The Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chatter, the clinking of cutlery against plates, and the occasional outburst of laughter from students scattered among their house tables. Golden morning light filtered through the enchanted ceiling, reflecting the clear blue sky outside, promising a warm day ahead. At the Thylacea table, Soya Vareen sat between Davonte and Draven, slowly chewing on a piece of toast as he half-listened to the conversation around him. Across the table, Tiana sipped her tea with quiet poise, while Kalsei twirled a spoon between his fingers absentmindedly, as if entertaining himself with some private thought.

  Sage, seated just a little too close to the group to be unintentional, was pretending he wasn’t listening. He hadn’t quite figured out how to integrate himself yet, but his presence was no longer as aggressively cold as it once was. He was trying—even if his natural guardedness kept him from making it obvious.

  Then, without warning, the sound of a spoon tapping against the rim of a goblet silenced the entire hall.

  The gentle, rhythmic sound had an immediate effect. All eyes turned toward the head table, where Headmaster Boromus Spellchecker stood, his ever-curious expression lingering as if he had only just remembered why he had gotten to his feet in the first place.

  “Ah. Yes. That’s what I was doing,” he murmured to himself, before raising his voice for the hall to hear. “A moment of your time, dear students.”

  The noise died down completely. Even the most inattentive students knew that when Boromus decided to speak, it was worth listening—if only because there was no telling what he might say. Some announcements were deeply profound. Others, utterly nonsensical. Either way, it was bound to be memorable.

  “I have a rather exciting announcement today—one that I’m sure will be of interest to all of you. As you know, Austramore has always prided itself on fostering not just academic success, but emotional well-being. As such, I am pleased to introduce our returning school counsellor, Liora Wren, as well as our newest addition to the staff, Samuel Bradley.”

  At those words, the two individuals standing beside Professor Seikan Blackthorn took a step forward.

  Liora Wren was a familiar face to many—tall and graceful, with warm, hazel-green eyes that seemed to hold endless patience. Her wavy dark brown hair was streaked with silver, tied back in a loose braid, giving her an air of quiet wisdom. She was a counselor who had never needed to ask intrusive questions to understand students’ struggles—her mere presence was often enough to soothe even the most troubled minds. For years, she had been a pillar of support at Austramore, but she had left the previous year for personal reasons. Now, she had returned, her expression calm and reassuring as ever.

  Beside her stood Samuel Bradley, a man of easy confidence, despite the slight messiness of his warm brown hair. He carried himself with a casual but open posture, his hazel-green eyes filled with quiet understanding. Though his attire leaned more on the professional side, his rolled-up sleeves and comfortable boots made it clear that he preferred practicality over strict formality. There was something inherently approachable about him—something that immediately put students at ease, even before he spoke.

  Boromus gestured toward them with a flourish.

  “Liora, as many of you know, has been with us for some time and is returning to her post after a year away. She is a wellspring of wisdom, kindness, and, I dare say, more patience than any of us truly deserve.” A chuckle rippled through the hall. “And as for Samuel—well, he is here to ensure that no student, no matter their background or struggles, feels alone in their journey.”

  Liora inclined her head with her usual gentle smile. “I look forward to being here again,” she said simply, her voice carrying a quiet warmth.

  Samuel stepped forward and, in stark contrast, gave the students a cheeky grin. “Not much for big speeches, so I’ll just say this—I’m here if you need someone to talk to, someone to vent at, or just someone to steal biscuits from my office. I do have the best ones.” A few scattered laughs spread across the hall at that. “My door’s open, no pressure, no judgment. That’s all.”

  Seikan Blackthorn, who had remained silent thus far, finally spoke, his voice carrying the same sharp precision as always. “These counselors are here to provide support in times of need. I trust you all have enough sense to respect their time and take advantage of their guidance when necessary.”

  Boromus, smiling as if amused by Seikan’s way of putting things, clapped his hands together. “Splendid. That concludes our morning announcements. Do enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

  With that, the students slowly returned to their meals, but the presence of the two counselors had already sparked a wave of hushed conversations across the hall.

  At the Thylacea table, Davonte leaned over to Soya, voice low. “Think I could just go to Bradley’s office to steal biscuits, or does that count as an emotional crisis?”

  Soya, despite still being shaken from recent events, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I think you’d have to at least pretend to be troubled.”

  “Mate, I am troubled. I’m troubled about the quality of biscuits served at this school.”

  Tiana arched a brow. “You could just ask him.”

  “That takes the fun out of it.”

  Draven, who had been silent up until now, absently flipped a page in his ever-present journal. “You’d make a terrible criminal.”

  “Oi, that’s uncalled for.”

  “I simply mean you’re too obvious.”

  Kalsei grinned. “Not to mention too loud.”

  Sage, who had been quietly picking at his breakfast, found himself watching them—observing how easily they interacted, how effortlessly they fit together. It was… foreign to him. But part of him wanted to understand it.

  Davonte Evander prided himself on many things—his confidence, his charm, his ability to remain unfazed by nearly anything. But most of all? His sheer, unwavering dedication to snacks.

  And today, he had a mission.

  A mission to infiltrate Samuel Bradley’s biscuit supply.

  The moment breakfast had ended, Davonte had peeled away from his usual group, giving them a casual wave and mumbling something about “important matters” before vanishing down the corridors.

  Now, standing outside Professor Bradley’s office, he adjusted his expression into something appropriately tragic. He had to sell it. Had to make it convincing.

  Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

  There was a pause before a voice called out, “Come in!”

  Davonte pushed the door open, stepping inside.

  Samuel Bradley’s office was different from most professors’. The space felt comfortable—not the rigid, scholarly atmosphere most staff members preferred. There was a well-worn couch near the fireplace, a few bean bags tossed into the mix, and warm light filtering through the tall arched windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, but instead of being meticulously organized, they were scattered with odd trinkets, small enchanted orbs, and—most importantly—a large tin of biscuits sitting prominently on the desk.

  Samuel sat in his chair, sleeves rolled up, leaning back in an effortlessly casual way as he studied Davonte with mild amusement. “Alright, let’s hear it. What’s got you in a twist?”

  Davonte exhaled dramatically, flopping into one of the chairs across from him. He dragged a hand down his face for extra effect. “Professor, I just… I don’t know anymore.”

  Samuel nodded sagely, already reaching for the biscuit tin. “Rough day?”

  “Oh, mate, you have no idea.” Davonte sniffled for good measure.

  A very unconvincing sniffle.

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  Samuel didn’t call him out. Instead, he cracked open the tin and nudged it toward Davonte. “Biscuit?”

  Davonte took one immediately, shoving it into his mouth with the speed of a man who had never eaten before in his life. “Fank you,” he mumbled around the biscuit.

  Samuel leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Want to talk about it?”

  Davonte sighed heavily, taking another biscuit. “It’s just… school, y’know? So much pressure.” Crunch.

  Samuel raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean, people expect so much from me.” Crunch. “Always thinking I’ve got everything figured out.” Crunch. “But inside? Who even am I?”

  Samuel’s lips twitched. “A guy eating an alarming number of biscuits in my office?”

  Davonte paused, mid-reach for another biscuit, before letting out a deep sigh. “See? This is exactly what I mean.”

  Samuel chuckled, shaking his head. “So, just so I’m clear… you came here under the guise of an existential crisis—”

  “A real existential crisis.”

  “—to eat my biscuits.”

  Davonte gave him a deeply serious look. “Mate, I’m suffering.”

  Samuel snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Right. Of course. Suffering.”

  Davonte nodded solemnly.

  There was a long pause.

  “…Well?” Samuel prompted.

  “Well what?”

  Samuel gestured. “Are you gonna take another biscuit, or are you just going to stare at them longingly?”

  Davonte grabbed two.

  Samuel sighed, amused. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

  Davonte grinned through a mouthful of biscuit. “Mate, you knew what this was when you let me in.”

  Samuel chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let this become a habit.”

  Davonte gave him a thumbs up, stuffing another biscuit into his mouth.

  It was absolutely going to become a habit.

  The main courtyard of Austramore was a haven on days like this—clear blue skies stretched endlessly above, the scent of eucalyptus and fresh earth lingering in the air. The sandstone pathways were warm underfoot, lined with patches of bright green grass where students lounged in clusters, enjoying the rare day off from classes.

  At the center of it all, beneath the sprawling shade of a massive ghost gum tree, Soya and his friends had gathered.

  Davonte stretched his arms lazily, flopping onto the grass with all the grace of a sunbathing lizard. “Now this is the life,” he sighed. “No classes, no responsibilities, and best of all—no Seikan Blackthorn launching me across a classroom.”

  “You did fail to dodge,” Draven pointed out, flipping through his ever-present journal.

  “I failed because he flung a spell at me out of nowhere!”

  Tiana smirked, taking a delicate sip from her tea flask. “If you think that was ‘out of nowhere,’ you clearly weren’t paying attention. He warned you.”

  “Not in words I understood!”

  “You mean at all?” Kalsei grinned, as he flicked a pebble toward Davonte.

  Davonte caught it with practiced ease. “I swear, one day, I’m gonna catch all of you off guard.”

  “You say that, yet here we are,” Tiana mused.

  Before Davonte could argue, Saunak Carswell came bounding toward them, all energy and excitement. His soft silver-white hair glowed in the sunlight, shifting between pink and yellow, his expression one of pure enthusiasm. “You guys will not believe what I found!”

  Davonte sat up immediately. “Please say it’s food.”

  “Nope,” Saunak grinned, dramatically pulling out a small, enchanted orb from his pocket. “It’s a prank device. You roll it under someone’s chair, and it makes a really convincing squishing noise.”

  There was a pause.

  “…That’s disgusting,” Manaya Moon said flatly, arriving alongside Salem Blackthorn, her usual calm expression giving no indication of whether she was horrified or impressed.

  “Salem, please tell me you’re not part of this nonsense,” Tiana said, crossing her arms.

  Salem, standing slightly behind Manaya, hesitated. “…I reserve my right to remain neutral.”

  Draven glanced at the device with mild interest. “Scientifically speaking, what kind of ‘squishing’ are we talking about?”

  Saunak grinned way too much at that. “Wanna find out?”

  Kalsei immediately leaned in. “Absolutely.”

  Before they could put their plan into action, Grundle Strang entered the scene—his towering half-giant form casting a long shadow over them all. His massive hands held a tiny, sleepy wombat, which he cradled with utmost gentleness.

  “Barney fell asleep in my pocket again,” Grundle announced cheerfully. “I think he likes it there.”

  Davonte immediately forgot about Saunak’s prank device. “Mate, that is the cutest thing I have ever seen.”

  Soya, who had been quietly sketching, peeked up from his sketchbook, eyes softening slightly at the sight of the wombat snoozing in Grundle’s palm. “He looks comfortable,” he murmured.

  Grundle beamed. “He is. He likes the warmth.”

  “Honestly? Same,” Davonte muttered. “I should start carrying a wombat around for warmth.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Tiana sighed.

  Soya allowed himself a small smile as he returned to his sketching. This—this was the kind of moment he liked. Just existing. No pressure. No expectations.

  Yet…

  His gaze drifted slightly.

  A few meters away, standing under the archway of the courtyard, was Sage Blackthorn.

  He wasn’t with them.

  But he wasn’t far either.

  He lingered just at the edges, watching—not in a malicious way, not as if he was planning anything. Just… watching.

  Like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to be part of this.

  Like he didn’t know how.

  Soya noticed him first. He didn’t say anything, didn’t call attention to it. But as he turned the page in his sketchbook, he made a quiet decision.

  He wouldn’t force Sage into anything.

  But if he ever decided to step closer—

  They wouldn’t turn him away.

  Grundle Strang’s massive form cast a long shadow as he turned toward the archway, his warm amber eyes spotting Sage Blackthorn standing alone in the distance. Unlike the others, Grundle didn’t hesitate.

  With a bright grin, he marched straight toward Sage, his massive steps thudding softly against the stone pathways. The tiny wombat in his palm, still half-asleep, gave a little snuffle but otherwise remained unbothered.

  “Sage!” Grundle called cheerfully. “Look!”

  Sage tensed instantly, eyes darting to the group as if expecting some kind of trap.

  Then he realized Grundle was just showing him the wombat.

  “…What.”

  Grundle beamed, holding Barney up slightly, as if that explained everything. “He fell asleep in my pocket again!”

  Sage stared at the tiny, dozing wombat, completely unprepared for the interaction. “And?”

  Grundle’s grin never wavered. “Isn’t he cute?”

  Sage blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled sharply. “I—sure. I guess.”

  Grundle nodded proudly, as if Sage had just made some grand declaration. “Right? He’s so soft too!”

  Sage did not know what to do with this information.

  From a short distance away, Davonte Evander watched the exchange with thinly veiled suspicion, his arms crossed. His silver eyes flickered with protective instinct, muscles tensing just in case Sage tried to pull something.

  It was only when Soya’s fingers lightly wrapped around his wrist that Davonte snapped out of it.

  Soya had barely spoken, but his quiet presence was enough to get Davonte to glance down at him.

  Soya didn’t say anything. He just shook his head slightly, his expression calm, but firm.

  Davonte gritted his teeth, clearly reluctant. But after a long moment, he huffed and looked away.

  Soya turned his attention back to Sage.

  The boy stood there, stiff, guarded, but there was something different about him now. Maybe it was the subtle hesitation, the way he seemed lost instead of cruel.

  Soya inhaled slowly.

  And then, to everyone’s surprise—

  He spoke.

  “…You’re good at runes, right?”

  Sage’s head snapped toward him instantly, eyes narrowing. “What?”

  Soya shifted, his hands gripping his sketchbook. He hated drawing attention to himself like this, but—

  He wanted to try.

  “…Think you could help me understand them a bit better?” he asked nervously.

  Silence.

  Absolute, stunned silence.

  Draven, Tiana, and Kalsei all froze, exchanging quick glances with each other. None of them had expected this. Even Davonte, who had just restrained himself from interfering, looked visibly pained at what was happening.

  Sage, for his part, just stared at Soya, as if trying to decipher some hidden motive.

  “…You want me to teach you runes?” Sage finally asked, voice flat.

  Soya nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  Soya hesitated before saying quietly, “Because you know them. And I don’t.”

  Sage’s fingers twitched slightly at his side, and for a brief second—just a second—there was something almost vulnerable in his expression.

  Then, as if realizing too much emotion had slipped through, he straightened, his posture becoming rigid again.

  “…Fine,” Sage muttered.

  Davonte’s jaw dropped slightly.

  Tiana raised an eyebrow.

  Kalsei tilted his head, amused.

  Draven, ever the observer, simply watched, filing the moment away in his mind.

  Soya gave a small, hesitant nod. “Okay.”

  Sage exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “But don’t expect me to make it easy.”

  Soya offered a tiny, fleeting smile. “Didn’t think you would.”