
She wasn't at all sure she would graduate.
For six years, Mirian had fought for every passing grade. While other students spent their family's gold on private tutors, Mirian spent her nights in the library, fueled by cheap coffee and the desperate hope of pulling her family out of poverty. Her parents back in the province were struggling; her little brother had recently put his foot through a dry-rotted floorboard, and they'd had to choose between fixing the house or paying a healer.
The choice was always survival. That was why she had to become an Artificer.
After a rushed breakfast of porridge, she donned her enchanted cloak and stepped out into the rain. The walk to the main campus was usually scenic—a crescent-shaped hill overlooking ancient domes and spires. The sun was just breaking through the clouds, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and violet.
Torrviol was a mess of architectural styles. The Kiroscent Dome stood like a titan on the east side, while the Torrian Tower pierced the clouds to the west. But beneath the cobblestones lay the true Torrviol: layers of ancient ruins, burned-down cities, and the legendary Labyrinth that supposedly went down for miles.
Mirian usually felt a spark of curiosity about those secrets, but today, she only felt exhaustion. She passed a first-year student crying on a bench. I feel you, kid, she thought, but I don't have the time to join you.
As she approached the Alchemistry building, a sudden movement above caught her eye.
She stopped, squinting through the rain. A dark figure was leaping—impossibly fast—across the gap between two rooftops. The figure paused, sensing her gaze, and looked down.
Mirian couldn't see a face, only a shrouded silhouette. It wasn't a student; they weren't wearing the academy colors. Before she could shout or even process the danger, the figure vanished, ducking away into the shadows of the roof.
A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the rain raced down Mirian's spine. No one else had seen it. The other students were scurrying to class, heads down. But the wrongness of that figure stayed with her—a dark omen in a day that had started with a scream she couldn't remember.