Seikan Blackthorn stood in Boromus Spellchecker’s office, his sharp emerald gaze locked onto the headmaster as he made his request. The atmosphere in the office was calm, filled with the faint scent of old parchment and incense, yet there was an undeniable weight between them. A weight Boromus was well aware of.

  Boromus, seated behind his grand desk cluttered with half-read scrolls, enchanted trinkets, and a teacup that stirred itself absently, regarded Seikan with an expression of knowing amusement, yet an underlying seriousness.

  “You’re requesting a house change for your son,” Boromus mused, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of his chair. “Not an unreasonable request, given the circumstances.” His sharp eyes flickered with something deeper, something unreadable.

  Seikan did not waver. “No, it is not.” His voice was steady, unwavering, as always. “Sevrin attempted to kill him. I will not have Sage sharing a dorm with him.”

  Boromus let out a slow breath through his nose, leaning back slightly. His silver hair, wild as ever, shifted as he tilted his head. “You know, I anticipated this conversation.” He gestured vaguely toward the parchment-strewn desk. “Even took the liberty of considering which house might be best suited.”

  “Thylacea,” Seikan stated immediately. “Sage is too much like me. He needs… balance.”

  Boromus’s gaze sharpened slightly at those words. Seikan rarely admitted personal faults, even in roundabout ways. “An interesting choice,” the headmaster mused, though he didn’t argue. “Yes, I suspect Thylacea will suit him well enough. The house values survival and adaptability, after all. But, of course, I will need Sage’s agreement.”

  “He will not argue,” Seikan said simply.

  Boromus hummed, tapping his wand against his palm in thought before abruptly shifting gears. “And what of Sevrin?” His voice carried more weight now. “You are well aware of what he has done. His actions, under Salsiar’s orders or not, could warrant immediate expulsion. Attempted murder within these walls is no light matter, Seikan.”

  The potions master remained composed, but something tightened in his jaw. “I do not want him expelled.”

  Boromus arched a brow. “Oh?”

  Seikan’s gaze darkened slightly. “If he is expelled, he will be beyond anyone’s reach. He is going down a dark path. Here, at least, he is under watchful eyes.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Even if I wish I could handle the matter myself.”

  Boromus exhaled slowly, watching Seikan closely. “A father’s restraint,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

  Seikan didn’t answer.

  Boromus let the silence stretch between them before he finally gave a slow nod. “Very well. I will see to the house transfer immediately.” Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “And as for Sevrin… we will keep him within these walls. But do not mistake this for leniency. There will be consequences, Seikan. He will not walk away from this unchallenged.”

  Seikan inclined his head slightly. He did not argue.

  Boromus waved a hand, and a parchment floated toward him, quill poised and ready. He scribbled a quick note, sealing the arrangement with an idle flick of his wand. “Now, if that is all—”

  Seikan didn’t move.

  Boromus gave a small, knowing smirk. “Ah. That is not all.”

  Seikan’s voice was lower now, almost dangerous in its quiet intensity. “The next time Sevrin raises his wand against my son…” His emerald eyes gleamed with something almost feral. “I will not be so diplomatic.”

  Boromus met his gaze with calm understanding. He did not rebuke him.

  Instead, with a knowing smile, he simply said, “Understood.”

  The Yarramundi common room was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of enchanted lanterns hanging along the walls. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and parchment, the occasional flicker of a candle casting long shadows across the walls.

  Sage Blackthorn sat in the far corner, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the grooves in the table before him. He wasn’t doing anything in particular—just thinking. He had been doing a lot of that lately.

  The sharp sound of the common room door opening drew his attention. A figure stepped inside—a prefect, their blue and gold badge gleaming under the soft lighting.

  “Sage Blackthorn?”

  Sage frowned slightly. “What do you want?”

  The prefect didn’t seem fazed by his sharp tone. “You’re being relocated to a different house. I’ve been sent to escort you.”

  Sage blinked. “What?”

  “You’re being transferred to Thylacea,” the prefect clarified.

  Sage stiffened. “Says who?”

  “The headmaster,” the prefect answered simply.

  Sage’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t been told about this. No warning. No explanation. And now, suddenly, he was being removed from Yarramundi? He knew exactly why—Sevrin. After everything that had happened, there was no way Seikan would allow him to remain in the same dorm as the boy who had nearly killed him.

  Sage exhaled slowly, forcing his temper under control. He wasn’t angry, not exactly. He just didn’t like being blind-sided.

  “Fine,” he muttered, standing. “Lead the way.”

  The prefect turned and began walking, and Sage followed in silence, his mind racing.

  After a few corridors, he finally asked, “So what happens now?”

  “You’ll be assigned a new dorm in Thylacea,” the prefect explained. “Same year level, same accommodations—just a different house.”

  Sage frowned. “Do I get a choice in this?”

  The prefect glanced at him, unimpressed. “If you want to argue with Professor Blackthorn about it, be my guest.”

  Sage exhaled sharply through his nose. No. That wasn’t a battle he was willing to pick.

  As they walked, he took in the shift in the castle’s atmosphere. Yarramundi’s common room had been deep within the stone corridors of the school, but Thylacea’s was closer to the outer walls, where the night air seeped through open archways. The further they walked, the more the ambiance changed—warmer, more open, filled with the faint scent of the forest beyond.

  When they finally reached the entrance, the prefect gestured ahead. “You’ll be in the same dorm as Vareen, Evander, and Corvidus.”

  Sage stopped dead in his tracks.

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  “…What?”

  The prefect arched a brow. “Problem?”

  Sage clenched his jaw. He had just been assigned to a dorm with Soya Vareen. The Muggle-born. The same kid he and Sevrin had tormented at the start of the year. The same kid who had, in the span of only a few months, drawn the attention of something ancient—something even Salsiar had been after.

  Sage had spent the better part of the year mocking Vareen. And now?

  Now he was sharing a dorm with him.

  Sage closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaled, and let it out slowly.

  “Fine.” His voice was tight. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The prefect smirked slightly, amused at his clear discomfort, before gesturing him forward.

  And so, with the weight of inevitability settling on his shoulders, Sage Blackthorn stepped into his new home.

  The Thylacea dormitory was usually a place of quiet comfort—a space where the students could unwind without the rigidity of classes or the looming pressure of exams. But tonight, a certain disturbance had the three boys in deep discussion.

  Soya sat cross-legged on his bed, sketchbook in hand, absently running his fingers along the edges of the parchment while he listened. Davonte stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the new bed that had been added to the room, while Draven sat comfortably in his own, flipping through a book with idle interest.

  “That’s definitely a new bed,” Davonte stated firmly, as if anyone needed convincing.

  “Yes,” Draven replied without looking up, “that is how additional dorm mates tend to work.”

  Davonte huffed. “That’s not the point.”

  Soya glanced between them before speaking. “Who do you think it’s for?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Davonte said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Could be a transfer. Maybe someone got moved because of disciplinary reasons. Maybe—” He suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Maybe this is a prank.”

  Draven finally looked up. “A prank?”

  “Yeah! Maybe some rich pureblood heir got bored and decided to test their authority by randomly moving in with us.”

  Draven blinked slowly. “That is, without a doubt, the stupidest theory I have ever heard.”

  “I think it has merit,” Davonte muttered.

  Soya tilted his head. “Do people actually do that?”

  Davonte threw his hands up. “Rich people do weird things!”

  Before the debate could escalate, the dormitory door swung open.

  The three of them turned.

  And then froze.

  Sage Blackthorn stood in the doorway.

  The room fell into an eerie silence, as if the entire world had paused for a moment too long.

  Sage, for his part, did not look particularly happy about being there either. His dark eyes flicked across the room, taking in their expressions—Davonte’s blatant suspicion, Soya’s nervous confusion, and Draven’s cool, unreadable gaze.

  “…Oh,” Sage muttered. “Great.”

  Davonte was the first to snap out of his shock. His brows furrowed, voice immediately laced with distrust. “What the hell are you doing here, Blackthorn?”

  Sage sighed. “Fantastic welcome. Love that.” He stepped inside, dropping his bag beside the new bed. “If you must know, I was moved. Didn’t get much say in it.”

  Soya blinked. “You… transferred to Thylacea?”

  “Apparently.” Sage sounded about as thrilled about it as they were.

  Davonte bristled. “And we weren’t told?” He glanced toward Soya, protective instinct kicking in hard. “And you expect us to just accept that you’re suddenly bunking with us?”

  Sage exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Trust me, Evander, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either.”

  Davonte scoffed, stepping forward slightly, shoulders squared. “Yeah? Well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t exactly trust the guy who spent half the year making Soya’s life miserable.”

  Sage didn’t flinch, but his jaw did tighten slightly.

  Soya, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke.

  “Davonte.” His voice was soft, but firm.

  Davonte glanced at him, frowning.

  Soya shifted slightly, his grip tightening on his sketchbook. He was nervous—he wouldn’t lie about that. But at the same time…

  Sage looked tired. Not in an exhausted way, but in the way that suggested he had been carrying a lot lately.

  “…He’s here now,” Soya said simply.

  The words carried weight, even if they weren’t anything profound.

  Davonte scowled, clearly unhappy, but he backed off—if only because Soya was the one who had been hurt by Sage’s actions the most.

  Draven, who had been watching the entire exchange, finally spoke, his voice calm and composed as always. “This will be interesting.”

  Sage sighed. “Thanks, Corvidus.”

  Soya hesitated for a moment, then, in a quiet but sincere voice, said, “Welcome to Thylacea.”

  Sage stilled slightly.

  He didn’t reply immediately.

  But after a moment, with a quiet, unreadable expression, he muttered, “Yeah. Thanks.”

  And just like that, Sage Blackthorn became their dorm mate.

  The morning light seeped in through the dormitory windows, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the Thylacea dorm. The early sounds of students stirring, robes rustling, and the faint chirping of birds outside signaled the start of another day at Austramore.

  Soya slowly woke, blinking blearily as he sat up, his hair a tousled mess. He rubbed his eyes, stretching slightly before glancing around. Draven was already sitting up in his bed, book in hand, as if he had simply been waiting for the world to catch up with him.

  Davonte, predictably, was sprawled out across his bed, half-covered by his blankets in a position that looked entirely uncomfortable. He mumbled something incoherent as he shifted.

  And Sage…

  Sage was awake too, though he had remained quiet in his bed, staring at the ceiling in thought.

  Soya hesitated for a moment before offering a quiet, “Good morning.”

  Draven glanced up from his book briefly before returning to reading. “Morning.”

  Davonte grumbled something about it being too early for sentient thought.

  Sage, however, paused before muttering, “…Yeah. Morning.”

  That was about the extent of their morning interaction.

  Davonte didn’t acknowledge Sage beyond that. He got up, stretched, and immediately started getting ready for the day, all while making it very clear that he was entirely unbothered by Sage’s presence—or at least, pretending to be.

  Draven, unsurprisingly, didn’t engage much either. Not out of hostility, just because he was Draven.

  Soya, on the other hand, was quiet as he got dressed, throwing on his robes before slinging his bag over his shoulder. He wasn’t comfortable around Sage yet—he doubted that would come any time soon—but he also wasn’t going to treat him like an outcast.

  They made their way out of the dorm, heading toward the Great Hall for breakfast.

  It wasn’t until they reached the wider corridors, filled with the morning chatter of students, that Soya realized something.

  Sage was following them.

  Not in a creepy or intentional way—at least, Soya didn’t think so. It was… subtle. Sage kept just a little behind them, not with them, but never too far. He wasn’t walking in his usual confident, self-assured stride. Instead, he moved with something almost uncertain, like he was lingering just close enough to seem like he belonged but not close enough to assume he did.

  Soya frowned slightly but said nothing.

  By the time they reached the Great Hall, the group spotted Kalsei and Tiana already at the Thylacea table.

  Davonte immediately plopped down next to Kalsei, stretching his arms with an exaggerated yawn. “Alright, someone tell me why mornings exist.”

  “Because time moves forward, unfortunately,” Kalsei said cheerfully, twirling a spoon between his fingers.

  Tiana raised a brow as she glanced between them. “You all look exhausted.”

  Draven set his book down as he sat. “We survived Blackthorn’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class yesterday.”

  Kalsei’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That explains it.”

  Soya took his usual spot next to them, quietly grabbing some toast.

  And then—

  Sage.

  Sage hesitated for the briefest moment before sitting down at the Thylacea table.

  Not with them, not directly.

  Just close enough.

  Soya caught it instantly.

  Sage had never sat at this table before. He had always belonged to Yarramundi. He had always been separate from them.

  Sage didn’t say anything. He just quietly grabbed a plate, acting as though he had always been there. But his posture was stiff, and there was a tension in his shoulders that suggested he wasn’t quite sure if he was welcome.

  Soya glanced at Davonte, who pointedly ignored him.

  Kalsei, on the other hand, gave Sage a curious look before shrugging and turning back to his food.

  Soya exhaled quietly.

  Sage Blackthorn, whether he wanted to admit it or not, was trying—awkwardly, stiffly, but trying.