The city unfolded like nothing Levi had ever known.
The moment they passed through the gate, sound rushed in—layered and loud, and too alive to track. Hooves clicked over stone. Boots shuffled and clattered. Voices wove together in a hundred directions: bargaining, laughing, singing, shouting.
Levi gripped the cart's side tighter.
The air smelled strange. Not bad. Just… too much. Breads baking. Meat roasting. Smoke. Soap. Ink. Flowers. He couldn't separate one scent from another. They came in waves—sweet, sharp, spiced, savory—and each one made something in his chest tighten.
Stalls lined the cobbled road like colorful teeth. One woman tossed herbs into a boiling cauldron while a man beside her carved roasted fish with lemon. Kids darted between carts, swinging toys Levi didn't recognize—bright-colored sticks with spinning paper wings, dolls with painted faces. A merchant passed wearing glass earrings shaped like dragonflies. Another wore boots dyed red as blood.
Levi watched everything. And nothing.
His eyes kept flitting between movement. A girl laughing into a cone of something soft and sweet-smelling. A boy juggling apples in front of a bakery window. A table with layered pastries that glittered with sugar and fruit he didn't even have names for.
He had no words for any of it.
The clothes alone—he'd never seen so many different colors. Silks, linen, finely stitched cloaks trimmed with gold or sigil thread. His own tunic felt like a rag by comparison.
They passed a bookseller's stall next. Levi's head turned. Rows of bound volumes stood neatly behind a mage-run counter, the titles glowing faintly with charm glyphs. One book hovered above the rest, whispering lines from its own story. No chains. No locks.
No ration lines. No brandings. No commands.
Just… people.
Living.
Breathing.
Choosing.
A group of students passed them —laughing, carefree. Their uniforms were clean, dark-stitched with the academy crest on their collars. Mage initiates. Levi froze. One of them had a staff strapped to their back. Another carried a satchel brimming with potion vials and scrolls. They barely noticed the cart rolling by.
But Levi noticed them.
He noticed how young they looked. And how young he wasn't.
Beside him, Thane's posture didn't shift. His presence alone was enough to make people glance and step aside. They recognized him. He was a known figure here.
Levi?
He was nothing.
He stared down at his hands. Scarred. Thin. Calloused. The satchel on his lap felt heavier now—not with weight, but with what it meant. The pass inside it. His name—handwritten by someone who hadn't left him behind.
They turned off the main street then, past a tall copper fountain shaped like an eagle's wing, into a quieter road sloping uphill. Stone buildings pressed closer here. Balconies. Ivy. Lanterns swinging gently in the breeze.
And just ahead—the academy gates.
High iron, flanked by twin marble pillars engraved with sigils Levi couldn't read.
Thane slowed the horse.
The cart creaked to a halt.
"We're here," he said, voice quiet.
Levi didn't move at first. Just stared.
Through the gates, he could see the wide lawn beyond. Cobblestone paths. Tall towers. Courtyards. A library with crystal windows. Students crossing from one wing to another, robes fluttering behind them.
It looked like something from a dream. Or a lie.
And then Thane said, gently, "You still want to run?"
Levi didn't answer.
He just swung his legs off the cart.
The stone felt cold under his boots.
But it was solid.
And he was standing on it.
Still breathing.
Still free.
For now.
The gates groaned open without touch.
A soft hum stirred the air as layered sigils flared briefly across the iron—warded, protective. Not hostile, but not passive either. Levi flinched anyway, one hand instinctively brushing the side of his satchel where the pass lay tucked between spare clothes and a dented tin of dried fruit.
He stepped forward slowly.
The lawn swallowed his boots in a hush of green. Not grass like the wild fields, but carefully tended. Trimmed. Cared for. Levi could smell it—damp and sweet. The kind of green that didn't exist in the desert. That didn't survive the pit.
It almost felt wrong to walk on.
Thane moved beside him, silent but sure, drawing glances from students as they passed. Some bowed slightly. Others whispered. A few stiffened—out of respect or fear, Levi couldn't tell. No one addressed him directly, but the air shifted around them as they passed.
Levi kept his gaze low.
He couldn't tell which made him more uneasy—the attention… or the fact that none of it was for him.
No one noticed the boy with the satchel and the too-thin frame and the tattooed mark barely visible below his sleeve. He was just another shadow trailing behind someone important.
And yet, every step made the blood in his body feel louder.
He could feel it rushing in his ears as they crossed the outer courtyard. His throat felt too tight. His hands stayed curled. He didn't know where to look.
There was too much.
A boy practicing wind manipulation in the yard—his fingers slicing the breeze like thread. A girl lifting weights with a runic circle beneath her feet, sweat darkening her back but her focus never breaking. Another pair read from a shared tome under the trees, lines of light sliding from the page into the air, forming shapes and spinning patterns Levi didn't recognize.
Everywhere he turned, there was power.
And control.
And choice.
He had none of those things. Not yet.
Thane stopped near a curved set of stone stairs leading toward one of the central towers. Glass spiraled up one side of it like a strand of woven starlight, catching the sun and throwing it back in fragments.
"This way," Thane said gently.
Levi followed, slower now.
Each stair felt like a climb up a mountain he didn't earn.
Inside, the hall was cooler. Stone walls lined with banners marked each school division—Runework, Combat Magic, Enchantment, Divination, and three more he couldn't read. Everything smelled like ink and parchment and soft ash. Students passed in and out of doorways with purpose. A few older instructors nodded to Thane.
And then—finally—they reached a door.
Thane pushed it open.
The room was simple. Not grand. A desk. A narrow bed. A wardrobe. A window that looked down over the western edge of the grounds.
Levi stepped in.
He didn't speak.
Didn't sit.
He just looked at the bed.
Then the desk.
Then the ceiling.
His voice came small. Tired. But real.
"This is mine?"
"For now," Thane said. "Until you're ready for something more permanent."
Levi turned back toward the door. "What if I can't do any of it? What if this is just—"
"A stop?" Thane offered. "Then it's still further than where you started."
Levi didn't reply.
But he walked across the room.
Set his satchel down.
And stood there.
Still wearing the boots he hadn't dared scuff.
Still carrying the mark that didn't belong.
Still waiting to see if this would all vanish.
But it didn't.
The wind outside stirred the window curtain.
And Levi… stayed.
The door clicked gently shut behind him.
Levi didn't move for a long moment. He just listened—to the soft hum of the walls, the distant thump of footsteps in the hall, the quiet rustle of the curtain shifting in the breeze. A world was moving around him, but not at him. Not through him. For once, it didn't feel like he had to brace for what came next.
Still, his jaw ached from how tightly it was clenched.
He turned back toward the bed.
It was narrow, but the mattress didn't dip in the center like the cots in the pit. There was no chain welded to the leg. No lock on the chest at the foot. Just linen. A folded blanket. A pillow without stains.
It looked like it had been made for someone who was meant to rest, not recover.
He reached out, hesitated, then sat on the edge.
It didn't creak. It held.
The silence stretched.
Then Thane's voice came from near the doorway—low and even, like always. "There's something you should know."
Levi looked up.
"You'll be listed as my ward," Thane said. "To make it easier. Fewer questions. More protections. No one else has the authority to test you, challenge your enrollment, or send word home."
"Home," Levi echoed, dryly. "Nice word."
Thane didn't react to the bite in his voice. "To keep that cover, we'll need to stay consistent."
Levi frowned. "Meaning?"
"Here, you're my nephew."
The words hung in the air like they didn't want to land.
Levi stared at him. "Your what?"
"It'll shield you from too many eyes," Thane said. "My name carries weight. People will be less curious, and more careful."
"You're telling me I have to pretend—"
"No," Thane said. "I'm asking you to let them believe. There's a difference."
Levi looked away.
Something in his chest tightened. It wasn't shame. Or anger. Not exactly. Just… weight. A pressure he couldn't name.
"You don't have to call me anything," Thane added. "Not here. Not anywhere. But this name will get you through doors that would've stayed locked otherwise."
Levi shifted on the mattress. His thumb brushed the edge of his sleeve—where the mark peeked out, just barely.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let them believe."
Thane nodded once, satisfied. "Classes begin in a month, when the new semester hits. You'll meet with the registrar tomorrow. I'll walk you through it."
Levi glanced at him, wariness still curled behind his eyes. "And what am I supposed to say when they ask what I can do?"
"You say you survived," Thane said.
Levi's brow furrowed.
"Say it like it's a spell," Thane added, turning to leave. "Say it like it means something. Because it does."
He pulled the door shut behind him.
Levi stared after him for a long while.
Then he rose, stepped toward the window, and looked out over the grounds.
The capital stretched beyond the walls—rooftops, rivers, smoke trails from chimneys. Somewhere out there, his mother still breathed. Somewhere, Kaan was still waiting. Somewhere, someone might even remember Sera.
He touched the glass.
It was cool. Clean. Real.
He didn't smile.
But his shoulders dropped a fraction.
And for the first time, the weight of the mark on his arm didn't feel like a chain.
It felt like a key.
…..
The night came slow.
Levi didn't light the lantern. He didn't draw the curtain. He sat by the window until the sun finished its descent, until the gold on the capital's rooftops bled into grey, then blue, then black. The stars came out in patches, unsure of themselves. He knew that feeling.
The city pulsed quietly in the distance—alive, but distant. It didn't roar like the pit. Didn't breathe over him like the dunes. It just… was. Moving on with or without him.
He didn't lie down.
Not at first.
He explored the room in slow, silent passes. Touched the wooden edge of the wardrobe. Ran fingers along the seams of the desk. Checked the hinges on the chest—there was no lock. He opened the drawer beneath the bed. Empty.
Nothing hidden.
Nothing waiting to snap.
It unsettled him.
He crouched beside the bed, ran a hand beneath the frame. Just dust. No restraints. No broken iron welded to old wood. No scratches from panicked hands.
He stared at the floorboards.
Then he sat.
There, cross-legged beside the bed. Back against the cool wall.
He stayed there long after the bells tolled for curfew.
He didn't know how to sleep without a wall to anchor him.
Didn't know how to close his eyes without the sound of someone's ragged breath beside him. Or the snap of a whip. Or the grind of stone and metal.
But this night gave him none of that.
Just silence.
Just darkness.
And the window—cracked open, letting in the scent of pine and cool air and distant cooking smoke from the far kitchens.
Eventually, his head tipped back against the wall.
His eyes fell half-closed.
Sleep came like a stranger who didn't knock.
**
Morning brought gold through the glass.
The room looked different with light in it. Smaller. Softer. The wood glowed faintly in the sun. Someone had left a pitcher of water and a plate of bread on the desk, covered with a cloth to keep the flies off. Levi stared at it a long while before touching anything.
He didn't trust quiet gifts.
But his stomach growled before his hands could argue.
The bread wasn't stale.
And the water was cold.
He drank slowly. Ate slower.
Then changed into the second tunic Thane had left folded by the wardrobe.
He didn't know what kind of place this was yet, or what kinds of people would walk these halls—but he knew how to watch.
He knew how to listen.
When Thane knocked, Levi was already sitting at the desk, arms folded, boots laced, hair finger-combed back.
Thane didn't comment on the readiness. Just opened the door and said, "Time to register."
Levi followed him into the corridor.
Students moved in tight packs—cloaks half-slung, books cradled against their chests, hair braided with charms and rings. A few of them stared. Most looked past him.
Thane moved like someone used to being followed. Levi stayed one pace behind.
The registrar's hall was a tall room of curved marble, lined with sigils Levi didn't know how to read. Light floated from hanging globes. The woman behind the desk wore gloves with glass tips over her fingers and a crest on her collar that pulsed once when Thane approached.
"Name?" she asked without looking up.
"Thane Asher," he said.
She paused.
Then glanced up.
And blinked once.
"…Oh. Yes. Of course. And the student?"
Thane nodded toward Levi. "My nephew."
Levi's chest tightened.
He didn't flinch.
He said nothing.
The woman's eyes flicked to Levi, taking in the too-thin frame, the guarded stance, the sharp, watchful gaze. If she had thoughts, she didn't say them.
Instead, she tapped the desk twice.
A sheet of parchment and a dull inkstone floated toward them.
"Sign here."
Levi picked up the stylus. The ink bit cold against his skin.
He didn't sign his old name.
He signed the only one that would open doors.
Levi Asher.
The woman sealed the paper with a tap of her gloved fingers. "Assigned dorm is temporary. Class rotation will be determined after aptitude review."
Thane reached out and took the folded copy. Handed it to Levi. "Keep this on you. If anyone asks, you belong here."
Levi nodded once.
Didn't speak.
But as they walked out of the hall, he glanced at the name again—Asher, written beside his own.
It wasn't his.
Not really.
But it wasn't the name they gave him in the pit, either.
It wasn't the number burned into his ration tin.
It wasn't the curse they'd hissed when he was dragged back into chains.
It was new.
And for now… it would do.