An hour crawled by. One by one, the students rose and dropped their papers into the tray on the teacher’s immaculate desk — a polished slab of skirk mahogany, imported from Anauriax, a dwarven nation so distant from Calista’s world it might as well be a myth.

She paused in front of it, catching her reflection in the desk’s gleaming surface. A girl stared back at her — face smudged with graphite, hair tangled and frizzy from the constant scratching, pulling, worrying. She looked tired. Small. Wrong.

She slumped back into her creaky wooden chair, the shame of another failed quiz wrapping around her like a damp blanket.

The bell rang — the shrill, familiar sound of daily release. Calista rose slowly, each step heavier than the last. She had started the day full of light, but school had a way of hollowing her out by the end.

Just as she reached the doorway, a voice rang sharp behind her.

“Foraster!”

The name struck her spine like a whip.

She turned quickly, straightening with the reflex of someone used to being watched. “Ma’am?” she replied, eyes weary.

The teacher shoved an envelope at her. “Give this to your parents.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Calista murmured, taking the letter.

She left the classroom and only then let her shoulders drop, the cold air of the hallway feeling almost kind after the stiffness of that room.

She looked down at the envelope and, despite herself, smiled.

Maybe I passed.

A hope, small and flickering, pressed itself into her chest. It was all she had.

Layla stood by the sports team photos, her bookbag hanging lopsided on her back, the straps far too long for her small frame.

“Oh—Calista!” she called, eyes bright. She jogged over, grabbing Calista’s wrist with both hands.

“Come on, you’ll want to see this!”

“Wha—?” Calista stumbled as Layla tugged her down the hallway. “L-Layla, wait!”

Layla skidded to a stop outside a set of double doors and crouched low.

“Shhh!” she hissed, pressing a finger to her lips. Calista blinked, confused and curious.

Gently, Layla nudged one of the doors open. The girls peered inside.

Calista’s eyes widened.

A gymnasium stretched out before them, glowing with warmth. Inside, around two dozen Kraluantian students — older than them, maybe fourteen — stood laughing and forming teams. They wore matching black gym uniforms with white trim, the golden crest of the Empire emblazoned over their hearts and on their shorts.

The heat from the room wrapped around Calista’s face like a blanket. It was a kind of warmth she’d never known in school — soft, welcoming. She took a shaky breath. It smelled faintly of polish and new sneakers.

The students inside picked up long sticks and balls, forming two groups — maybe about to play something. Calista leaned forward, mesmerized.

But then—

“Hey!”

The sharp voice behind them made both girls yelp and fall backward in a tangle.

Standing over them was a Kraluantian girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, her uniform crisp, her silver-blonde ponytail trailing behind her like a banner. Her emerald eyes locked on theirs.

“W-we’re sorry!” Calista and Layla stammered in unison, scrambling to their feet.

“Scram.” The word landed like a slap.

Without hesitation, the girls bolted down the corridor, their footsteps echoing as they ran toward the front entrance — hearts pounding, breaths short, warmth left behind.

The girl let out a sympathetic sigh as she watched them run away.