The oak monolith of a door swung open, revealing a spacious courtyard bathed in fractured sunlight. Rays of color refracted through the stained glass overhead, painting the walkway in soft reds, blues, and golds. Rows of hedges nestled up against a line of stone benches, each one carved with the name of a mage from some half-forgotten tale.
Zarou stepped through, letting the cooler air wash over him. His eyes drifted to the benches, rows of neat lettering etched into worn stone. Most of the names blurred together—old fables, long-lost heroes—but one stood out more sharply, as though time had left that particular name untouched:
ARTHANE QUELL
It was chiseled in crisp lines, a small flourish at the tail of each letter. Beside it, a faint crest coiled like a serpent eating its tail, the stone's surface slightly smoother than the rest of the bench. Zarou paused for a moment, curious without knowing why, a hint of recognition tugging at the edges of his mind.
But Don, Artis, and Seraliph continued ahead, the shuffle of their footsteps echoing against hedges and old stone. The smell of fresh bread drifted in from somewhere beyond the courtyard. Zarou shook off the momentary pull of the name and followed, forcing his thoughts back to the immediate present.
He made a note to remember Arthane Quell, though. If a bench in Alachi's courtyard bothered to immortalize a mage's name so boldly, there had to be a story behind it—one Zarou might need if he ever hoped to fit in here.
With that last glance, he turned and hurried after his companions, the door to the dining annex waiting just around the corner.
The group settled into the bustling dining hall, its high vaulted ceiling echoing with laughter and the clatter of utensils. Zarou hesitated at the threshold, the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, roasting meats, and spiced vegetables nearly overwhelming in their intensity. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of how little he'd eaten since waking up in this strange new Alachi.
"Over here!" Artis called, already waving from a table he'd somehow claimed amidst the crowd. His wolfish grin was bright as ever, his ears twitching excitedly as he motioned for Zarou to hurry up. Seraliph sat with her usual poised indifference, though her eyes tracked Zarou with quiet curiosity. Don was already piling his plate high, the dwarf's broad shoulders hunched protectively over his chosen feast.
Zarou moved through the crowded hall, weaving around other students with practiced ease, despite how foreign this all felt. He slid into the seat Artis had kept open, immediately aware of the tantalizing scents drifting up from the platters scattered across the wooden surface.
"Help yourself," Don grunted, pushing a plate toward Zarou. "There's plenty, thanks to Artis' demands."
"You're welcome," Artis said cheerfully, taking a bite from a thick slab of roasted meat. "Tradition demands it."
Seraliph sighed. "Again with your invented traditions?"
Zarou couldn't suppress the faint twitch of his lips, a ghost of a smile that quickly vanished as he reached cautiously for some bread. The sensation of warmth beneath his fingers felt foreign yet comforting. He took a careful bite, flavor flooding his mouth—simple, yet startlingly satisfying.
"Good, right?" Artis asked, mouth half-full. "Better than whatever you ate wandering the streets."
Zarou nodded, too focused on the food to answer aloud.
Seraliph spoke softly, eyeing Zarou carefully. "You seem… unused to eating proper meals."
He hesitated briefly, unsure how much to reveal. "Where I'm from, food was never exactly abundant. You take what you can get."
"Rough," Don muttered, watching him with a quiet understanding. "But you're here now. That's something."
Zarou didn't answer, just nodded slightly, taking another bite to mask how the simple comment unsettled him. The warmth of the food and the casual chatter of the others were slowly wearing away at the tension he always carried, softening it into something more bearable.
He glanced briefly around the hall, taking in the animated conversations, the easy camaraderie of others around them. His gaze drifted back to his own table, lingering on Artis's open laughter, Seraliph's quiet composure, and Don's steady presence.
Is this how it feels? he thought, unsure of what to name the sensation tightening his chest. Like belonging?
"You alright, Zarou?" Artis nudged him gently, breaking his reverie.
"Yeah," Zarou replied, surprised to find his voice calm, steady. "Just tired."
Artis nodded knowingly, reaching over to refill Zarou's plate without being asked. "Eat up, then. Can't have you fainting again."
Zarou's lips quirked slightly. "Thanks."
He looked around again at their table, the faintest trace of genuine ease seeping into his posture. Maybe he wasn't like them—maybe he'd never be—but at least, in this moment, he wasn't alone.
The sun slipped gently overhead, filtering through the stained glass of the courtyard to paint the stone table with splashes of color. Zarou picked absently at his meal, appetite overshadowed by lingering nausea and the subtle hum of mana still uneven beneath his skin.
"So," Artis broke the silence, chewing eagerly on a freshly baked roll, crumbs scattering down his shirt, "now that we're officially stuck with each other, it's probably a good time for some bonding."
Seraliph raised a slender eyebrow, delicately sipping her tea. "Bonding? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Artis countered, his tail flicking restlessly behind him. "Might as well know who we're getting into trouble with."
Don chuckled, reaching for a platter stacked high with roasted meats. "Well, Artis, since you're so eager—why don't you start?"
Artis grinned broadly, wolfish teeth flashing. "Easy enough. Grew up on the outskirts of Alachi. My parents own a blacksmith's shop, but I was always more interested in what mana could do than swinging a hammer." He gestured with his hands, mimicking the arcane gestures of spellcasting. "Mom wasn't thrilled, but she couldn't deny my obvious talent."
Seraliph snorted delicately. "Obviously humble, too."
Artis laughed brightly. "Always. But really, joining the academy is my way to prove I can do something different—something more than just follow the family trade."
"Respectable," Don acknowledged with a nod, polishing off his plate with startling efficiency. "My folks run a tavern near the southern gates. I've got a bunch of brothers and sisters, so being stuck in the middle meant carving out my own path. Magic came naturally, so here I am. If I'm lucky, I'll earn enough prestige to help out the family business someday."
Artis elbowed him playfully. "Or just get free drinks for life."
"Even better," Don agreed with a grin.
The group's attention shifted to Seraliph, who had remained quietly composed, her silver eyes guarded.
"Alright, your turn," Artis prompted eagerly.
Seraliph hesitated only a moment, her voice steady as she carefully recited the story she'd rehearsed countless times. "There's not much worth telling, really. I'm from a small town outside Alachi. My parents were merchants, always traveling, always busy. I never really felt at home there, so I decided becoming an adventurer would be a better fit." She shrugged lightly, a practiced ease to her movements. "Joining the academy and eventually making it to the Tower seemed the logical step."
Zarou watched her carefully, noting the slight tightening at the corners of her mouth, the controlled tension in her posture. Whatever her real story was, this wasn't it. But he said nothing.
Artis leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "What about you, Zarou? What's your tragic story?"
Zarou hesitated, the chains hidden beneath his robes pressing uncomfortably against his skin. "Nothing special," he finally answered, voice flat. "Just woke up one day in chains, with no clear memory of how I got there."
Artis frowned. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Zarou said evenly, meeting his gaze without flinching.
The table fell briefly silent, a gentle breeze rustling the hedges around them.
Don clapped Zarou lightly on the shoulder, breaking the silence. "Well, memory or not, you're here now. Might as well make the best of it."
"Exactly," Artis agreed emphatically, lifting his glass in mock salute. "To mysterious pasts and future adventures."
Seraliph, relaxing slightly, raised her tea. "Agreed."
Zarou felt a faint, reluctant smile touch his lips. Maybe his past was uncertain, his future even more so, but for now, at least, he wasn't alone.