It was no wonder why St. Florin's Academy was chosen to include witches in this year's intake. The only surprise was that it'd taken this long. Carnelian District was a microcosm of the wider changes in the city. Its traditional stone and timber framed masonry were softly illuminated throughout all hours of the day. Magical ley lines ran from the central fountain and dispersed throughout the district, twisting as unfathomably as any side street. Wherever they went, street lamps were ablaze, gifting the roads and store fronts with a hue of artificial light.

To the side, Mireille spied a group of students in the St. Florin's Academy uniform. They carried metallic rods and staffs of differing colours, but maintained the same overall shape. She didn't need to look far to spot another group hugging similar weaponry.

No, not weaponry. Tools.

It'd been over thirty years since the last oil lamp was used in Berylcross City. This was only one of the changes introduced by the advent of the ley lines, and Carnelian District was hardly the most cosmopolitan area. Yet only now were witches beginning to be accepted into the city.

Mireille thought it was a shame. She'd heard the woeful stories about them. Everyone growing up had. But all she knew was that without them, she would've had to walk to St. Florin's Academy.

Plus she'd never met a bad witch.

Granted, she'd never personally met a witch — but still. There was time for her to build animosity towards them later. And it was only when one of them turned her into a toad. Even then, there was at least a fifty percent chance she deserved it.

For now, Mireille gazed up at her new home.

St. Florin's Academy dominated Carnelian District's skyline on any given day. It looked even bigger from the low, low ground of the main station exit.

“It really is bigger in person, isn't it . . .”

Mireille was thankful it was such a clear day. She recalled what it was like when she ogled it from the train window during the gloom of winter. Only the three central spires seemed to stick out, which in the rain looked like a menacing trident willing the rain to harden into sleet and hail. Sometimes it did. Winter in Berylcross City really was a disagreeable thing. On days like those, St. Florin's Academy looked more suitable for training convicted torturers than knight cadets.

But that was then, and this was now.

It was the beginning of spring. Here, where the sunshine tore through the blossoming canopies of the nearby irylia trees, the only signs of darkness came from the shadows beneath Mireille's eyes.

It wasn't because she had trouble sleeping last night.

And it certainly wasn't because she'd been torn apart on whether or not it was appropriate to bring her cherished collection of limited edition AKELA posters with her to the academy.

No, she'd been calmly and methodologically revising the contents of her textbooks.

All the way until she waved her parents goodbye the very next morning.

“Uuh . . . the sunlight . . . it burns . . .”

Shielding her eyes as best she could, Mireille held up her hand while taking in the white battlements of St. Florin's Academy. The bright, almost glossy sheen covering the walls contrasted with the towers shadowing over them.

Shadowing over her.

For a fleeting second, Mireille felt a shiver run down her spine as she appreciated the full weight of history and expectation that was grimacing down at her. As far as her hazy vision could see, each of the academy windows were a set of imposing eyes challenging her to approach.

And she would.

But first things first. It was time to wake up.

Slap.

No mercy. Both hands clapped her cheeks. Like the idiot she was, her own strength stung her. As long as nobody looked at her cheeks in the next minute, she'd be okay.

“Mmnngh . . . nnnggh!”

And then she yawned.

It was the most indelicate yawn known to the human race, but she believed she could get away with it on this occasion. After all, she'd spent the night studying. And no one could tell her otherwise.

However, not content with merely this level of divulging her poor sleeping habits, she also stretched—

And promptly decked a girl in the face with her travelling bag.

“Mmf?!”

A stunned cry blurted out beside her, mostly out of shock than any real pain. Hopefully.

Mireille instinctively did away with the evidence.

She haphazardly dropped the weapon, which included all her worldly possessions within it. Fortunately, her instincts for common decency immediately followed. She spun around to face her victim, albeit with her eyes tightly closed.

She quickly cupped her hands together in prayer. There was nothing a swift apology couldn't fix.

“My name is Mireille Kloeter. I'm pleased to meet you. You can rely on me for the year ahead.”

That's not what she meant to say!

“. . . . . .”

The silent response was deafening. Her face reddening even worse than when she'd assaulted her own cheeks, Mireille's eyes slowly blinked open to meet her maker.

A dazzling girl with long, wavy blonde hair and sharp eyes stood before her. She wasn't even paying attention to Mireille's fluster, but was instead focused on a petite hand mirror drawn in the seconds it'd taken for Mireille to open her eyes.

She didn't know whether or not to feel relieved.

“Um . . .”

Mireille shifted uncomfortably, still in her prayer position. The blonde girl wore a pristine uniform — blue-grey with white accents, and complete with both a smart tie and a prim skirt.

Another St. Florin's Academy student. And this was Mireille's very first encounter with one.

She internally groaned.

“So . . . I'm really sorry about that. You weren't hurt, were you?”

The blonde girl eyed herself in the mirror. Patently ignoring Mireille's question, she shifted the angle of the surface to scrutinise every inch of her face, including the parts which were frankly impossible to have been hit.

Mireille didn't spot a single blemish on her.

Maybe she didn't hit hard enough.

At long last, the blonde girl pressed her thumb and the mirror clapped shut. She dropped it into her shoulder bag without looking.

“Haaaaaah . . .”

And then, after taking the time to emit a sigh that could reach the ends of the world, she turned to glare at Mireille, whose feelings of apology were rapidly beginning to shrivel up.

Still, Mireille politely smiled.

She smiled even as the girl returned it with a look of disdain.

And she smiled even as that same look eventually broke into a lovely, perfect, comely beam as fraudulent as it was unashamedly obvious.

Such a brash act of disingenuousness.

Mireille could only be impressed.

“I'm fine, thank you,” said the girl, her voice laden with flat courteousness. “In future, please take care not to conduct your morning exercises at the foot of a busy public station.”

“Ahaha, sorry, sorry . . .” replied Mireille, finally breaking free of her stooping posture. “I'll keep that in mind.”

The blonde girl's counterfeit smile looked so entrenched that a pair of tongs couldn't remove it.

“And may I ask which routine you were using that involves weighted bags as instruments?”

“Actually, I was just yawning.”

“Yawning . . .”

“Mm. I didn't sleep a wink . . . ah! But that's because I was studying. I'm trying to cram as much as I can before the term starts, you know? . . . To get a head start . . . I studied a lot last night . . . hehe . . .”

Mireille offered a clumsy giggle, then decided to shut up.

She often decided things in the wrong order.

“I see.”

The blonde girl was motionless. Except for the shape of her lips.

Somehow, her smile had hardened.

That was no mean feat.

“Then allow me to add a further suggestion,” she continued, tearing her eyes from Mireille's pained expression and turning them to the plaza ahead. “Do not casually allow yourself to yawn in public, especially as you wear that uniform. Good day to you.”

She walked off.

With confident but neat strides, she cantered off at a brisk pace.

In the end, at least her words were amicable. And she was right. A new student stretching and yawning before the day — the year — had begun was a tragic sight.

“What a way to make a first impression . . .”

Holding back her sigh, Mireille set her sights on St. Florin's Academy in the near distance.

Its eyes continued daring her to approach.

She held up her head and stepped forwards.