The garrison shuttle rumbled to a stop at the Imperial Academy's outer transit platform, and Laia was on her feet before the doors had fully slid open. She slung her scuffed travel satchel over one shoulder and stepped out into the crisp, pine-scented air of the capital at a brisk walk, never glancing back. She'd caught Liora Voss lingering by the shuttle's rear exit out of the corner of her eye, and she had zero interest in getting dragged into another Voss family crisis before she'd even dropped her bags off at her dorm.
The familiar sandstone spires of the academy rose ahead of her, wreathed in thin morning mist, and she breathed out slow. Three months of purple abyssal fog, rough stone barracks, and the constant low thrum of artillery fire had faded into the background so fast it felt like a half-remembered dream. The walkways were crowded with students rushing to morning lectures, their academy robes crisp, their voices loud and carefree, and for a split second she felt out of place—like she'd brought a little piece of the abyss back with her, muddy boots and all.
She let herself into her third-floor dorm room, and paused in the doorway. The second bed, the one Lyra had occupied for two whole semesters, was stripped bare. The stack of botany textbooks she'd left stacked on the nightstand was gone. The little potted starflower she'd fussed over every single night was nowhere to be seen. The dorm matron had mentioned it when she'd checked in at the front desk—Miss Voss had filed for an indefinite leave of absence three days prior, destination undisclosed. No forwarding address, no note left for her roommate.
Laia set her satchel down on her own bed, and stared at the empty wooden frame for a long, quiet minute.
Lyra had been the only person at the academy who'd never looked at her like she was some kind of unsolvable puzzle. The only one who'd babbled about void herbs and rare flora and never asked probing questions about her realm, her traits, or her background. Naive, hopelessly sheltered, far too trusting for her own good, but kind.
She sighed, and turned to start unpacking. It was none of her business. The girl had run off to chase a cure for her sister, or to get away from her collapsing family, or both. She'd warned her. She'd told her to run from the Voss clan. If she'd listened, good. If she hadn't, there was nothing Laia could do about it.
She'd always been better off alone, anyway. Fewer people meant fewer complications, fewer favors owed, fewer chances of getting dragged into someone else's messy noble drama.
Once her bags were unpacked, she knelt to count the crates of high-grade abyssal ore and refined chitin she'd traded her leftover merits for, stacked neatly under her bed, and frowned.
The Imperial Divine Commerce Regulations were unmistakeable: any raw materials harvested from the void or the abyss were permitted for personal use, but strictly forbidden from private resale without a special imperial trade license. The same went for custom-forged artifacts made from non-standard, void-touched materials. It was all tightly regulated, locked down by the old noble houses that controlled every major trade guild in the empire.
She leaned back against the bed frame and sighed, sharp and frustrated. If she could sell even half of what she'd hauled back from the border, she could pay off her entire student loan in one go and still have enough left over to expand her realm's southern farmlands twice over. Instead, she was stuck using it all for personal projects, or trading it through the academy's overpriced material exchange for pennies on the divine crystal.
She'd been born too late. A few hundred years prior, back when the spell card market was still wide open, before the Voss clan had locked down the entire industry? She could have made a fortune running void and abyssal supply runs. She'd be the head of her own merchant house by now. Instead, she was stuck scraping by on academy stipends and the Box of Avarice's steady passive income, same as every other broke scholarship student.
At least the end-of-semester exams would be easy. She'd flipped through the review packets before leaving for the border, and none of the theory material was remotely challenging. Basic divine realm management, introductory rune carving, void safety protocols—all stuff she'd learned out of necessity years before she'd gotten her acceptance letter.
The end-of-semester social gala was trickier. She'd spent three months laying low at the border, and the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself now. But vanishing entirely was just as bad; making a few low-key connections with the more practical, business-minded upperclassmen would pay off later, when she was looking for post-graduation work that didn't involve getting shot at on the abyssal front lines. Nothing flashy. Just enough to keep her options open.
She nodded to herself, satisfied with the plan. Low profile, steady progress, no drama. Perfect.
She headed out for the campus dining hall a little later, her stomach growling loud enough to echo off the dorm hallway walls, and spotted the big sandy-colored mastiff that loitered by the main academy gate as soon as she stepped outside. Everyone called him Rhubarb—Big Yellow, to the students who snuck him table scraps every day. He was the unofficial campus mascot, spoiled rotten by half the student body.
Laia's face softened a little, and she stepped over to him, holding out a hand.
"Hey there, big guy," she said, leaning down to scratch his ears. "Long time no see."
Rhubarb lifted his massive head, took one look at her, and let out a low, dramatic huff, flopping back down on the stone step and turning his head pointedly away.
Laia blinked.
What was that supposed to mean? She'd snuck him leftover pork buns before winter break. He'd loved them.
She tried again, reaching out to pat his side, and he huffed louder, shuffling away an inch like her touch was personally offensive. The soft, well-fed noble students who carried him around like a pampered lapdog got wags and licks. Laia, with her sharp elbows and lean, wiry frame honed by months of hiking abyssal gorges? She was far too boney to be a good pillow, and he had standards.
She stood up, confused, and brushed dust off her robes. Fine. Suit himself. More meat buns for her.
She turned and headed toward the dining hall, shaking her head.
Three months of chaos, of tiger kings and bug swarms and jury-rigged explosive traps, and the most hostile thing she'd encountered on her first day back was a grumpy campus dog.
It was good to be home.