The days blended so seamlessly together that I stopped noticing the hours.
Open the shop.
Help customers.
Shelve books.
Endure Alya's dramatic complaints.
Study with her.
Repeat.
It became a rhythm—annoying at times, comforting at others. A strange little cycle of chaos and quiet.
Some customers were impossible.
Some insisted we find books we didn't have.
Others tried to haggle for lower prices even though this wasn't a market stall.
One asked if I was selling "the tears of a phoenix."
(I still don't know if that was a joke.)
Alya wasn't much better.
She groaned.
She whined.
She insisted she was "allergic to learning"—which, to be clear, is not medically real, despite her insisting it was.
But somewhere in that madness, we grew close.
We talked when she studied—which is to say, we were supposed to study, but Alya kept drifting into stories about her life.
One day, she told me about her father buying her a pony.
"How old were you?" I asked.
"Six."
"That sounds adorable."
"It was NOT adorable."
Her tail smacked the floor.
"That beast was a DEMON. Father lifted me onto the saddle, and the thing bucked me off so hard I nearly died!"
"You didn't die."
"IT FELT LIKE IT."
She pouted dramatically while rubbing her tail, as if the trauma was still lodged there.
I listened.
I always listened.
Because when she talked about her family—her home—her voice softened.
Warm.
Alive.
It sounded… nice.
Too nice.
She spoke of dinners together.
Holidays.
Arguments.
Warmth.
A life she took for granted and I had never known.
I stayed silent about my past. About the fog. The hunger. The cold. The loneliness.
I never said anything.
But she always spoke freely.
And I liked listening.
That afternoon, we were supposed to be reviewing the founding histories of the seven kingdoms. Alya was slumped over the table, her forehead pressed so hard into the page that the ink was probably imprinting onto her skin.
"Wake up," I said, nudging her shoulder.
"Mmmno."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Her tail swatted toward my face like a lazy cat paw.
I dodged.
We were going absolutely nowhere when Alya suddenly sat up, her ears twitching in a strange, off rhythm. She stared at the book. Then at her hands. Then at the table.
Then she whispered, very quietly:
"…Do you know how many siblings I have?"
The question came so suddenly that I blinked.
"Well… you talk about your younger brother all the time. Alex, right? So… one?"
Silence.
Alya's hands tightened around the edge of the book.
"Actually…" she said, her voice wavering, "I have two."
I blinked.
"You have a younger sister too? Since WHEN—?!"
"Shh!" she hissed, glancing around like she'd just confessed to murder. "Keep your voice down!"
"But you never told me—"
"I know!"
Her ears pressed flat.
Her tail curled around her legs.
She looked small—something Alya never looked.
"My sister…" She swallowed hard. "She's about your age."
A chill brushed my spine at how carefully she said that.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
Alya trembled—just slightly—then forced the words out.
"She… she's in a coma."
My breath caught.
"She fell," Alya whispered, "from the third-floor window. When she was five. We all thought she'd die. Everyone thought—"
Her voice cracked.
I reached out and placed my hand over hers. She squeezed it so tightly it hurt.
"She's been bedridden since then," Alya said. "My father… he hides her from people. Says it's to protect her. Says he doesn't want her pitied."
Her tail curled tighter.
Her ears drooped so low they nearly touched her shoulders.
"And I…" Alya sniffed, looking at her lap, "I haven't seen her in two years."
My chest ached.
"Alya… I'm so sorry."
She didn't cry—Alya never cried—but her eyes glistened.
We sat in silence until she inhaled shakily, wiped her eyes, and continued.
"That's why I've been coming here every day. That's why I'm studying so hard." She looked at the textbook with absolutely no love. "My father sent me abroad to attend an academy. Arouz Academy. At the king of Ipse's request."
The name stood out.
Arouz.
I'd heard customers mention it—an enormous institution on the peninsula. A place of nobles, heroes, and elites.
The most prestigious academy in the world.
Alya took a deep breath.
"The king wanted each noble house to send two students. My father only has three children—" She clenched her jaw. "Alex is too young. My… sister… is too weak."
Her voice cracked again.
Then she turned to me.
"You're smart. You read more than anyone I've ever met. You pick up things fast. You work hard. You…" she hesitated, "You're from somewhere else. You're different. People at the academy might not notice."
I stared.
My heartbeat picked up.
She wasn't—
She wasn't suggesting—
"Alya…"
Her eyes locked onto mine.
"Will you take her place?"
My breath caught.
She rushed forward, words tumbling.
"It's not a punishment! I swear! It's the greatest honor for a noble family to attend Arouz! My father said it's a privilege—one he doesn't want to miss. And I—" she swallowed, "I trust you. More than anyone. You're already in the city… you're close… and…"
She whispered, "I don't want to go alone."
Silence fell.
A long, heavy silence.
I stared at the textbook. At Alya. At the shop. At the hall beyond.
Leave?
Attend… school?
Pretend to be a noble girl?
Pretend to be someone's sister?
I'd run out of new books to read.
I'd run out of challenges here.
I needed to learn more—magic, history, summoning.
And the academy had all of that.
But…
"Grandma," I whispered. "I can't leave Grandma…"
Alya opened her mouth to respond—
but a small voice spoke from behind us.
"You absolutely can."
I flinched so hard I almost knocked over the table.
"G-Grandma! How long have you been standing there?!"
"Long enough," Bertha said, tapping her cane with a smirk. "You've been reading the same chapter for thirty minutes."
I turned red.
"Arouz Academy," she said slowly, pride swelling in her voice, "is the best academy in the world. And if my girl has the chance to attend it—then she should."
"T-Then you're not upset…?"
"Upset?" She scoffed. "Child, I'd be furious if you stayed here shelving dusty books for the rest of your life! Go. Learn. Live."
My throat tightened.
"But I—"
"No 'buts.'" Bertha rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I will be proud of you no matter where you go. So go." Her voice softened. "…And visit me often."
My chest warmed so suddenly it hurt.
Alya watched quietly, eyes shining with relief and something else—something soft.
I inhaled deeply.
Then nodded.
"…I'll do it."
Alya's ears shot up.
"You—really?!"
"Yes," I whispered. "I'll take your sister's place."
Alya launched herself at me, tail flying, arms wrapping around my shoulders so tightly I thought I'd snap in half.
"THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU—"
"A-Alya—air—air—!"
"I'm SO HAPPY—!"
"YOU'RE KILLING ME—!"
She finally released me, wiping her face and trying very hard to pretend she hadn't been emotional.
"This is going to be amazing," she said, voice trembling with excitement. "We're going to the academy. Together."
Together.
The word echoed in my mind.
For the first time since landing in this strange, bright world—
I wasn't just surviving.
I was going somewhere.
And I wasn't going alone.