Otter awoke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the narrow window of his dormitory. He blinked up at the ceiling, his mind sluggish as the remnants of sleep clung to him. It wasn’t until he shifted under the blanket, stretching his sore limbs, that the realization hit him.

  Sixteen.

  He exhaled slowly, staring at the beams overhead. Sixteen was supposed to be a milestone, a turning point. His mother always made a big deal out of birthdays, even when they barely had enough coin for a proper meal. There would have been sweet rolls from the bakery, warm and flaky with cinnamon. A small, hand-carved trinket—something practical but meaningful. A quiet evening together, watching the lanterns flicker on the docks as the waves lapped against the piers.

  But today, there would be no sweet rolls. No quiet evening. No Brighthaven.

  Otter clenched his jaw, forcing himself to push the homesickness aside. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had come to the Academy with a purpose, and that hadn’t changed just because the date on his wrisplay had.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. No one was going to make this day special for him—unless he made it so himself. And he’d been planning for this.

  He’d spent almost none of his hard earned credits at the Commissary. He was going to splurge today.

  Or so he thought.

  The moment he stepped out of his dorm, Erin ambushed him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Happy birthday, Otter!" she said, shoving a wrapped package into his hands before he could react.

  Otter blinked at her, then at the package. "You—what?"

  "And that's not all," Erin said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We’re going out. You, me, and a few others. You didn’t think we’d let your sixteenth pass without a celebration, did you?"

  Otter turned the package over in his hands, bewildered. He hadn’t expected anything—hadn’t wanted anything. And yet… Then the rest of her words hit him. "Who’s ‘we’?"

  Erin simpered. "Liora, Milo, Piper, and Levi. We're heading into Aurelia for the evening."

  Otter hesitated, but Erin didn’t give him time to protest. She grabbed his wrist and started dragging him toward the mess hall. "Come on, breakfast first. You’ve got a big day."

  Erin had put a lot of thought into planning and made the appropriate arrangements. She’d taken care of his liberty request days earlier, and had even notified Archivist Dane of his impending absence.

  Being Friday, he only had one class, which there was no way out of, but that was no bother. He was really enjoying Understanding the System after his talk with Overseer Blackwood.

  After breakfast, he had the morning to himself, which he dutifully spent working on his paper for Adventuring Fundamentals followed by a little light reading about Emrys Gale. He was halfway through the book Piper had assigned him.

  Then he snuck down to the Commissary. Lyle and Torrin had taken to stalking him whenever they caught sight of him. Thankfully, they hadn’t caught him unawares again, and he always had a quick route to safety. All of his early exploring and mapping was coming in handy. But avoiding them was exhausting. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d corner him again and things would likely come to blows. He just hoped it wasn’t today. Today, he was going to spend some credits.

  He got himself a pork pasty, a sweet roll for dessert, and a fizzy fruit drink to wash it all down.

  Then he bought a whisper stone. He learned from the clerk that it would hold a message of up to twenty-five words. It could be played by anyone a maximum of five times before the magic was spent.

  He also asked about trading credits for coin. Erin had told him that his friends had agreed to split the cost of his evening so he shouldn’t need to pay for anything that night, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

  Cal was right. The exchange rate was pitiful: 8 credits to one copper dreg. He still had the gold coin his mother had given him, but he couldn't bring himself to spend it. He cashed out 4 dregs and stuck them in his pocket.

  While enjoying his meal, he scrolled through his profile, admiring several new skills.

  Name: Dwayne Shi’longh Bennett (Otter)

  Level: 0 XP: 0

  Class: None Life Force: 4

  Stats

  STR 9

  DEX 9

  CON 9

  INT 10

  WIS 9

  CHA 9

  Luck 18

  Skills

  Cartography Novice- Lvl 1

  Handyman Novice- Lvl 1

  Jumping Novice- Lvl 1

  Knowledge (Entomology) Novice- Lvl 3

  Knowledge (Mathematics) Novice- Lvl 2

  Knowledge (System Mechanics) Novice- Lvl 1

  Navigation Apprentice- Lvl 5

  Observation Novice- Lvl 4

  Persuasion Novice- Lvl 3

  Reading Apprentice- Lvl 5

  Survival Craft Novice- Lvl 2

  Swimming Apprentice- Lvl 5

  Writing Novice- Lvl 4

  He’d earned Survival Craft after the second week of Navigation and Survival, having learned how to start several types of friction fires, set snares for small game, and build an emergency shelter from forest debris and leaf litter. System Mechanics was a surprise, but he was devouring all the course reading material, which made the bump to his Reading skill make sense.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Finishing up, he went back to his room and recorded a message for his mother on the whisper stone, then went to the mail room to have it sent. Back in Brighthaven, it cost two dregs to send a letter to Aurelia, but the Academy offered the service for free.

  That afternoon, he could barely focus on the lecture. He couldn't wait for the night out.

  By the time the group gathered, the sun was setting and the air had a crispness to it that prickled the skin. Not everyone had met Piper, so they did a quick round of introductions.

  As they stepped through the Academy’s main gates and onto the winding road that led into Aurelia, Otter felt his breath catch in his throat.

  Brighthaven had always been a place of winding alleys, crowded canals, and the ever-present scent of brine and fish from the docks. The city had a tangled, lived-in feel, its buildings packed together like old friends whispering secrets. People moved with a familiar kind of chaos—haggling in the markets, laughing in the streets, cursing over toppled carts. It was messy, unpredictable, and full of hidden corners where a clever boy could disappear if he needed to.

  Aurelia was nothing like that.

  The city stretched out before him, sprawling yet orderly, built in concentric rings that radiated from the towering structure at its heart—the Grand Spire. It loomed above everything else, its white-stone walls streaked with veins of shimmering silver, catching the light of the twin moons above. Dozens of smaller towers curled around it like frozen tendrils, their pointed tips crowned with multi-colored panels.

  Unlike Brighthaven’s earthy, practical architecture, Aurelia felt magical.

  Buildings soared high, their facades carved with intricate patterns that shimmered faintly with residual enchantments. Instead of simple wooden signs, many shops displayed glowing sigils above their doors, shifting colors to indicate whether they were open or closed. Bridges of enchanted stone arched gracefully over wide streets, defying gravity with a quiet hum of magic that Otter could almost feel in his bones.

  The streets were clean, too. Almost unnaturally so. Back home, you’d have to step over discarded scraps of parchment, bits of old rope, or the occasional puddle of something you didn’t want to think too hard about. Here, the streets gleamed, free of grime or clutter, and the air smelled of spiced wine, baked fruit, and a hint of a floral fragrance, reminiscent of a distant memory just out of grasp.

  Instead of oil lamps or flickering torches, glowing lumistones lined the streets, hovering in delicate orbits above ornate metal posts. Their light was steady and golden, illuminating the walkways without ever seeming too bright or harsh. Some were set into the roads themselves, guiding carriages and enchanted wagons along predetermined routes.

  Otter barely had time to take it all in before something whooshed past his ear. He flinched, spinning on his heel just in time to see a floating carriage glide by—four glowing orbs hovering beneath its frame, keeping it aloft just above the cobblestone. It moved without wheels, without horses, without any visible means of propulsion, yet it floated forward effortlessly, weaving through the city streets with precise, smooth turns.

  "That," Milo said, whistling low, "is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen."

  Otter had to agree.

  People bustled through the streets, but unlike Brighthaven’s rough-and-tumble crowd, these folks carried themselves differently. Many wore fine suits embroidered with silver thread, their belts fastened with polished metal clasps in the shape of their guild or family crests. Even the street performers were something out of a dream—one man conjured living illusions, little golden dragons that flitted around his head and chased after laughing children.

  Otter’s head spun.

  Aurelia was thriving.

  Alive with magic in a way Brighthaven wasn’t.

  It wasn’t just a city—it was the city, the very heart of civilization.

  Not for the first time since arriving at the Academy, Otter felt very, very small.

  “Keep an eye on your coin-purses,” said Levi. “Magic keeps the streets clean, and thieves will pick your pockets clean.”

  “Really,” said Otter. “Everything looks so...I don’t know, nice. I thought the people would be, too.”

  “People are people no matter where you go. The Council likes to keep the surface pretty for tourists, but there’s an ugly side to Aurelia, too.”

  Otter nodded, not completely convinced, but Levi grew up here, so he should know.

  Erin led them through the streets to a small, quaint looking tavern. The Hearth and Hammer.

  The moment Otter stepped inside, he was swallowed by warmth, sound, and the thick, comforting scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. The heavy oak doors shut behind them with a muffled thud, sealing them off from the bustling streets of Aurelia.

  Unlike the refined elegance of the city outside, the Hearth & Hammer felt lived-in, worn, and welcoming. The tavern was a patchwork of textures and colors—wooden beams darkened with age, iron lanterns dangling from chains, their enchanted flames flickering in hues of soft orange and gold. A massive stone hearth dominated one wall, a roaring fire crackling within, its embers casting dancing shadows across the room. Above the mantel hung a colossal greatsword, its edges dulled by time, its hilt wrapped in weathered leather. Etched into the blade were the words:

  "For Those Who Fight, For Those Who Fall."

  The tavern was packed, yet it didn’t feel crowded. Adventurers, guild members, and other Academy students on liberty filled the space, their conversations blending into a low, steady hum. The clinking of tankards, the occasional burst of laughter, the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor—it all layered together into something rich and full, like the notes of a song.

  Near the bar, a minstrel strummed a lute with silver strings, his voice weaving a soft melody through the air. It was an old tune, something about lost love and distant shores, the kind of song that made even the rowdiest patrons pause for a moment, eyes unfocused as they remembered something long gone.

  The group claimed a round wooden table near the back, the worn surface covered in faint carvings—initials, tally marks, small sigils left behind by past patrons. Someone had even etched a crude drawing of what looked like a furious chicken wielding a dagger.

  A barmaid with a sharp grin and quicker hands arrived almost instantly, setting down wooden mugs of cider before they could even order.

  “Courtesy of the house for Academy folk,” she said with a wink. “If you’re looking to add a little extra bite to that cider, just say the word.”

  Levi leaned forward, intrigued. “What kind of bite we talking?”

  The barmaid smirked. “That depends. You the type that likes to feel your face in the morning?”

  Liora snorted. “He isn’t.”

  Erin shot Levi a warning look, and he slumped back in his chair, defeated. “Fine, fine. No extra bite.”

  Milo raised his mug. “To Otter,” he said quietly.

  “To Otter!” the others echoed, lifting their drinks in a toast.

  Otter felt the warmth spread in his chest before he even took a sip. He looked around at his friends, at their easy smiles and genuine laughter, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like an outsider.

  For once, he wasn’t a Level 0 struggling to keep up.

  He was just Otter.

  And he belonged.

  The food arrived—steaming plates of roasted pheasant, thick slices of buttered bread, and bowls of root vegetables soaked in rich broth. Conversation flowed freely between bites, shifting from stories about disastrous training sessions to Milo’s latest ridiculous invention (which, according to him, only mostly exploded).

  Otter was just about to steal a piece of bread from Levi’s plate when the atmosphere shifted.

  A sudden hush rolled through the tavern—not absolute silence, but a noticeable dip in sound. A moment where laughter faltered, conversations paused, and even the minstrel’s fingers stilled against the strings of his lute.

  Someone new had entered the Hearth & Hammer.

  Otter glanced toward the door, and that was when he saw the newcomer.

  A tall man stood just inside the entrance, a heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. His boots were caked with mud, his armor dented and worn, but it was his eyes that sent a chill down Otter’s spine—sharp, assessing, the kind that missed nothing.

  The man’s gaze swept the room like a cougar on a ledge, scanning the forest below for prey.

  And then he saw Otter.

  The man’s expression darkened with recognition.

  He stepped forward, pushing through the crowd with purpose.

  The warmth in Otter’s chest evaporated.

  Something was very, very wrong.