At the week's end at sea, the ship turned inland—leaving open water for the wide, slow mouth of a river. Mist clung to the banks, veiling the world in silver, and the ship's steady rhythm became a lull between restless nights.
Cassandra spent the journey half awake, haunted by flashes of the attack—the color of ash against marble.
It didn't take long for her to fall back into the routine-the measured pace of mornings, the hum of the crew, the silence between one heartbeat and the next. Leoleta's presence lingered close, steady and unreadable, while Liaerin flitted nearby, keeping pace with effortless grace. Together, they formed the quiet perimeter of her days.
Lunick had left dozens of materials for her to study before their arrival at the Academy, and she buried herself in them as if words could quiet memory. She avoided her brothers, took her meals alone, and kept to her cabin except to pace the deck when the fog thinned.
From her window, the world passed like a dream. Forests folded into meadows, and meadows into low towns of ochre and slate. Every bend in the river revealed another fragment of a land she still did not know.
On the banks, children raced the ship, laughing as they ran to keep pace—bare feet splashing in the shallows, their voices carrying faintly over the water. Vaelstra was the smallest province in the Empire, yet Cassandra had rarely ventured beyond the capital's walls. To see, at last, the breadth of what her family's name claimed to rule made something inside her twist—pride, unease, and a thin thread of guilt all tangled into one.
A knock broke through her thoughts.
"Cassandra," came Alfonse's voice from the corridor. "We're approaching Ashenreach, if you'd like to join us on deck."
She hesitated, glancing once more out the window. The river widened ahead, its surface rippling with pale light. Beyond the mist, she could just make out the faint silhouette of towers rising against the horizon.
"I will join you in a moment," she said, trying—and failing—to mask her excitement. Cassandra still felt cross toward her brothers, but Alfonse was difficult to deny.
She drew on her shawl and hurried up the narrow stairs to the deck.
The world opened before her in color and motion. Turrets crowned the cliffs, banners rippling red and gold in the wind. Markets clustered along the waterline, spilling into narrow streets that climbed toward the hill where the Imperial Academy rose—vast, distant, and gleaming like frost beneath the sun.
The sight was both breathtaking and terrible. A new beginning—but one chosen for her, not by her.
She had never seen such a place. So many faces, so many voices—different races, dialects, and accents colliding like waves in a storm. The air itself seemed to hum with unfamiliarity. For a moment she stood at the rail, caught between awe and unease, realizing how small the world of her upbringing had truly been.
Cassandra looked around, searching for someone to share her excitement with. Liaerin stood a short distance away, deep in conversation with her brothers, their heads bent close in quiet discussion. Leoleta was farther down the deck, speaking with the guards, his posture composed, precise, unreadable.
Cassandra waited as the shiphands secured the moorings and the gangway lowered with a heavy thud. When the ropes finally went taut, she stepped down onto an unfamiliar stone, her boots slick with mist.
Crowds surged around her—students burdened with trunks, traders shouting prices, messengers with scrolls strapped across their backs. The air smelled of ink, pine resin, salt, and spice—an unsteady blend of the familiar and the foreign. Every sound seemed sharper here, every face a stranger's.
"My lady."
She turned to find Leoleta behind her, his tone composed but edged with vigilance. Before she could reply, another voice called her name.
"Lady Cassandra Eostre of House Delmar?"
A woman in scholar's robes approached, bowing with crisp precision.
Leoleta stepped subtly forward, placing himself half a pace between them. Cassandra caught the motion and inclined her head in acknowledgment—both reassurance and restraint.
"I am Registrar Alden," the woman continued. "Your escort to the Academy. We've received word of your arrival and have come to greet you—and the young lords as well. Your quarters are prepared."
Cassandra inclined her head, her training taking over where confidence faltered. "Thank you."
"There you are," Alfonse's voice came from behind them, slightly breathless.
Alden turned with a brief nod. "We have stewards coming for your belongings. Headmaster Verran is expecting you all."
Her smile was polite but without warmth. "This way, my lady. The gates will open soon."
As they walked, Cassandra glanced once over her shoulder. Observing her surroundings. The path wound up from the harbor through the lower city.
"It is quite the trek uphill," Registrar Alden said. "We have arranged a transport." She gestured ahead.
Cassandra's gaze followed the motion—and caught on the pair of creatures harnessed to a lacquered black carriage. They shifted restlessly, feathers gleaming in the morning light.
"Curious?" Leoleta's voice came low beside her shoulder. "They're called hippogriffs."
They were larger than she had imagined, each step deliberate and thunder-quiet, claws clicking against the stone as feathers rippled down their flanks. The creatures shone beneath the sun, their front halves regal and sharp as eagles, their hindquarters powerful and equine—muscles rolling beneath smooth, steel-grey coats.
Steam curled from their nostrils, catching the light like smoke from a forge. One tossed its head, golden eyes flashing, and the motion sent a shiver through her.
Even restrained, they were beautiful—and frightening.
A coachman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. Cassandra hesitated only a moment before climbing inside.
The interior smelled faintly of cedar and old parchment. Cushioned seats faced one another, and as the door shut behind them, the sound of the harbor dimmed to a distant hum. The carriage lurched forward, the world outside shifting into motion once more.
Registrar Alden spoke without pause, her voice smooth and practiced. She described the Academy's new wing, the restructured houses, the revised schedule for novice examinations. Cassandra nodded when it seemed appropriate, though the words blurred together like rain on glass.
Outside the window, the city changed. Markets gave way to narrow streets lined with carved balconies and ivy-choked walls. The clamor of trade faded to the rhythmic clatter of hooves.
Cassandra's reflection trembled against the glass—her eyes distant, hair still caught by the wind. Each turn of the road carried her further from the life she had known, and deeper into something vast and uncertain.
The morning light turned the fog into pale gold, catching on brass fixtures and wet stone. The closer they came to the Academy, the quieter the streets became—noise thinning into a hush that felt almost sacred.
The gates loomed ahead: iron and obsidian worked in patterns of flame and wing. Beyond them, the Imperial Academy rose in sweeping terraces of marble and glass. Its highest tower cut through the clouds like the edge of a blade.
A bell tolled from somewhere within, deep and resonant. The sound rolled through her bones.
"This," the registrar said, "is the heart of knowledge within the Empire. Whatever you were before, my lady—this place will make you into something else."
Cassandra looked up at the towering structure, its spires glinting in the sun. A chill slid down her spine, but her voice remained steady.
"I suppose it already has."
The sound of the sea roared against the cliffs, lingering in her thoughts as though the ocean itself had followed her from home.