Custas had indeed been correct. Their homeroom was located on this floor, but it resided in the opposite wing of the castle. Hound, tall and bulking, led the three of them down the hallways. As they passed closed doors, Elaine could faintly hear the muffled voices of professors inside, passionately engaging with their students. She couldn't help but wonder just how late they were; it felt almost surreal in the hushed atmosphere.

  Hound assured them that they still had a few minutes to spare, his long strides quickening as he picked up the pace. When Fearne pointed out that all of them were assigned to Homeroom Class 7, it prompted an uproarious burst of laughter from Hound, the sound echoing off the stone walls. He didn’t elaborate on the joke, just shot them a playful grin and advised them to "brace themselves" for what lay ahead. This cryptic guidance only deepened Elaine's intrigue, sparking a flurry of questions in her mind about the nature of the enigmatic class they were about to enter.

  "So, Mr. Hound, was it?" Custas said, walking alongside the large sorcerer, as well as a couple of paces ahead of both Elaine and Fearne. "You seem to know a lot about the academy, yeah? The three of us are newbies, getting ready to start our rigorous training to become Professional Sorcerers. I was wondering if you've got any pointers for us?"

  Hound side-glanced him. "Pointers?"

  "You know, tips, tricks, advice. Stuff that'll help lighten our load."

  "I'm the groundskeeper, kid. Not really too versed in the specifics of your lessons," Hound said, shrugging his shoulders. "I suggest talking to the professors. They're sure to know way more than I do."

  "Come on, man. You said you've worked here for a long time. Surely you've got some insight."

  Hound scratched his beard, which shifted around his sour frown. "All I'll tell you is this," he grumbled. "You Blues will have an easy semester if you stay out of trouble. From my experience, the biggest troublemakers are those who don't know when to stop talking. Get the picture, kid?"

  Custas paid Hound's grim advice with a nervous chuckle, only to sedate his pace and retreat a step behind Fearne. Yeah, Hound was a nice guy. But Elaine didn't want to be the one that made him angry or, in Custas' case, worked on his nerves.

  "Err, Mr. Hound," Fearne said reluctantly. "You called us Blues. Are you perhaps referring to our capes?"

  Elaine glanced at the blue-colored mantle over her left shoulder. She'd been wondering about that as well.

  "You lot are blue capes; I just call them Blues," Hound answered, turning down a corridor on his right. "Each cape represents a school year. The blue capes are for the first-years, red for the second-years, then there's green for the third-years, and yellow for the fourth. Finally, there's the black cape for fifth-year students. Your professors will go far more into depth than I ever could, but that's basically the gist. At the start of every school year, you will be given a different cape to signify that you've advanced to a new level. Comes in handy for when you're tryna figure out who's who." Hound stopped by the second to last door before the end of the hallway on his right. Unlike the other rooms they'd passed, Elaine couldn't hear any voices behind it. Not a peep. Were they in the middle of taking attendance? Was there even anyone inside? Hound coughed into his hand and said, "This is the spot. I'd do well to memorize it as you'll be expected to report here every morning."

  Fearne bowed to him, hands clasped in front of her. "We appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to help us."

  "Think nothing of it, lass," Hound chuckled. "If anything, it's Glyph's responsibility to look after you students. The fact that you didn't know where to go is a blunder on our part. So relax, and tackle your first day with the ferocious spirit of a dragon."

  Hound stepped aside, gesturing with a subtle nod toward the door. Homeroom Class No. 7 was labeled above in golden-colored writing and plastered on a blue plaque. Taking a deep breath, Elaine moved forward, her fingers wrapping around the cool, silver-colored door handle. With a gentle pull, the door creaked open, revealing the curious eyes of onlookers inside. She quickly counted twenty students, all clad in uniforms identical to her own, but what set the males apart—aside from not wearing skirts, obviously—were the red ties that hung from their collars, cascading down their chests, much like the one worn by Custas himself.

  The room was spacious, its wooden floorboards polished to a gleaming shine. Morning sunlight streamed in through the tall, oval-shaped glass windows on the far side of the room, casting silvery-golden patterns on the floors and illuminating the faces of her fellow students with a soft, radiant glow. A black-colored chandelier hung from the ceiling; none of the candles fixed around its circular rim were lit. Two tall shelves filled with many multi-colored books stood at the rear of the room, and another had been posted adjacent to an untouched chalkboard a few shuffles behind a desk where Elaine was expecting to find their professor. The desk was empty.

  As Elaine counted the number of students present in the vicinity, and upon adding herself, Fearne, and Custas into the equation, it meant that this homeroom class consisted of twenty-three. Was every class this ginormous, she wondered. Glyph had an impressively low acceptance rate; Elaine hadn't anticipated there to be this many. But if everyone present had, in fact, earned a place at the academy, it must have meant that they were exceptional sorcerers in their own right. This fact excited her, but Elaine wouldn't discount the intimidation that made her heart pound heavily against her chest. Would she be able to compete with them? Would she be able to survive against goldbloods? Protiges? The best of the best? The student desks were organized into six rows; the first and closest to the front of the class consisted of three whilst the rest had four. They were situated evenly. No two desks were overly close to one another—providing each student enough space to stretch out their arms or legs—and so traversing through the pathways between each desk wouldn't prove to be a problem.

  As Elaine took another sweep of the place, her eyes landed on one student in particular. She'd met him before, well, not exactly. But she recognized his dark blonde hair. He'd been the noble she spotted exiting his flying carriage the day she arrived on campus, and he looked just as disinterested then as he did now. He was sitting at the second row's last desk, so he wasn't that far from the door. He wasn't that far from Elaine. Sitting with a slouch and a chin resting in his palm, his eye sluggishly shifted towards her. Their stares collided, and he expelled a yawn.

  Huh. I guess he doesn't remember me, Elaine thought. Not that I expected him to. I haven't even given him my name. Something deep down within the pits of her stomach spiraled like the enormous whirlpools on the Diamer Coast. Anger? No, that wasn't it. Rage was an emotion that burned. This one melted through the cracks in her fingers, spilling onto the floor into a pathetic, muddy puddle. It was like seeing storm clouds on a perfect summer morning or a broken wand abandoned in an alleyway. Disappointment. Yes, this was disappointment. Wait a sec! Why am I disappointed?!

  "Wow, we really lucked out!" Custas exclaimed as the door closed behind them. "We even got here before the professor did."

  Fearne frowned. "Strange. Even if we weren't technically late, I would have thought the teacher would be here by now."

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  "So did we," voiced someone within the crowd of students. "We've been waiting here for over half an hour. Join the club."

  "I'm sure our professor is merely running late. There's no need to throw a fuss over it. Let's have some modest decorum, yes? The best we can do for now is await their arrival as dedicated students," said a girl in the third row. She had a fair complexion and her pale blue eyes, striking and piercing, held a coldness reminiscent of an icy stone. Thick, streaming auburn hair, characterized by a rich red tint, flowed down her shoulders in vibrant waves, shimmering like burnished copper when it caught the sunlight. As she spoke, her voice was melodic yet precise, each word carefully chosen and articulated with such clarity that left Elaine wondering if the conversation was rehearsed in advance.

  "Perhaps one of us should consult the front desk. Inquire as to the whereabouts of our instructor," suggested a boy sitting next to her. His slender face was complemented by high cheekbones, giving him an air of sophistication. His dark hair was appropriately styled, each strand neatly in place, while a pair of oval-shaped glasses with thin, silver frames rested delicately on his nose, framing his eyes that sparkled with intellect. Leaning forward in his seat, his posture imbued with intent, he continued in a measured tone, “Even you have to acknowledge this as a notable irregularity.”

  "It is...highly unprofessional, I must admit," the girl said, tapping a finger on her table. "Despite that, however, I believe if matters went awry, we would have already been contacted. I think it best to remain here, lest we incite an even bigger confusion." She then glanced at Elaine, nodding. "Come, join us. Your names should already be on the desks that you were assigned to."

  "Well, isn't that convenient," snickered Custas as he strode past Fearne.

  Elaine made her way around the perimeter of the classroom, deliberately trying not to let her gaze linger too long on the familiar blonde-haired boy as she passed by him. Finally, she reached her designated spot at the end of the fourth row. She planned to peel the name tag off later, once she had grown accustomed to the arrangement of the classroom and settled into her new routine. She pulled out her chair, the wood creaking slightly in protest, and just as she was about to sit down, a startled gasp almost escaped her lips. To her left was a stocky young man with a mop of curly brown hair that sat askew on his head. His face was square, and his thick, muscular arms were strained against the fabric of his school uniform, which appeared to be a size too small. The way his bulky fists gripped the edge of the desk made her wince; they looked as if they could easily crush boulders.

  His hazel-colored eyes, sharp and narrow, locked onto hers with a questioning intensity that made her uneasy. The curiosity in his expression was palpable, and Elaine quickly diverted her attention to the back of the person seated ahead of her, focusing intently on the chalkboard where the teacher’s name would soon be written. She silently willed for their homeroom teacher to arrive quickly, hoping to dissolve the tension that hung in the air between her and her new deskmate.

  They didn't, and the seconds dragged on, ticking away like a relentless metronome, indifferent to the growing irritation and muffled groans of the class. This wasn't how Elaine had envisioned her first day at Glyph Academy. Instead of the excitement she had anticipated, she found herself trapped in a quiet room save for the faint sound of shuffling feet from the hall. The atmosphere was heavy with sighs and exasperated moans as her classmates exchanged frustrated glances. As a little girl, she had imagined her arrival at this prestigious academy filled with wonder and magic, but the stark reality she faced was that of monotonous waiting, a far cry from the enchanting world she had dreamt of.

  "Argh, sunder this!" growled a boy at the front of the class. "If I knew we'd be spending all this time doin' absolutely nothing, I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to finish my breakfast!"

  "Forget breakfast. I wouldn't have gotten out of bed so early," yawned a sleepy voice behind her. "Oh, well. At least I can catch up on some Zs now..."

  "You're missing the point, Laurence! Why should we be forced to sit here twiddling our thumbs, waiting on a professor that obviously doesn't give a rat's ass about us?" His tone was harsh, like a caged ogrehound that hadn't been fed in days.

  "Eh, I'm sure we're just overreacting." That nonchalant, laidback tone could only belong to Custas. It sounded like he was sitting in front, but Elaine couldn't pinpoint where. But she'd spotted Fearne at a desk in the row behind hers. "Maybe there's been a mixup on the schedule," he suggested calmly, "and our missing professor is just scrambling to try and fix the problem. These sorts of mistakes happen every now and again."

  "That still doesn't alleviate one of their responsibilities," the glasses-wearing kid countered.

  "I heard an explosion from outside. I bet the other first-years are having a blast," grumbled the harsh-voiced boy. "I came here to learn magic, dammit. Not to count dots on the wall. If our homeroom teacher is too lazy to show up, then I'll go and drag 'em here myself—"

  An avian screech pierced the silence, reverberating through the air like the shattering of glass, and Elaine's thighs slammed against the underside of the desk. She jumped in surprise, her breath hitching. The creature—a magnificent bird with glossy ebony wings—soared gracefully across the room, its bright azure eyes scanning the space with an almost predatory intensity. In a heartbeat, Elaine instinctively ducked, feeling the rush of air as the bird darted overhead. A single dark feather floated lazily down from its wing, landing softly on her desk.

  "What the?!" she heard Custas exclaim.

  "Who left a window open?" another girl squealed. "How did a bird get inside the classroom?!"

  As the creature flapped its wings, an array of iridescent feathers began to dance through the air to the floor in a spiraling pattern. With a graceful dive beneath the chandelier, it soared past the chalkboard, leaving a whisper of movement in its wake. Finally, it propelled itself toward the entrance door, landing expertly on the shoulder of a tall man who had suddenly appeared in front of it. A chill crept down Elaine's spine, sending a shiver through her body that settled low at her tailbone. Her gaze instinctively shot over to the man clad in a long, flowing black sorcerer’s cloak. He was imposing, with a pale complexion, and his hair, long and pitch-black, poured like dark rivers down past his shoulders, nearly reaching his thighs. His narrow face was etched with sharp angles, framed by strands of hair, and a stern expression held his features taut. The irises of his eyes resembled black suns burning dimly in the Shadow.

  He remained silent, his dark eyes sweeping the room; nobody dared to utter a word. Even the most boisterous among them, that harsh-voiced boy who had been incessantly interjecting earlier, seemed to shrink into his seat, his bravado extinguished. The silence was oppressive, a suffocating shroud that pressed down on them all, leaving a lingering sting in its wake. His penetrating gaze settled uncomfortably on Elaine, causing her heart to thunder in her chest in a sudden wave of consternation. She felt paralyzed, her body rigid in her chair, her lips pressed tightly together in an effort to stifle the words that might dare to escape.

  As he finally shifted his scrutiny away from her, his commanding presence gliding across the room like a shadow, Elaine quickly became aware of an unfamiliar sensation; a sharp cramp had taken residence in her diaphragm. Had she truly been holding her breath that entire time, caught in the web of his unyielding stare? The realization washed over her, forcing her to inhale deeply as the man strode slowly toward his desk. He set down the stack of thin books and loose sheets he had been carrying; the soft thud of the papers against the wood was startling in the stillness.

  "Um, hello," he started in a hard-to-hear mutter. "Welcome to Homeroom Class 7. My name is Allan Marsh, and I'll be your homeroom teacher throughout your five-year student career. I expect every one of you to be here at 8:30 on the dot every morning. Those who don't will not be allowed in and will be severely punished for negligence. If there's one thing I hate, it's tardiness."

  He cannot be serious, Elaine thought frustratedly. Here he was, the last to trudge into his own classroom, yet he had the audacity to lecture his class on the importance of punctuality. Elaine couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his boldness. His patronizing statement hung in the air, carrying a weight that she expected would provoke an outburst—a discharge of shouts or pointed accusations. Instead, the response was far more subdued. A muffled assortment of whispers and nervous murmurs rippled through the classroom as students exchanged furtive glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and admiration.

  "I can't believe it," someone said. "He's actually here."

  "Light and shadows, how many tokens do you reckon it took them to afford him?"

  "His magic's insane. I gotta see it in action!"

  Excitement? Admiration? The entire class had been at their wit's end only moments prior, their nerves fraying under the weight of tedious waiting. Yet now, in an instant, they fawned over him as if he were royalty gracing them with his presence. Elaine narrowed her eyes, studying their seemingly lifeless teacher—now transformed into the focal point of their rapt attention—more puzzled than ever. Then, like a spark igniting dry kindling, a rush of recognition collided with her. This man, this sorcerer who now stood before them, was someone she'd learned through passing whispers and stories in the newspaper. Before her thoughts could fully coalesce, Elaine felt her jaw drop in astonishment. She was in the presence of the feared and infamous Abyssal Sorcerer of Grayrock.