I woke the next morning to find Seris sitting cross-legged in the center of my dormitory room, meditating with such perfect stillness that she might have been a statue.
"Good morning," I said, sitting up. "How long have you been there?"
"Approximately six hours," she replied without opening her eyes. "I don't require sleep, so I've been running diagnostic checks on local reality integrity."
"Find anything interesting?"
"Seventeen minor causality fluctuations, three spatial anomalies, and one persistent temporal loop affecting the third-floor bathroom."
"The temporal loop is intentional," I said. "Someone pranked it last month and nobody's bothered fixing it. Students use it to get extra time for morning routines."
"That's a flagrant violation of temporal mechanics."
"It's also very convenient."
She opened her eyes—those strange silver mirrors that reflected everything. "You're remarkably casual about reality violations."
"Reality violations are just creativity misunderstood. Besides, the temporal loop is stable and harmless. No reason to eliminate useful pranks."
"Your approach to cosmic order is concerning."
"My approach to cosmic order has kept reality functioning for longer than most civilizations have existed. I think it works pretty well."
She couldn't argue with that.
I got dressed—the Academy uniform was actually quite comfortable—while Seris continued her diagnostics. According to her running commentary, the Academy's magical infrastructure was "surprisingly robust" and "only moderately terrifying" in its complexity.
"Ready for your first day as a student?" I asked.
"I'm three thousand years old. I've witnessed the birth and death of galaxies. I've battled conceptual entities in the spaces between dimensions. I'm not nervous about attending classes."
"Are you sure? Because you keep adjusting your collar."
She stopped adjusting her collar. "I'm not nervous."
"It's okay to be nervous. New experiences are inherently uncertain."
"I don't experience nervousness. I'm a construct designed for—"
"For a single purpose, yes, you've mentioned. But you're also a consciousness experiencing something new. That's exciting and frightening regardless of your origins."
She was quiet for a moment. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Make even ancient constructs feel... seen. Understood."
"I pay attention. Beings are interesting when you actually observe them."
We left the dormitory and joined the morning flow of students heading to breakfast. The cafeteria was packed, noisy with conversation and clattering dishes.
My team had saved us seats at our usual table.
"Morning," Kael said. "How's our cosmic emergency beacon settling in?"
"Please don't call me that," Seris said, sitting down with mechanical precision.
"What should we call you?" Lyris asked.
"Seris is fine."
"Just Seris? No title or designation?"
"Void Knight Seris, technically. But titles seem unnecessarily formal for breakfast."
Brick pushed a plate of food toward her. "Eat. You look thin."
"I don't technically need to eat. My void-essence sustains me."
"But do you want to eat?" Mira asked.
Seris stared at the food—simple bread, fruit, some kind of egg preparation. "I... don't know. I've never tried."
"Then try now," I encouraged. "Experiencing mortality includes experiencing breakfast. It's one of the better parts."
She picked up a piece of fruit hesitantly, examined it with the caution of someone defusing a bomb, then took a small bite.
Her silver eyes widened.
"That's... actually pleasant."
"Welcome to taste," Lyris said. "It's addictive."
Seris ate slowly, processing each sensation with the focus of someone conducting scientific research. Watching her discover food was genuinely delightful.
"So," Kael said quietly, leaning in so nearby tables wouldn't overhear, "what's the actual plan? For the universe-saving thing?"
"We need to map the degradation patterns," Seris said between careful bites. "Identify critical failure points. Then Qaftzi'el can implement systemic repairs that address root causes rather than symptoms."
"How long will that take?" Mira asked.
"Months, minimum. Possibly years depending on complexity."
"And you're just going to attend classes while doing this?" Lyris said skeptically.
"Why not?" I said. "The universe has existed for billions of years. It can wait a few more months while we get educated."
"That seems irresponsible."
"It's prioritization. The degradation is slow. Immediate intervention isn't required. And rushing would increase error risk."
"He's right," Seris admitted reluctantly. "Hasty repairs could cause more damage than letting degradation progress naturally for a short time."
"Still feels weird," Kael muttered. "Saving the universe between homework assignments."
"Life is about balance," I said. "Cosmic responsibility and academic achievement aren't mutually exclusive."
We finished breakfast and headed to our first class—Fundamental Magical Theory with Instructor Velith.
Velith looked up as we entered, her eyes immediately fixing on Seris.
"We have a new student," she observed.
"Transfer," I said quickly. "Seris is joining our class. She's very interested in contemporary magical theory."
"Transfer from where?"
"The void," Seris said truthfully.
Velith blinked. "That's... not a recognized institution."
"It's very small. Limited enrollment. Highly specialized curriculum."
"In what?"
"Reality maintenance and existential crisis management."
Several students laughed, thinking it was a joke.
Velith studied Seris with the expression of someone who suspected they were being messed with but couldn't prove it.
"Fine. Find a seat. Try to keep up with the material."
Seris sat next to me, pulling out a notebook with movements that suggested she'd studied how students behaved but never actually practiced it herself.
The lecture began—today's topic was advanced mana circulation techniques.
Velith drew complex diagrams showing how mana flowed through magical channels, how to optimize circulation for maximum efficiency, how to prevent blockages or overflow.
It was genuinely interesting, even if technically incomplete.
"The three-channel system," Velith explained, "is the foundation of all magical practice. Heart channel for power, mind channel for control, and soul channel for connection to greater forces."
Seris raised her hand.
Velith looked surprised—I never raised my hand, so having another student volunteer participation was novel.
"Yes?"
"What about entities that don't have hearts, minds, or souls in the conventional sense?" Seris asked.
"Such entities can't perform magic."
"That's not accurate. Conceptual beings, void constructs, and reality fragments can all manipulate magical forces without biological or spiritual infrastructure."
"Those are theoretical edge cases, not practical concerns for human mages."
"But understanding edge cases illuminates fundamental principles. If magic can function without physical channels, then channels aren't actually necessary—they're facilitators for beings with limited direct access to mana."
Velith's expression suggested she was having flashbacks to arguing with me.
"That's... technically correct, but irrelevant for our purposes."
"Is it? If channels are facilitators rather than requirements, then the three-channel system is one approach among many possible configurations. Other arrangements might be more efficient for different purposes."
"Such as?"
"A direct-interface model where consciousness touches mana without intermediary structures. Or a distributed-node system where multiple small access points replace three large channels. Or a—"
"This is getting beyond the scope of introductory material," Velith interrupted. "Perhaps we can discuss alternative magical frameworks during office hours."
"Of course. My apologies for the tangent."
Velith returned to her lecture, but several students were now looking at Seris with interest.
After class, a small group approached our table.
"You're the transfer student?" A tall girl with fire affinity asked. "Where did you actually study? Those weren't beginner questions."
"I've been researching independently for a long time," Seris said. "My background is unconventional."
"Unconventional how?"
"I was created by an ancient entity to serve as a cosmic failsafe and have spent three millennia searching for someone who could fix reality itself."
The girl laughed. "Right. Seriously though, where are you from?"
"That was serious."
The laughter died. The girl looked at me for confirmation.
I shrugged. "She's very committed to her backstory. I admire the dedication."
"You're both weird," the girl said, but not unkindly. "You'll fit right in with Qaftzi'el's group."
As the students dispersed, Seris turned to me. "Should I have lied?"
"No. Honesty disguised as absurdity is perfectly functional. People will assume you're joking or eccentric. Both are acceptable at an Academy."
"Your social strategies are bizarre."
"They work though."
"I suppose they do."
We attended Combat Applications next, where Instructor Thane looked distinctly unhappy to see me.
"Mr. Aigle," he said flatly. "Try not to break combat theory today."
"I'll do my best."
"And you—" He pointed at Seris. "New student?"
"Yes, sir."
"Combat experience?"
"Extensive."
"Good. You're partnered with Qaftzi'el for sparring exercises."
Oh no.
Seris and I stood in a practice circle while other students paired off around us. She stretched carefully, testing her range of motion.
"Should we—" I started.
She attacked.
Not with killing intent, but with the precise, efficient brutality of someone who'd fought for millennia. Her strikes were faster than normal human perception, aimed at pressure points and weak spots with surgical accuracy.
I avoided them by not being where they were, my usual reality-editing approach to combat avoidance.
She adapted immediately, predicting my edits and striking where I would be rather than where I was.
This was actually challenging.
"You're good," I said, deflecting a strike that would have disabled my arm.
"I've had practice."
"Fair point."
We danced through the combat circle, her attacking with increasing complexity, me avoiding with increasing creativity. To outside observers, it probably looked like elaborate choreography—too fast and too precise to be actual combat.
Thane watched with narrowed eyes.
After five minutes, Seris stopped suddenly.
"This is pointless," she said.
"Is it?"
"You're not actually fighting. You're just ensuring we don't make contact."
"That's a valid combat strategy."
"It's avoidance, not combat."
"What's the difference?"
"Combat has the goal of defeating the opponent. Avoidance has the goal of surviving. They're different paradigms."
"But if I avoid until you're exhausted, haven't I effectively defeated you?"
She considered this. "That's irritatingly logical."
"Thank you."
Thane approached our circle. "Adequate technical demonstration. Though I notice neither of you actually struck each other."
"We were being careful," I said.
"In real combat, careful gets you killed."
"In real combat," Seris said quietly, "we'd both be using our actual capabilities, and this entire arena would cease existing. So perhaps careful is appropriate for training."
Thane stared at her. "What?"
"Nothing, sir. We'll be more aggressive next time."
He walked away muttering about unusual students.
The rest of class proceeded without reality-threatening incidents. Various students demonstrated combat techniques with varying success. Lyris created a lightning storm that accidentally set someone's hair on fire. Brick stood still and let someone punch him for thirty seconds straight before declaring the test complete.
After class, as we walked toward lunch, a messenger student approached.
"Qaftzi'el Aigle?"
"That's me."
"Archmage Celethine requests your presence in her office. Immediately."
"That sounds ominous," Kael said.
"It's probably fine," I said.
"When you say 'probably fine,' you mean definitely concerning, right?" Lyris asked.
"Maybe?"
Seris stood. "I'll accompany you."
"That's not necessary."
"Yes it is. If she's investigating you, she needs to understand the full context."
We followed the messenger through the Academy's administrative wing—a section that normal students rarely visited. The corridors here were quieter, more serious, lined with portraits of previous headmasters who all looked appropriately stern and wise.
Celethine's office was at the end of a particularly long corridor. The door was made of dark wood carved with protective runes that hummed with barely contained power.
The messenger knocked, announced us, and fled.
"Enter," Celethine's voice called.
We entered.
The office was surprisingly comfortable—books lined the walls, soft chairs arranged around a central desk, windows overlooking the Academy grounds. Celethine sat behind her desk, her black eyes studying us as we entered.
"Sit," she said.
We sat.
"Last night," Celethine began without preamble, "you casually neutralized seven of the Academy's most powerful mages. You demonstrated capabilities beyond any classification we can measure. And now you're attending classes like nothing happened."
"That was the agreement," I said.
"I know. And I intend to honor it. But I have questions, and I need answers."
"I'll answer what I can."
"What are you saving us from? What's actually wrong with reality?"
I glanced at Seris, who nodded.
"Reality has bugs," I explained. "Fundamental errors in its existence code. Over time, these errors compound—like cracks in a foundation spreading through a building. Eventually, the entire structure becomes unstable."
"How long until collapse?"
"Twelve thousand years, current estimates. Possibly less if certain accelerating factors worsen."
"That's not immediate."
"No. But it's inevitable without intervention."
"And you can fix it?"
"I can edit the foundational code, yes. It requires identifying all critical failure points and implementing systemic corrections. Complicated, but feasible."
Celethine leaned back in her chair. "Why are you telling me this? You could have hidden everything, continued your charade indefinitely."
"Because hiding gets exhausting. And because you seem trustworthy. And because—" I smiled slightly "—I think you'll keep the secret."
"Why would I?"
"Because revealing it serves no purpose except causing panic. And because you're practical enough to value stability over dramatic revelations."
She studied me for a long moment. "You're right. I won't reveal what you are. But I need something in return."
"What?"
"Teach me. Not how to do what you do—I'm not arrogant enough to think I could learn that. But teach me how to see reality the way you see it. How to understand magic beyond our current frameworks."
"That's dangerous knowledge."
"I know. I'll risk it anyway."
I looked at Seris, who shrugged. "Your choice."
"Alright," I said to Celethine. "Weekly meetings. I'll share what I can of alternate perspectives on magical theory. But you have to promise not to try replicating anything I describe."
"Why not?"
"Because seeing how something works doesn't mean you can safely implement it. It's like reading about heart surgery—understanding the process doesn't qualify you to perform it."
"Fair enough. I promise observation only."
"Then we have an agreement."
Celethine smiled—a genuine expression that transformed her usually stern face. "Excellent. Now get out of my office and go to lunch. You're still students, and students need to eat."
We left, walking back through the administrative corridors.
"That went well," Seris observed.
"Better than expected," I agreed.
"She's going to try replicating something you teach her."
"Probably. But she'll be careful about it. And the knowledge might help her protect the Academy when real threats emerge."
"You're optimistic about mortal nature."
"I have to be. Otherwise what's the point of saving them?"
We rejoined our team in the cafeteria, where they immediately demanded to know what had happened.
"Just clarifying agreements," I said. "Nothing dramatic."
"With you, 'nothing dramatic' usually means something incredibly dramatic happened," Kael said.
"Not this time. Celethine and I have an arrangement. She keeps our secrets, we provide occasional consultation on advanced magical theory."
"That's actually reasonable," Lyris said, surprised.
"I'm capable of reason sometimes."
"Sometimes," she agreed.
We spent lunch discussing normal student things—upcoming assignments, gossip about other students, speculation about the monthly evaluation tournament.
For a while, it felt genuinely normal.
Then a student from another table approached.
"Excuse me," he said nervously. "Are you Qaftzi'el Aigle?"
"Yes?"
"The administration office sent me. There's someone here to see you. They're waiting at the main gate."
"Who?"
"They didn't give a name. They just said to tell you that 'the second one has arrived.'"
Seris and I exchanged glances.
"The second one?" she said quietly.
"Sounds like another Void Knight."
"Only two others exist. Theron and Vex."
"Which one is friendlier?"
"Neither. Theron is ruthlessly efficient. Vex is... unpredictable."
"Wonderful. Let's hope it's Theron then."
We excused ourselves from our team—who looked resigned to missing more dramatic events—and walked to the main gate.
A figure waited there, leaning casually against the Academy's protective wards like they were a comfortable wall rather than reality-warping defensive magic.
This Void Knight's armor was different—lighter, more angular, with patterns that suggested movement rather than solidity. No helmet, revealing a young man's face with sharp features and eyes that swirled with literal void-stuff, darkness made visible.
He grinned when he saw us.
"Well, well," he said. "Seris actually found him. I owe Theron fifty reality shards."
"Vex," Seris said flatly.
"Sister mine! How goes the search that's now complete?"
"Don't call me sister. We're not related."
"We're both void constructs created by the same entity. That's functionally familial."
He turned his attention to me, and his grin widened.
"So you're the mythical Ancient One. The being before being. The consciousness that predates concept."
"I'm Qaftzi'el," I said. "Pleased to meet you."
"Oh, I like him. Polite. Expected something more... tyrannical? Imperious? You look like a child playing at school."
"I am a child playing at school. Technically."
"Fascinating!" Vex pushed off from the wards and circled me like a predator examining prey. "Seris said you could fix reality. She didn't mention you'd be adorable while doing it."
"I'm not adorable."
"You absolutely are. Those red eyes! That two-tone hair! The whole 'innocent student' aesthetic! If you're not adorable, I don't understand the concept."
Seris pinched the bridge of her nose. "Vex. Why are you here?"
"Same reason as you, sister mine. Universe is broken, need the Ancient One, found him, here to help."
"We don't need help."
"Don't you though? The degradation patterns are worse than we thought. We've got maybe eight thousand years now, not twelve thousand."
"Eight thousand?" Seris tensed. "That's accelerating faster than projected."
"Yep! Hence my arrival. Theron's investigating the core instability zones. I'm here to assist with our new adorable cosmic fix-it specialist."
"Please stop calling me adorable."
"Can't. It's factual."
I looked at Seris. "Is he always like this?"
"Unfortunately."
"Fortunately!" Vex corrected. "Life is short—unless you're a void construct, in which case it's potentially infinite—so why not have fun with it?"
"That's actually reasonable philosophy."
"See? He gets me!" Vex threw an arm around my shoulders. "We're going to be best friends. I can feel it."
"We just met."
"Details! Friendship transcends temporal limitations!"
Seris looked exhausted, and we'd been outside for less than five minutes.
"How do you handle him?" I asked.
"I don't. I endure him."
"I'm standing right here."
"I know."
Vex laughed, genuinely delighted. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Grumpy Seris, adorable Ancient One, and chaotic me, all working together to save reality. It's like a cosmic comedy!"
"Or a tragedy," Seris muttered.
"Tragedy, comedy—same thing from sufficient distance!"
I found myself smiling despite the situation. Vex was chaotic, certainly, but also genuinely enthusiastic. That was rare in ancient beings.
"Alright," I said. "You can help. But you have to attend classes with us."
"Classes?" Vex's eyes lit up. "Like school classes? With lectures and homework and teenage drama?"
"Yes."
"EXCELLENT! I've always wanted to experience mortal education! Theron said it was a waste of time, but Theron thinks everything except grim duty is a waste of time."
"So you'll behave appropriately?"
"Absolutely!" He paused. "What counts as appropriate?"
"Not causing existential crises, not revealing our true nature, not breaking reality during demonstrations."
"Those are very restrictive parameters."
"Can you manage?"
"For you, adorable Ancient One? I'll try."
"Please stop calling me that."
"Never."
Seris sighed deeply. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Probably," I agreed. "But an interesting disaster."
"Those are the best kind!" Vex said cheerfully.
We walked back toward the Academy proper, Vex maintaining a constant stream of commentary about everything he saw. Other students gave us strange looks—apparently two mysterious figures showing up in consecutive days had attracted attention.
"So," Vex said as we walked, "what's the plan? How do we fix all of existence while pretending to be students?"
"Carefully," I said.
"That's not a plan."
"It's the start of one. We'll refine as we go."
"I love improv! This is going to be amazing!"
Seris looked at me with an expression of deep regret. "You've doomed us all."
"Probably not all," I said optimistically.
"Just most?"
"Maybe just some. We'll see how it goes."
Vex laughed, and the sound echoed with void-harmonics that made nearby students unconsciously step away.
Yes, this was definitely going to be interesting.