Kairo stared at the ceiling.
Not because he was pondering the deeper truths of the universe, or reviewing yesterday's life-threatening encounter with cursed insects.
No, Kairo was staring at the ceiling because his bed—specifically, the springs within it—had decided to become sentient overnight and were now engaged in a coordinated attack against his back.
"Ow... why are these things even allowed in a dorm for magic users?" he groaned, twisting his torso to find a position that didn't feel like sleeping on cobblestone.
A bird chirped happily outside the window. Kairo narrowed his eyes at it with passive-aggressive jealousy.
The door burst open before he could grumble further.
"Morning, sunshine!" came Samhael's voice, chipper enough to make the sun feel inadequate.
She strode in, fully dressed in a navy-blue blouse and boots laced so tightly they probably doubled as armor. Her white cloak was draped dramatically across her shoulders like she was about to leap into battle—or at least into someone else's private affairs.
Kairo sat up groggily. "You do realize you can knock?"
"I did," she said with a grin, tossing him a folded parchment. "You just didn't hear it over your intense bonding with the mattress."
He opened the parchment.
"Breakfast at the Grand Dining Hall. Required attendance. Formal wear encouraged. Attendance will be noted."
His face fell.
"Wait, formal? Why?"
"It's the monthly 'Mentor-Meal Mixer.' You get assigned to random mentors. They size you up like livestock. And if you survive the social awkwardness, you might get invited to their elective classes."
Kairo paled. "Social awkwardness is my nemesis, Sam."
"Then consider today your boss battle."
She winked and left the room as dramatically as she'd entered.
---
Twenty minutes later, Kairo was dressed in a maroon tunic that pinched under the arms and boots that felt like they had a personal vendetta against his toes.
He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. "I look like a discount nobleman's nephew who got lost on his way to a fencing class."
He met Samhael outside his dorm, where she was already poking a levitating crystal orb with suspicious curiosity.
"That's a surveillance orb," he said.
"And it's about to become a memory orb if it keeps recording my bad angles," she replied, tapping it once more before marching down the corridor.
---
The Grand Dining Hall was... grand.
Tall stained-glass windows stretched up toward an arched ceiling enchanted with floating constellations. Long tables brimmed with fresh bread, fruit that glowed with minor enchantments, and meat that smelled like it had been roasted in dragonfire.
The students filed in awkwardly, all in varying degrees of discomfort from their "formal" clothes.
Kairo was directed to sit at a table where a dozen students—none of whom he recognized—were already whispering.
Next to him sat a girl who wore at least nine rings, and across from him sat a boy with eyebrows so perfectly arched they could cut glass.
"Hi," Kairo offered weakly.
"You're the Prophet boy, right?" the ring girl asked, twirling a spoon with too much interest.
"...I prefer Kairo."
"Right, Kairo the Prophet."
The title stuck like jam in a hairbrush.
Their conversation was interrupted when a robed figure clinked a spoon against a goblet at the head of the room.
Mentor Thales stood, beard glinting with silver threads and eyes sharp despite his age. "Students," he began, "welcome to the monthly Mentor-Meal Mixer. Some of you may forge lifelong academic paths today. Others may only forge... indigestion. Proceed accordingly."
Chuckles broke out, easing some of the tension.
As mentors began to walk among the tables, evaluating students like cats considering new furniture, Kairo straightened up—only to knock over his goblet.
Clatter. Splash.
Red fruit juice splashed over the table.
"Ah. Symbolic," Samhael muttered from the table behind him. "The spilling of blood to mark the start of battle."
"Please vanish," Kairo hissed, blotting the mess with napkins.
Mentor Dalwin approached. He was tall, wore at least three monocles clipped together, and carried a staff with a timepiece embedded in its top.
"You," he said, pointing at Kairo. "What's the square root of a paradox?"
Kairo blinked. "I—uh—"
"Correct. The answer is 'I don't know,' which is the wisest response to most questions involving paradoxes. You're off to a good start."
Kairo had no idea whether he'd passed or failed.
---
Later, as the tables were cleared and students were left to mingle, Kairo made his way toward Samhael—who was busy attempting to bribe the kitchen staff for leftover desserts.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I am securing victory. In the form of pie."
"You can't just—"
She held up a small gemstone with a grin. "One rune-stabilized garnet in exchange for two slices of moonberry tart."
"Is that even legal?"
"If they take the deal, it's moral. If not, it was merely an offer."
The pastry chef, surprisingly unfazed, pocketed the gem and handed her two hefty slices.
Samhael turned to him triumphantly. "This is why you hang out with me."
Kairo couldn't argue.
---
The rest of the day passed uneventfully—until Kairo received a message-scroll in his dorm just before sunset.
It was sealed with a green wax sigil in the shape of a question mark.
He unfurled it.
"The whispers begin anew. Meet me at the sundial tower at midnight. Come alone. Bring nothing but your voice."
No signature.
No explanation.
Kairo stared at the scroll.
Whispers... again?
He thought he'd finally gotten a day of rest.
Apparently, destiny disagreed.
He looked at the moonberry tart Samhael had left on his desk.
He sighed.
"If this turns into another prophecy riddle, I'm throwing myself off the tower. After finishing the tart."