A couple of hours go by as they finish tidying up...
"You know," Galewind says, grinning as he sorts through a pile of books, "one of the kids at the orphanage once tried to enchant a broom to clean the place by itself. Ended up chasing everyone around instead. Hilarious chaos."
Obinai snorts, pausing to wipe some dust off his hands. "Sounds like quite the adventure."
"Oh, it always is," Galewind chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. "Now, let's see about these crystals. They're organized by magical properties… theoretically. Wouldn't know it by looking at this mess."
Obinai grabs a handful of small, shimmering stones, their colors shifting. "Organized by properties? They won't even stay one color," he mutters, turning one over in his palm as it flickers between deep blue and fiery orange. How the hell am I supposed to sort something that won't sit still?
Galewind, oblivious to his frustration, moves on. "I suppose I should ask—what kind of enchantments interest you, Obinai?"
Obinai shrugs, still glaring at the crystals as if sheer willpower will make them behave. "Dunno. I was more curious about what you specialize in, Professor."
The centaur hums, stacking a few books before answering. "Weapon enhancements, protective charms, utility spells... but enchantments on the body..." He trails off, his voice dipping into something quieter.
Obinai barely registers the shift, too busy resisting the urge to throw the crystals across the room. "This looks more like a lab than an enchantment workshop," he grumbles, holding a stone up to the light as it flashes silver for half a second before turning an obnoxious shade of pink.
Galewind, mid-step, promptly trips over a pile of books. He stumbles, catches himself, then bursts out laughing. "More like a lab?"
Obinai gestures vaguely around the room. "Yeah. There aren't any old weapons lying around or classic enchantment materials—just ingredients and a ton of weird equipment. Nothing like what I've read about."
The professor laughs again, louder this time. "Ah, I see what you're getting at. It does have a bit of a scientific flair, doesn't it?" He leans against a cluttered table. "That's because I like to approach enchanting with a bit of scientific rigor. Keeps things interesting."
Obinai eyes the workbench in front of him, nudging aside a few peculiar objects—a glass orb swirling with thick mist, metallic rods that hum faintly when touched, and a device resembling a miniature planetarium. He hesitates, then asks, "So, what is it you're researching the most?"
Before Galewind can answer, Obinai's hand jerks to a stop. A dull click echoes through the room.
He frowns. His fingers won't move. He glances down and realizes—Shit. His hand is stuck in some weird mechanism.
Galewind doesn't notice. He's already lost in thought. "I wish for perfection," he murmurs.
The air changes. It's subtle, but Obinai feels it—a shift in the weight of the room, like the moment before a storm breaks. The professor's words settle into the silence.
"I have always been obsessed with perfection," Galewind continues, his gaze distant. "The ultimate pursuit—creation at its purest, untainted by imperfection."
Obinai barely hears him. He's too busy twisting his wrist, trying to pry himself free. "Uh, Professor?" He gives another yank. Nothing. "Bit of help here?"
Galewind blinks, the intensity in his eyes flickering out like a candle. "Ah, of course." He strides over, his usual easy demeanor snapping back into place. With a deft motion, he unclasps the mechanism, and Obinai finally pulls his hand free. A folded parchment falls into his palm.
Obinai frowns, fingers curling around the paper. Before he can get a good look at the writing, Galewind snatches it from his grasp, eyes lighting up like he's just found buried treasure.
"Finally!" The professor exhales sharply, unfolding the parchment with almost reverent care. "The blueprints."
Obinai, curious, asks, "What is it?"
Galewind waves him off with a playful grin. "You'll find out in due time—when he calls upon me to act... to usher in a new age... for perfection." His voice dips just for a moment, before snapping back to his usual cheer. "For now, take these."
He flicks a small leather pouch into Obinai's hand. Obinai loosens the strings and peeks inside—fifteen silver coins gleam under the dim light.
"This should cover your books," Galewind says. "Come back later, and we'll continue."
Obinai barely has time to form a response before the professor winks at him and shuts the door—firm, but not unkind.
Left standing in the hallway, coins in hand, Obinai shifts his weight. The air still hums with whatever energy Galewind stirred up with all that talk of perfection.
What the hell was that about?
His fingers tighten around the pouch. P... H. Those were the only letters he managed to see before Galewind snatched the parchment away.
He mouths them again. "P... H..." What the hell does that mean?
With a sharp exhale, he tucks the coins into his pocket. Whatever. Not my problem.
Instead, another issue makes itself known—he has no idea where the bookstore is.
"How the hell do I even get there?" he mutters, rubbing his temple. "I've got to get the layout of this place down yesterday."
He retraces his steps, heading back up the staircase, past walls lined with floating lanterns and high-arched windows that let in thin streams of light. The academy has that weird mix of old-world architecture and modern enchantments—timeless, yet alive.
At least he's near the front entrance again. He squints down the hallway. "Okay, if I remember right, the main office should be... somewhere around here."
The place is a damn maze.
As he rounds a corner, his shoulder slams into something solid.
Someone.
A tall, willowy elf in a white robe with gold embroidery. His silver hair is tied back, sharp features set in an expression annoyance.
Obinai barely has time to blink before the elf looks down on him with thinly veiled disdain.
"Watch your step, human," he says, each syllable deliberately crisp.
Then, without waiting for a response, he strides past, robes billowing as if the very air moves to accommodate him.
Obinai stares after him for a beat, processing.
"...Alright then." He exhales sharply through his nose. "Guess I'll just pretend that didn't happen."
Shaking it off, he refocuses and picks up the pace.
It doesn't take long before he finds himself at the front office again. Morwenna is there—hands clasped, smiling warmly the second she sees him.
"Obinai! Settling in before classes start?"
"Yeah, trying to," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still figuring things out. But I've got enough coin for my books. Problem is, I have no idea where the bookstore is."
Morwenna nods. "The school has its own bookstore. Head down this hallway," she gestures to the left, "take a right at the third corridor, and you'll see a sign for it. They have everything you'll need for your classes."
Obinai lets out a breath. "Thanks, Morwenna. Really appreciate it."
"Also," she adds, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk, "make sure you sign up for your classes while you're there. The bookstore has advisors who can help with that too."
"Got it. Thanks for the heads-up."
As he turns to leave, her voice follows him.
"And if you need anything else, don't hesitate to come back. We're here to help you succeed."
There's a pause.
And then, softer, like an afterthought:
"...And survive."
Obinai slows for half a second. The shift in her tone is almost imperceptible—almost.
His eyes flick back to her, but she's already looking elsewhere, lost in thought.
She exhales quietly, almost to herself. Why does he remind me of Rowan so much...? Is it guilt?
Obinai doesn't hear that part, but something about her expression lingers.
Instead of dwelling on it, he just mutters, "How long did that line take her to rehearse that?" with a small nervous chuckle and follows her directions, disappearing into the winding corridors.
...
Obinai approaches the bookstore with a scowl, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks.
How the hell was I supposed to know the main route here would be packed with students?
Everywhere he went, clusters of kids had either gone quiet when he passed or outright moved out of his way, as if he'd been drenched in something foul. Some just stared, whispering. Others barely acknowledged him, like he was some unpleasant anomaly best ignored.
Avoided me like the damn plague.
He exhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to shake it off.
Then his scowl deepens as he remembers that little bastard—the one who had the audacity to purse his lips like he was about to spit.
Obinai had locked eyes with him, daring him to follow through. The kid hesitated, then slinked back into the crowd.
Still.
I think I would've gotten expelled if I used that ancient spell Vale taught me…
He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Deep breath. Focus.
Looking up, he spots the storefront.
The Elona Academy Bookstore and Advising Center is grander than he expected. The sign is carved from dark mahogany, the gilded letters catching the light like molten gold. The windows stretch high, revealing glimpses of the inside—rows of bookshelves, floating lanterns, and strange mechanical trinkets that seem to move on their own.
Hopefully, this place doesn't have too many gawking idiots in it.
Steeling himself, he steps inside.
The bookstore has a sort of old-world charm to it. High shelves line the walls. Some books he sees hum softly. Others float slightly above their shelves, tethered by thin chains of silver.
Between the bookshelves, tables are stacked with oddities—mechanical quills that hover midair, scribbling nonsense onto empty parchment; enchanted hourglasses shifting between past and present; small brass orbs that flicker with runes, casting miniature illusions above their surfaces. Price tags dangle from each item, handwritten in neat script, displaying prices in silver and gold.
Overhead, intricate brass pipes run along the ceiling, carrying streams of glowing liquid through transparent tubes. Some twist into spirals, others branch off into smaller conduits that feed into wall sconces, illuminating the store with a warm amber glow.
To the right, a section is dedicated to academy merchandise—robes embroidered with the school's emblem, fitted jackets with silver-threaded lapels, scarves that subtly adjust to the wearer's preferred temperature. Shirts and hats display the phoenix rising from flames, encircled by an intricate wreath of leaves against a backdrop of a rising sun.
Obinai takes it all in...
But he's not here to admire the decor.
He strides up to the front desk. The orc sitting behind it is massive, broad-shouldered, and hunched over a ledger. His tusks gleam—polished—and his small, rectangular glasses sit precariously on his broad nose.
Obinai recognizes him.
Oh, great. It's that guy from when I first got here.
The orc...Reynald barely glances up. When he does, he exhales through his nose and mutters, "Oh… it's you." His voice is low, gruff. He doesn't bother hiding his lack of enthusiasm. "What do you want?"
Obinai, already feeling like this place is out to test his patience, holds out his hand with the silver coins. "Would this be enough to get my books?"
The orc groans from movement as he shifts his massive frame, standing up from his seat. Reynald looms over the counter like a living statue, his sheer size making the wooden surface seem ridiculously small.
"What's your denomination?" His voice is slightly softer now.
"Magic," Obinai replies.
Reynald nods and jots something down on a piece of parchment with a thick, ink-stained quill. "I'd ask, but I think it's obvious… human, right?"
Obinai hesitates, then nods. "Yeah."
The orc pauses. Looks Obinai over. His brow furrows slightly.
"There's no specific section for humans," he finally says. "You're kind of a rare breed around here."
Obinai shifts his weight. He can't tell if that's meant as an observation or something else.
Reynald continues. "Not much research on human affinities. No one's bothered to make a set curriculum for your kind. You'll have to pick from the general selection."
He gestures to the left side of the store. "We've got a bit of everything. Take your pick."
Obinai exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as he eyes the shelves around him.
"Alright, but…" He shifts his grip on the silver coins, glancing at the orc. "How do I know what I need?"
Reynald sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping out from behind the counter. "Come on, I'll show you around." His heavy footsteps echo against the wooden floor as he motions for Obinai to follow.
Obinai trails behind him.
Reynald stops at a sturdy oak shelf, reaching up effortlessly to pull three massive books down and thud them onto the nearest table.
"These are your essentials," he says, dusting off his hands. "Core textbooks. Every first-year needs 'em."
Obinai eyes the books warily.
The first is bound in deep blue leather, the title Principles of Mana embossed in silver. The second, a rich brown with gold leaf detailing, reads Chronicles of Amrosia. The last is blood-red, the words Martial Magic: Techniques and Strategies scrawled in bold black lettering.
Reynald taps the blue book first. "Magic theory—helps you understand the principles behind your spells. If you're flinging magic around without knowing why it works, you'll burn yourself out before you know it."
His hand moves to the brown book. "History. You'll learn about Amrosia and the other kingdoms. Important unless you want to look like an idiot in front of a noble."
Then, the red book. His lips curl slightly. "Magic combat. The fun one. You'll learn to actually fight, not just wave your hands and hope for the best."
Obinai flips open the combat book, skimming the first page. Diagrams of stances, footwork patterns, and magic-enhanced strikes line the parchment.
This is exactly what I need.
He nods, snapping it shut. "Got it."
Reynald grunts approvingly. "These are just the basics, though. The real challenge is what comes next."
Obinai frowns. "What do you mean?"
The orc crosses his arms. "These classes are stepping stones. The real prize is the advanced combat course—the one the headmaster himself teaches."
Obinai straightens. "Wait. The headmaster teaches a class?"
Ilnov nods. "Only for the best first-years. It's one of the most prestigious courses here. But you can't just sign up—you have to earn your spot."
Obinai's stomach tightens. He doesn't like where this is going. "How do I do that?"
Reynald scratches his jaw, glancing at the massive clock hanging on the wall. "There's a test. Last one is today. If you hurry, you might still make it."
Obinai's heart nearly stops. "Are you serious?!"
Reynald raises a thick brow. "Do I look like I joke?"
Obinai barely hears him...
He tightens his grip on his books. "Where do I go?"
Reynald jabs a thumb toward the hallway. "Head down the hall, take a left, go out the front door. Make another left, walk straight past the courtyard. Big arena. You can't miss it."
Obinai nods, chest tightening with urgency. "Right. Thanks." He turns to leave, but something nags at him, but Reynald stops him with a casual wave.
"I'll talk to the advisor. You're in for history and magic theory."
Obinai blinks. Huh?
He doesn't have time to process it. He just nods, sincerity bleeding into his voice. "I appreciate it."
Reynald grunts in response, already turning back to his ledger.
Obinai doesn't waste another second. He bolts down the hall...