(Euryale POV)
Willowwand Academy does not feel loud.
That was the first thing I noticed.
I had expected noise—shouting students, spells going wrong, instructors yelling warnings. That's how stories always described places like this. Chaotic. Brilliant. Dangerous.
But Willowwand is… quiet.
Not silent. Never silent.
Just controlled.
Like everyone here has agreed, without saying it out loud, to lower their voices so the academy can breathe.
I walk this paths every morning now. Stone paths that curve instead of cutting straight. Wooden bridges that creak softly when you step on them, as if they're reminding you to slow down. Streams that run beside the walkways, close enough that you can hear them but not so close that you forget where you are.
Sometimes I forget I'm not in Shoreward Vale.
Then I remember.
Because the sea is not here.
The water here moves differently. It doesn't stretch wide and endless. It doesn't carry salt or stories. It flows in channels, follows rules, behaves.
I think that's what unsettles me the most.
Being Seen
People look at me.
Not all the time. Not openly.
But enough.
Some glances slide past quickly, pretending they weren't meant for me. Others linger a moment too long, sharp and heavy, like fingers pressing into a bruise.
I know why.
I didn't stand on the platform.
I didn't struggle in front of everyone.
I just walked in.
That alone makes me suspicious.
I hear things when I pass.
"Must be a noble."
"Paid his way in."
"Academy favoritism."
None of them are true.
But I don't correct anyone.
Back home, when people misunderstood, it didn't matter. Here, misunderstandings grow teeth.
So I keep my head down.
I attend classes.
I listen.
I follow rules.
I try to be… normal.
I'm not sure what that means anymore.
Classes and Silence
Most classes are held outdoors.
That surprised me.
There are halls, yes—but even those have open ceilings or living walls made of roots and wood. Nothing here feels fully enclosed.
In Elemental Fundamentals, students sit in circles beneath a ring of tall stones. Everyone practices with chants written on thin paper. Fire students whisper carefully, watching their flames tremble. Earth students clench their fists and sweat. Wind students struggle not to let things spin out of control.
I sit with them.
I read the chant.
I don't use it.
Not because I refuse.
Because when I try, it feels wrong—like trying to breathe through someone else's lungs.
So I wait.
I do the motions slowly.
Sometimes nothing happens.
That seems to make people more comfortable.
Master Rouis
Master Rouis watches more than he speaks.
When he does speak, it's never wasted.
He doesn't praise easily. He doesn't scold loudly. He asks questions that don't feel like questions until hours later.
Once, during class, he asked:
"What happens when magic doesn't want to be controlled?"
No one answered.
After a while, he looked at me.
I didn't speak.
He nodded anyway.
I don't know what that meant.
But I think about it a lot.
Loneliness Isn't Loud
I eat alone most days.
Not because no one allows me to sit with them.
But because conversations stop when I approach.
Forks pause mid-air.
Voices trail off.
It's subtle. Polite.
Worse than open rejection.
So I take my tray and sit by the water, watching reflections ripple across the surface.
I don't mind the quiet.
But sometimes, it reminds me of Silas complaining too loudly or Lyra asking questions she shouldn't.
I miss that noise.
My room overlooks a narrow stream.
At night, it glows faintly, reflecting stars even when the sky is cloudy. I lie awake sometimes, listening to it move.
I don't talk to it.
Not out loud.
I just listen.
The academy feels… aware of me. Like it's watching to see what I'll do next.
Not judging.
Waiting.
That's worse.
There are moments—quiet moments—when I wonder if coming here was a mistake.
The village was simple.
Understandable.
Here, everything is layered. Rules on top of rules. Expectations hidden behind calm smiles. Power wrapped in manners.
I don't know where I fit.
I don't know if I'm meant to fit.
Sometimes I feel like I've stepped into a current that's too strong, and I'm only pretending I can swim.
But Then…
Sometimes, when I'm crossing a bridge or standing near the river that runs through the academy, something settles inside me.
Not excitement.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like this place—this strange, quiet, watching place—was always meant to be part of my path.
Even if I don't understand why yet.
What I Know
I know this:
I didn't come here to be special.
I didn't come here to prove anything.
I didn't come here to stand above anyone.
I came because something inside me said it was time.
And time doesn't ask permission.
So I stay.
I learn.
I listen.
I wait.
Whatever Willowwand Academy is preparing me for—
I will face it.
Not loudly.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.