Adapting to school life proved more challenging than Rowan had initially thought. Although it was not as dangerous as his life back in Taureen had been, it presented its own unique set of challenges. Chief among them was how to fit in.

Even now, a week and a half since he had arrived at the academy dormitories, Rowan felt like an outsider among the other members of House Draigwyn, all of which had arrived by now. Situated in a tower overlooking the river that flowed past Faebrook, it was actually a very nice place to live; however, Rowan simply did not fit in.

Ironically, it was not his background as a thief and former scum of the streets that made him an outcast. In fact, Rowan had his doubts that anyone in the dormitory was even aware of his past. No, the reason he was left out was his culture. Everyone in House Draigwyn, except him, was from Tirsiog. Pronounced tear-she-owed, the small kingdom to the west of the Valendian Empire had formed in the aftermath of some war a century prior, and had a culture distinct from that of both the empire to their east and the northern states which they had broken off from.

References to popular figures and places, expressions and idioms unique to Tirsiog, experiences that could only be had on the west coast of Medanas, even the accent with which they talked, all were alien to Rowan, whose upbringing in the streets and slums of Taureen had been radically different from the world these rich brats inhabited.

Sure, they weren’t all rich, and they probably weren’t even all brats either, but to Rowan, it did not matter. They were Tirsians, and he was not, so he was isolated. Early on, he had considered requesting a transfer to House Turul, the house that governed the Vlendian Empire where Taureen was located, but he had dismissed the idea.

Although his accent would fit in better with the residents of the Empire in which he had been raised, it was likely that his mannerisms and actions would actually stand out more in House Turul than they did here.

Despite being well-spoken for one who had grown up on the streets, Rowan was painfully aware that that was only in comparison to other members of the lower class. To the members of the Empire’s upper crust, it would be obvious he was lowborn. At least here he could pretend that he was simply an uneducated foreigner, and not have his past revealed immediately as it likely would were he to join House Turul.

To be fair to the residents of House Draigwyn, it was not for malicious reasons that Rowan found himself alone as he sat curled up in a secluded chair in the Tirsiog common area. As a small kingdom, many of the nobles and elites of Tirsiog knew each other, having run in the same circles from a young age. Even before arriving at the academy, many were already friends, and cliques had already been formed.

A few of those groups sat here now, clustered in circles around the tables, while some of the older students had commandeered the couches around the fireplace, which pulsed with a dull green flame that gave off little heat. The room was still warm from the rays of sunlight that shone through the nearby windows, the northern sun still barely visible even at this late hour. Idle chatter filled the room, older students catching up with those they had not seen over the summer while younger students fraternized with their friends, all happy to have made it into the prestigious Faebrook.

Sipping softly from a mug filled with hot tea, Rowan glanced narrowly around the room, taking in the faces of his fellow housemates. It was not as if they treated him badly; honestly, most of them barely interacted with him at all. It was just that they already had friends, and thus had no need for his companionship, at least not at this moment. Perhaps that would change in the upcoming months, but for now, he was alone.

Ironically, he was not alone in his solitude; there was one other person who kept herself isolated from the other members of the house. Unfortunately, that member was Morgana, and his peace offering upon the bench in Northall had done little to soften her stance towards him.

Fortunately, it seemed that he was not the only one that Morgana kept at an arm’s length; the fae girl had no friends in House Draigwyn, and she did not seem interested in making any either. Her time was spent either reading books, or wandering the grounds; though where she went, Rowan did not know.

Either way, of the twenty or so new members of House Draigwyn, only he and Morgana were isolated, and she at least seemed to prefer it that way. Had Rowan not been able to leave the tower in order to meet with Dugan, who was more than happy to spend time with him, then he would have been totally alone. Not that that was new or anything, but living with Tethis and Darm had given him a fresh appreciation for the company of others, and he was loath to give that up after so many years of doing without.

Reclining deeper into the chair, Rowan practiced the breathing exercises Darm had taught him, his mug still clenched firmly in his hands. He had diligently continued the training menu given to him by Tethis and Darm, leaving the tower in the mornings to practice before breakfast, which helped to build up a steady appetite, something the servers in the cafeteria had taken note of, always happy to dole out an extra large portion when he made his way down for food.

His afternoons were spent reading his way through a pile of books that Kanna had recommended, mostly on general topics such as history, geography, and arithmetic, but with a few more interesting titles such as Dungeons: A Beginner’s Guide, and The Makings of a Mage, that he had not yet reached.

In the evening, he usually departed the tower for a second set of exercises, eschewing the academy’s training facilities in order to train in solitude, before returning to the tower to bathe and study a little more before bed.

His thoughts dwelling upon this last thought, Rowan reached up to touch his hair, still damp from the shower. Having already finished his training for the day, he was simply relaxing as he waited for bedtime. The book he was currently reading was fairly boring, and had thus been abandoned fairly early in the night, lying on its side between him and the chair arm.

The semester began tomorrow, and Rowan was equal parts excited and apprehensive. Although he had done his best to prepare, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that his month and a half of preparations would do very little to allow him to catch up with those who had trained their entire lives, whether that be in combat, magic, or studies. No, he was going to be trounced, and there was no way around it.

With a groan, Rowan abandoned the breathing exercise that he had been attempting, too nervous to focus on the movements Darm had taught him. For the past few days, his thoughts had trended increasingly pessimistic as opening day had approached, and now that it was finally here, he was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack.

What if they find out I’m a thief? Will they kick me out? Kanna was fine with it, but will others? Am I going to die on the combat grounds? Morgana beat me with no effort at all… What if I actually have no skill at anything and they decide to expel me?

It was with difficulty that Rowan calmed himself down, the threat of others seeing him in a vulnerable position enough to cause years of training to kick in and lift him out of the chair. Grabbing his book, he quickly headed for the stairs, doing his best to appear casual. The night was still young, but staying down here would do him no good, Rowan rationalized. Better to just get some sleep and be rested for classes tomorrow.

Rest did not come easily, however, and it was a very tired Rowan that was jolted awake by the clanging of the academy bells, the apple pie he had been about to devour disappearing like it had never existed, which of course it hadn’t.

Five, six, seven. Rowan counted as the bells tolled a second time. His first class was at eight bells, which meant he had one hour to get washed, get dressed, grab some breakfast, and then find the class grounds. His stomach gurgled at the thought of breakfast, still remembering the delicious apple pie he had been dreaming of.

With the promise of breakfast, Rowan sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as his brain did its best to turn back on. Around him, the other members of the dorm were also waking, two looking quite well rested, while the other two looked just as tired as Rowan felt.

Racing through his morning routine, Rowan showered, dressed, and left the dormitory, hurrying to avoid the line at the cafeteria. He was already running on low sleep; he did not want to spend the first day of classes without food as well.

Fortunately, the line was not too long when Rowan arrived, and five minutes later he found himself digging into a hearty meal of porridge and berries. Thus refreshed, Rowan headed back to the dormitory to grab the things he would need for class, depositing them inside a leather satchel before heading out once more.

Combat was the first class of the day, taught by Egil, the bearded examiner from the admission test. Unlike the other classes, which were all to be held in normal classrooms, the Combat lesson was taught in an arena on the grounds outside the castle where the Test of Skill had been held. Following the end of the entrance exams, the obstacle course had been removed, replaced by a circular dirt arena that was surrounded by stands for spectators.

Here, the first years of House Draigwyn were joined by the students of House Hafgufa, both houses milling about in the grounds of the arena as they waited for class to start.

The way Egil taught was not dissimilar to how Tethis had trained Rowan. The class started off with some stretching followed by exercises: jogging, pushups, crunches, and anything else Egil could think of to torment the poor students.

After they had recovered from this, several of the weaker students having thrown up the breakfast they had consumed less than an hour before, Egil had them grab practice swords from a barrel and sort off into pairs for sparring.

Staring at a Hafgufan boy he recognized from the cafeteria, Rowan offered him a weak smile, which was not returned. Seeing how it was, Rowan nervously tightened his grip on his practice sword, the wooden grip unfamiliar in his hands.

Unfortunately for Rowan, a month’s worth of instruction from a sadistic elf was nowhere near enough for him to compete with students who had been trained from a young age, several of which he suspected had probably held a sword before they had been able to walk.

Even with Tethis’ teachings and the experience he had picked up during his journey north, Rowan soon discovered that there was an enormous difference between a battle to the death and a simple sparring match. Even on the few occasions where he did manage to land a blow that might have been lethal had they been using real weapons, his opponents simply shrugged, before returning the favour tenfold.

And so, under the watchful eyes of Egil, Rowan found himself outmatched by each and every opponent he faced. From the tall, willowy blonde who spent half the match gabbing with her friend next to her while still easily trouncing him, to the halfling whose sword seemed to block every possible strike he sent forth, Rowan was thoroughly defeated by every person he paired up with.

It was with a sense of relief that Rowan heard Egil call an end to the sparring, his body aching from far too many blunt strikes to the torso, arms, and anywhere else his opponents had been able to reach. Returning his sword to the barrel, Rowan joined the rest of the class in some light stretches, before Egil sent them off to the showers with a promise that tomorrow’s training would be even tougher.

After a quick shower to rid himself of the stench of sweat, Rowan and the other Draigwyns headed for their second lesson: History of Medanas. Taught by a reserved, grey-haired, glasses-wearing woman who introduced herself as Professor Dahlren, the class was interesting, or it would have been had Rowan been able to follow along in any capacity. Although he recognized most of the words and places Dahlren mentioned, lecturing on as she wrote on the chalkboard at the front of the class, when put together, the words formed phrases that were indecipherable to the uneducated street rat.

An hour and a half later, Rowan left the classroom feeling dumber than he had when he’d entered it, gloomily adding history to the list of things he would need to study once classes finished for the day. Following a little behind the other Draigwyns who were engaged in eager discussions about the two classes they had just attended, Rowan headed to the cafeteria for lunch.