The carriage moved more smoothly than Genevieve had expected.
Its wheels barely seemed to touch the road, gliding instead as though guided by an unseen hand. When she pressed her palm lightly against the wooden wall, she felt a faint vibration beneath her skin, steady and purposeful, like a heartbeat that was not her own.
Sylvester sat beside her, nose twitching as he peered through the narrow window. "This road feels… different," he said.
Genevieve nodded. She felt it too.
The main path stretched ahead in a pale ribbon, bordered by fields that slowly gave way to denser woodland. The further they traveled from Chocolano, the quieter the world seemed to become. Birds called less frequently. The wind no longer carried the familiar scents of hearth smoke and baked bread.
Instead, the air grew sharper. Cleaner.
More aware.
She shifted in her seat and clasped her hands together, focusing on the steady rhythm of the carriage. Every turn of the wheels pulled her farther from the life she had known. With each passing mile, memories surfaced unbidden. Winston standing in the morning light. The ivy on the cottage walls. The road she had walked so many times it had memorized her footsteps.
She wondered if it would remember her absence.
The carriage slowed as the road narrowed, the trees pressing closer together. Their branches arched overhead, forming a loose canopy that filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns across the ground. Genevieve leaned closer to the window, curiosity outweighing her unease.
"That forest wasn't here before," she murmured.
Sylvester's ears flattened slightly. "It was. You just never had reason to notice it."
The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
They traveled for some time in silence before the carriage finally came to a gentle stop. The coachman's voice carried back to them, calm and professional.
"Rest stop," he announced. "We won't linger long."
Genevieve stepped down carefully, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The clearing was small but deliberate, as though carved out by design rather than chance. A stone marker stood near the edge of the road, etched with symbols she did not recognize, though they hummed faintly when she passed.
Her magic stirred.
She froze, drawing a slow breath as she focused inward, grounding herself the way Sylvester had taught her. The sensation faded, but not completely. It lingered, like a question waiting to be asked.
"You felt that," Sylvester said quietly.
"Yes."
"This road," he continued, "is old."
Genevieve glanced at him. "Older than the kingdoms?"
"Older than borders," he corrected.
They were not alone at the clearing.
Two other travelers stood near the opposite side, speaking in low voices. One was a woman dressed in deep blue robes, her posture straight and composed, her expression unreadable. The other was a boy perhaps a few years older than Genevieve, dark-haired and sharp-eyed, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before sliding away.
Their presence made Genevieve's shoulders tense instinctively.
"Are they…?" she began.
"Academy-bound," Sylvester finished. "Or something close to it."
The woman's gaze met Genevieve's across the clearing. For a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes. Recognition, perhaps. Or assessment. Then she inclined her head politely and turned away.
Genevieve let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
When they resumed the journey, the carriage felt different again. The hum beneath the wood grew slightly stronger, responding to something unseen. As the road curved upward, the landscape shifted dramatically. Rolling hills replaced flat land, and in the distance, stone structures began to rise, half-hidden by mist.
Her heart quickened.
"That's not the capital," she whispered.
"No," Sylvester agreed. "But it's close enough to feel its pull."
As the hours passed, Genevieve's thoughts turned inward. She traced the edge of Winston's book with her thumb, resisting the urge to open it. Not yet. Some things deserved the right moment.
Her magic stirred again without warning.
This time, it was sharper. Focused.
The air inside the carriage shimmered faintly, barely visible, but unmistakable. Sylvester tensed beside her.
"Rose," he said urgently.
"I know," she replied, closing her eyes.
She pressed her feet firmly against the floor, grounding herself, visualizing the warmth settling instead of spreading. Slowly, carefully, the sensation eased. When she opened her eyes, the shimmer had faded.
The coachman did not comment.
That troubled her more than if he had.
As dusk approached, the road widened once more, revealing a distant silhouette etched against the sky. Towers rose like sentinels, their outlines sharp even through the growing haze. Light flickered between them, not firelight, but something brighter and steadier.
Agragore.
The word echoed through her mind.
The carriage slowed, giving her time to take it in. The academy was vast, far larger than the pamphlets had suggested. Its architecture blended elegance with strength, stone and enchantment woven together seamlessly.
She felt small.
And seen.
As they drew closer, Genevieve became acutely aware of the pull she had felt since leaving home. Invisible threads stretched outward from her chest, tightening with each passing moment. Her magic responded eagerly now, no longer restless, but alert.
Ready.
Sylvester leaned closer. "Whatever happens next," he said softly, "remember who you were before they knew your name."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
The carriage rolled through the outer gates, their runes flaring briefly as it passed. Genevieve felt a ripple pass through her, not painful, but searching, as though the academy itself were taking measure of her.
The gates closed behind them.
For the first time since leaving Chocolano, fear bloomed in her chest alongside excitement.
This was no longer a journey.
It was an arrival.
And Agragore was watching.