The nightmare always begins the same way.

The air is damp. A thick mist hangs in the air above the water, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me. Light shines from an unseen source. I aimlessly walk atop the water, the surface as sturdy as solid ground, unsure of where I’m walking. The cold digs into my bare form, causing me to cradle myself to retain any warmth that I can.

I wander for a time. Unsure of where I am or how I got here. Time itself is a subjective illusion as the barren place I find myself in shows no passage of time. So, I wander, as I have done so many times already.

After a period of time the mist parts and I can make out the silhouette of a figure off in the distance. They are small, hunched over, looking down at something. With the mists before me, I can’t make out any further detail on them.

I call out to them, as I always have done. Then, as always, the figure turns and walks away. I race after them, calling out for them to stay where they are. They never do.

So, I chase the figure deeper into the mist. Despite how far I run, and how long it goes on for, I never grow tired.

Eventually, I see the figure again, and I rush over. Heedlessly running even deeper into the obscuring fog.

But it all changes in an instant.

The fog vanishes, the light dims, and the world itself seems to shift. I lose my footing and feel as if I am in some warped free fall.

Then there are voices. Unintelligible, yet loud and demanding. I say nothing, or if I did say anything it was drowned out by the noise around me. They keep getting louder and more rapid. A cold pain flashes to life in the back of my head. I hear gurgling laughter as I squirm and froth in anguish. A bruning sensation across my bare form.

A bright light pierces my vision. A eldritch screech.

My eyes shoot open. Heavy breathing. Heart racing, beating so hard it felt like it was about to burst from my chest.

‘Another nightmare?’ I swore to myself as I sat up and took stock of myself.

It was early morning. The first rays of sunlight dawning into my room. My sheets were drenched in sweat, just as my small clothes were seemingly drenched in other fluids. I shivered as the cold air splashed into my overheated body.

‘It’s getting worse,’ I solemnly noted.

I’ve been having recurring nightmares for over a year now; they started just around the time I started Dath’Remar. Initially, I thought it was just nerves anyone gets from starting a new school, or academy in this case. New surroundings, new people, very uncomfortable environment, made sense at the time. As did my initial belief that this would go away on its own when I got used to the new situation.

By now, with how recurring it has been, I’m pretty sure there is more to this than just ‘nervousness’. While I don’t exactly remember the nightmares in any real detail, despite how many times I’ve suffered it, I just know it’s the same one over and over again. Call it a gut feeling.

Nothing works with trying to curtail it. Potions. Charms. Nothing works. I can drink something that puts me in a dreamless sleep, and I’ll still wake up shivering come morning. Not to say that I suffer it every night, most nights I sleep nice and sound, just that it happens often enough for me to think something weird is going on.

My running theory for now is that this recurring nightmare is some subconscious thing where my mind is trying to process the whole “second life in a new body” thing. Question is, why didn’t I have nightmares from the beginning once I realized what had happened to me? Maybe because the ‘changes’ are only really starting to come into focus now; and I don’t mean the gender thing.

Out of my bed, I headed to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. As droplets ran down my face, tracing and curling around my facial features. I started looking at my own reflection. Undeniable proof of my own inhumanity.

Yes, almost twelve years on and I’ve only just bung to just realize I’m no longer human. How smart of me!

Joking aside, my realization arose from the least likely source. A physical feature, but not one I should cause such a nightmarish reaction from my mind. It wasn’t my pointy ears. Nor my glowing blue eyes. Hell, it wasn't even the fact that I was a girl or that I could cast magic with a flick of my wrist!

No. It was my eyebrows.

By human standards, they are far too long and extending further then a brow should; by now my brows are about the length of my pinky finger off my head.

But by high elven standards, as Mom assured me after seeing me fuss about them one time, they are just right for someone my age.

Objectively, this should be the least worrying part of my new physiology. The fact that I’m potentially going to live centuries, or that if the Sunwell is destroyed in a near future I have the very real possibility of turning into a living equivalent of a raisin without an apple supply of mana don’t seem to bother me as much for whatever reason. Of course, the raisin part assumes that I don't lose my mind from whatever innate mana addiction I probably have but don’t really recognize yet.

But like I said, its none of that stuff. It’s the fucking eyebrows.

Sighing to myself, I used a towel to dry my face.

A nock rapped on the bathroom door.

“Hurry up sweetie!” It was Mom. “You need to eat something before heading off!”

“Okay,” I responded, slightly grimacing.

Ah yes. School. That other thing on my plate.

When I first heard about a “magic school” in this new life, I admit that the first thing I thought of was Harry Potter’s Hogwarts. A magical place, with magical people, teaching magical things. A place where the fantastical was mundane.

I remember when the acceptance letter came in mail I was over the moon! Books, uniforms, a training wand. It was almost too good to be true. Didn’t even sleep that night. I was just so excited to learn something like magic. I couldn't wait for it to start!

However, a year on, and now the ‘honeymoon’ period has worn off I realized something. I was so focused on the “magic” part that I ignored the second, more crucial part: the “school” in magic school.

Now I “like” school as much as the next person. Some subjects more than others, but I consider myself quite the educated individual. Add in my knowledge from my first life, and I assumed that anything the Academy could throw at me I could easily finish with my “prodigal” intelligence.

Oh, how naïve I was.

--
--

“Careful Miss. Dawnguard! Concentrate!”

“I am sir!”

At first, I didn't know what to think when I heard that my Fire magic teacher wasn't actually a fire mage but a frost mage. Seemed counterproductive to me. Why have a teacher who is teaching the literal opposite of their chosen field?

Kind of obvious in hindsight.

He wasn't a fire mage instructor. He was a frost mage who was teaching students the basics of fire magic. The basics all mages must learn at some point. If, or more likely when, something goes out of control he can put it out.

This class, Basics of Casting, was a hybrid indoor/outdoor class. Indoors, it was like any other class room at this place; gaudy, immaculate, and filled with way too many valuables. This is where the theoretical part of the class takes place.

Outside is where the real class begins. We have our own little area set up for ‘practice’. The immediate area is warded so spells would not pass outside the area. It was also bereft of foliage of any kind; no trees, bushes, grass, etcetera to set fire to by accident. Instead, the area was made up predominantly of smooth red stones. The layout makes sense to me. Kids learning to bed the very fabric of reality to their wills will, inevitably, lead to something going wrong at least once. Don't want to burn or wreck all that fancy stuff inside now do we?

Currently, I was trying, and failing, to keep a ring of fire levitating around me. It was a thin icicle of yellow flames; the embers dancing just below my elbows. The sensation of keeping it up wasn't any different from what I was used to with arcane magic. It's oily, it’s slippery, and you need to keep an eye on it at all times.

So why was I struggling?

I jerked in place as the fire licked a little too close to my elbow for comfort. That miniscule distraction was all that was needed to have the flames destabilize and whip about. The whipping flames only made me more nervous I would burn myself, causing me to lose even more control. And so on.

Just as my flames were about to slip out of my control, I felt a stream of foreign mana inject itself into my flames. The fire immediately calmed before vanishing.

The professor sighed, “why don’t you rest for the rest of class Miss. Dawnguard.”

I nodded, “yes sir…”, walking off to the side, I noticed that everyone else had moved onto the final step of the practice.

I was still struggling at the starting line.

As I watched the students complete the last part, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see Elsia, a small book in hand that I recognized to be one of our reading assignments. She had been excused from doing the exercise on account of her being an already prodigal fire mage. So, she spent her time across the way, treating the class more as an additional study hall for the duration of our work on basic fire magic.

She just stood there for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to say. Eyes glance between me and the other kids. “You burned yourself before.”

“What,” I was caught off guard by the statement.

“I was asking if you-”

“No I heard you. Just came out of nowhere is all” I clarified. “But you’re right though, I did burn myself. Was practicing a fireball, didn't shield my hand,” I wiggled the offending limp.

She mulled over what I told her. “You keep flinching when the flames get too close to you. You’re worried that the flames are going to burn you, that you start to pull too much attention away from maintaining the mana flow and worry about being burned. It only makes sense that you were burned at some point and are afraid of it happening again.”

“Shouldn't I be afraid of getting burned?” I knew I was sounding a bit defensive, but I was just frustrated at it all.

Eslia didn't seem to take offense, “you do remember that our robes are enchanted to resist most basic spells, including open flames, correct?”

I didn't say anything, merely nodding; ashamed that I had been forgetting.

“You should always be concerned about getting burned,” she continued, “but you need to be aware enough that the robes are enchanted to never let you get burned.”

“But,” I searched for the right words. “No one else is having any issues,” I gestured to the other students. The flames were whipping around them. Bubbling about. Circling. None of them seemed to have any fear about them.

“That's because they don't realize how dangerous fire is.”

I shot Elsia a look, “they don’t?”

“Correct,” she nodded pointing to them. “See how even when the flames touch their robes, they don’t show a hint of fear?”

“Yeah,” Now that she mentioned it. They didn't seem all that concerned about the fire touching their robes, or even getting close to their faces.

“That means they don't understand what fire can do to them.”

What? “But you were just saying-”

“That the robes are enchanted, yes. But their attitude with fire shows how they don't really understand how badly fire can hurt.” Looking back to me, she pulled the collar of her robe done, exposing her collar bone. “My first burn happened right here; embers jumped out of my fire and seared through my clothing.”

“First- Wait, you don’t wear fireproof stuff when training?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Of course. But I was playing around in my bedroom at the time. And I was six. It was my first time trying the spell unsupervised. Luckily nothing caught fire that time.”

Oh boy. “That time?”

She gave me a sheepish smile. She pulled the sleeve of her robe up, showing me her bare arm, “second time happened when I was eight. I put too much heat into a fire spell that blew a gust of hot air at me. Raised my arms up to cover my face. The air blew my sleeve up enough for the fire to burn my whole arm.”

Before I could respond, she tapped her bare knuckles.

“My most recent burn was here. Shielded my hand properly, but the flames licked between my fingers. Everything healed alright, but my hand twitched for the rest of the day.”

“You need to stop playing around with fire,” I mumbled.

She looked me in the eye, “each mistake I make, each burn I get, makes me even more aware of what to do and, more importantly, what not to do. How far can I push myself, and where do I need to draw a line.”

I didn't know what to say. What does someone say to that?

“I know everyone learns differently,” she began. “What works for me might not work for you.”

“But…” I led her on.

“But,” she continued, “just be aware of your situation: you're wearing a fireproof robe, you're close to a frost mage, and no matter what burn you might receive the Academy’s healers can fix nearly any reasonable injury you might sustain here.”

I get what she’s trying to do. A good old pep talk. “You can do it!” “I believe in you!” “Don’t give up!” Objectively speaking she’s right. The Academy is probably the safest place to learn fire magic. That being said; saying if you get burned, don't worry, there are healers on standby is not really all that reassuring to me.

My expression must have been as clear as day, since she gave me another sheepish smile, “I’m...I’m not very good at this am I?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” I ignored the implication of the question.

“Is it really?” she questioned.

Before I could answer her, I heard the professor call us over, “Dawnguard! Emberbirth! We’re going back in!”

“Yes sir!” I called back. I turned back to Elsia, giving her a quick hug “But thanks. I mean it. I can work through this. But it’ll just take me some time.”

She blinked like an owl from my short embrace, “I could-” she cleared her throat. “I mean, I could show you a few tricks I learned to help you get comfortable around fire.”

Actually, that probably would be a really good thing. Prodigal pyromancer helping out middling fire starter.

I beamed a smile at her, “sure!”

Thinking back, it was probably a good thing the professor called the class back in; it looked like the heat of the summer day was starting to get to Elsia. Her face was getting a little red. Today did seem a bit warm to be honest; even I was starting to feel the heat myself. Though, it's probably wrong of me to poke fun at the fire mage who is uncomfortable under the hot sun. Being proficient at fire magic has nothing to do with tolerance for heat, just ability to use fire.

I hope she drinks some cool water when we get back in.

---

Following 'Basics of Casting' was study hall. I was secluded in a small alcove of the elaborate library, sitting in a comfy sofa chair along a bright red wooden desk with parchment and writing utensils laid out. What I groaned into my readings.

Yes, readings. Plural. Each professor assigned readings that needed to be done within a certain amount of time. Nothing unusual for anyone that goes to school. The catch is the reading material itself.

Twenty pages of “Mystical Analytics for Beginners”. An incredibly dry text detailing the basics of mana regulation, sealing, and challenging from a theoretical perspective.

Ten pages from “Madam Teri’s Grimoire: Volume 1”. This one is basically an old Lady complaining about the youth and their lack of drive for one hundred and twenty pages. The current chapter is on how lazy they are.

Six pages from “Alchemy: A Primer”. A somewhat interesting book about alchemy.

And finally, another ten pages from “The Meditations of Grand Magister Orak”. From what I read so far, this guy is basically high elf Marcus Aurelius'; a philosopher ruler of sorts who wrote a book on how to be a ruler.

With exception to “The Meditations”, each was dry to the bone. Getting through them was a slough. Honestly, if it was just the books, I would be fine. I’ve been getting by so far by just skimming some of the historical stuff and filling in the blanks based on what I hear other people say.

The problem is the writing assignments that come along with the readings.

Now, I was used to having a lot of reading and writing from my first life. I’d like to think I was really good at it. One case I remember quite well, for the worst reasons, was working on a twenty four page essay on the Flensburg Government for my graduate degree in Political Science. A paper meant to be worked on over the course of two months was squished into a period of two weeks. I asked my professor at the time why she pushed it up so much. The answer was, essentially, because “fuck you”.

Ughh. Just remembering that makes my fingers hurt.

Now though? Now I must write a short summary of what was read for each reading. Not that big a deal objectively speaking. Two, maybe three, paragraphs in length and I’m good. Not even a whole page. Maybe three quarters at most.

So what was my problem?

Well...

“That’s wrong,” Coldwater snapped at me, snatching my paper from me and began to scribble corrections on it.

Ah yes, Venara Coldwater. My ‘study partner’. I feel the word 'acquaintance' is a bit too distant to refer to our relationship. But I certainly wouldn't call her a friend. She's abrasive and prickly at the best of times. Carries herself as if every person she passes should thank her for the honor of being in her presence for even a moment. A staunch classist if her comments on the various staff is anything to go by. And, to top it all off, she is one of the most proud and spiteful people I have ever met.

On the first day of classes, a boy tripped her along the walkways outside; right in front of the main gate. I’m not sure if it was intentional or not because I didn't see it, but it doesn't really matter in hindsight. Her response to him? Yell at him? Threatened to tattle on him? Of course not!

Her response was to blast him with a stream of conjured water and snap freeze it, so he was stuck on the ground. Such a ‘measured’ response. And of course, nothing happened to her because of it.

How do I know that last bit? Because she told me about when she sat down next to me the next day.

Yes. The girl who is so aggressive that she thinks freezing a kid who may or may not have tripped her is a proportional response, decided to sit next to me in every class we have together. Me. The kid who beat her in an actual fight.

The only warning I had the first day was her backpack slamming down next to me. She had this scowl on her face as she took the desk next to mine. I genuinely thought she was going to cause a scene. Maybe snap at me with a “you shouldn’t be here” type of thing. Or maybe a “know your place” speech. Seemed to fit with her whole cliché alpha bitch thing she had going on.

But, out of left field, she just starts talking. ‘Talking’. It was more like she was venting than anything else to be honest. Since that day, she’s done her best to stick to me like glue. Every class we have, she darts over to where I am sitting. Every lunch hour, she zeroes in wherever I am.

But for me, now in study hall?

Across from me, I heard her mutter to herself. Scribbling fiercely on my paper, occasionally shooting me a look with a raised eyebrow before looking back down. All the while muttering to herself. When she was satisfied with her word, she slid it back to me, “Orak was the third Grand Magister, not the thirtieth.”

Grumbling, I looked at her correction, my eyes rolling at her cutesy writing style, “that's what I wrote”.

“Really?” Coldwater smiled, leaning across the desk, her hands supporting her head, “a child has cleaner writing than you.”

It's not my fault elves are stuck in some medieval stasis and have never invented a pencil in their thousands of years of civilization!

I hate quills! They’re brittle; I go through about three or four a day. Ink gets everywhere. Every time I scribble in a certain way, there's the chance of me ripping the parchment. And the way I had to hold it made my handwriting look like a child just learning how to write for the first time.

For a so called ‘advanced’ society, they seemingly have no concept of a fucking pen. Just give me a pencil for God’s sake!

“Look I have a hard time writing okay,” I countered.

All she did was shake her head and give an exaggerated sigh, “standards here have obviously slipped in recent years if something like this was considered acceptable.”

I frowned, “you know you come off as arrogant right?”

She huffed and shrugged her arms, “Is it wrong for me to be proud of my own intelligence?”

I groaned in frustration. It seems like she doesn't even like me. So why was she constantly following me around if that is the case! Was this some kind of unspoken nobility thing? I defeat her so she has to put up with me. Hell, I’ve seen her utterly ignore the very existence of some people for far less sass then I give her! Like not using her name with enough respect. Honestly, what the hell does that even mean?

If she dislikes me, then I ask again, why does she follow me around?

Then again, I’ve found that she loves to needle Elsia with tons of petty little insults and jabs when she sits down with us. Really petty stuff: “My home is bigger than your home”. “Your clothes are out of season”. “My scores are higher than yours on [insert relevant exam], what an embarrassing display for your family”. Credit where its due, Elsia gives as good as she gets, pointing out all of Verana’s failings in kind, and seemingly not taking anything Coldwater says overly personal; or even caring what Verana is saying.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t bullying, or at least Verana isn’t trying to bully her. They do choose to sit next to one another almost every day at lunch. And they do have more constructive conversations that don’t involve berating and insulting each other. So, there’s that at least.

Still beyond frustrating.

“You're one to talk, Venara,” I said softly.

Coldwater cocked her head and frowned; eyes wide as an owl's. “What was that?”

I coyly hummed, “what was what?”

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

“Oh that,” I looked up, “I was just practicing my Common. I’m very proud of my skill in it.”

Her expression soured

Yes, Verena Coldwater, the self-proclaimed greatest mage of our generation, whose knowledge of the arcane is “second to none”, is horrible at foreign language. She could barely speak Common, let alone write in it! And when the professor did force her to speak, it was broken, harsh, with sounds so overemphasized that her speech had all the melody of nails being dragged on a chalkboard to me.

Maybe I was being a bit harsh. Technically speaking, I am a ‘native’ Common speaker; since Common is literally the same as English. Despite immersing myself in both reading and writing Thalessian for the past years, I could still speak and write in perfect English. Got applauded for it too! Our foreign language professor says I have the best grasp of Common that he has seen in over five hundred years.

Actually, it's ironic. In my first life, I was terrible at other languages. Only knew English. Now, I’m a language ‘prodigy’.

She took my jab with all the grace I expect of her.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that it's not my fault that humans have such a stupid language! They sound like trolls with all the grunting and moaning! Don't even get me started on the writing!” Oh Coldwater, I think you’ve already started. Everyone in the local area is now shooting glances at her. ”I can barely read that birdscribble they call the written word! It looks like they just spill ink onto a page and smear it about with their fingers and claim-”

She jumped a bit as a librarian shushed her quite loudly. Coldwater sunk into her seat; a flash of embarrassment clear on her face as she became all too aware of how many eyes were now on her.

We sat for a minute in silence. I returned to my writings.

“Honestly,” she started up again, looking around to see if she was still being watched. Thankfully minding her tone this time, “it's almost as bad as your handwriting.”

I won’t tell her that I take that as a compliment.
--
--

“You have all made considerable progress these past six months,” the elderly looking man told us from his podium. This was a break from our regular schedule. Usually, we had Enchanting class after lunch but instead of Professor Lightlens, this older guy came in; one Lector Naris. Given the opulence of his robes, and how much jewelry he was wearing, it was obvious he was one of the ‘big wigs’ of the Academy.

“But now that you are acclimated to the Academy, it is time for you to ‘spread your wings’,” he chuckled to himself at a joke only he knew. “While the Academy can teach you much, some things are better taught outside our walls.” From his podium, he picked up a packet of papers. He jostled the papers before us, “one month ago, the Academy sent out word that we were looking for upstanding individuals of proper station who were willing to take our new students on as apprentices for the immediate future.”

Oh, that.

Firebrook told me about this. This was basically an internship program in the simplest terms. Essentially, the Academy looks around for people to take on a student part time. It gives kids a bit of an outside experience. It lets them see how the world ‘actually’ works. Some hands on, real world, applications of intelligence and magic. It can even help you set up personal connections to people for use in the future. A foot in the door, so to say, for future career options.

Firebrook mentioned he got the memo about this and put his name forward to be my mentor. He also noted that as a relative unknown, he’d probably not have any issue taking me on as his apprentice.

“And so they have responded,” the Lector continued. “After providing some amount of information on each of you, you have each been chosen by name by at least one, or more, individuals. Out of these numbers, have chosen the individual we believe is best suited for the role of mentorship. Barring any unfortunate situations,” he let the words hang in the air, “you will be apprenticed under them for the duration of your time at the Academy.”

An energy of excitement filled the room.

“This does not mean you may slack on your lessons and homework,” he quickly added. “You must learn to balance what your mentor wishes and what the Academy expects of you. Failure to do so can potentially impact your future. Now then,” he pulled a single sheet out of order and shuffled it around. Then straightened out the papers against his lectern, “when I call your name, you will come up and I will hand you all the information you will need for your first meeting with your mentor. Which will happen today, when this class ends.”

That got some whispers going on.

Ignoring them, he ran off the names of my class. One by one, the students went up, he had a short word with them, handed them the paper, and they went back to their seat.

I honestly couldn't tell if he was going in alphabetic order or not. Because the names went down as, first Allbright, then Brightstone, then Coldwater, then Emberbirth, then the Greatstar twins. If he was going alphabetically, then he completely skipped me. By the time he reached Starlight, everyone but me had gone up.

This was weird.

One paper left, he looked up to the class, “if you have received your instructions already, you are free to go. Dawnguard,” he addressed me directly, waving me over, “a moment.”

I gave Elsia a look, she nodded and proceeded out with the others. Coldwater lingered a bit, her eyes looking between the Lector and myself, before leaving as well.

Alone, I approached the podium.

“Is something wrong sir,” I asked.

The Lector pinched the ridge of his nose, “not from anything you have done, I can assure you.” He pulled up the last paper he had, “I suppose you have no idea who this is?”

“It's probably not who I’m thinking it is,” I sheepishly responded.

He sighed, “unless you’re thinking of someone with ties to the royal family, then no.”

The Royal Family?

“Ah, I can tell by that expression that you are as lost as we are,” Naris began. “The day we released the basic information of yourself and your fellow classmates for mentorship, a letter arrived in the post box. Within the hour to be precise, after we released the information. And said envelop the letter came in was stamped with the royal seal.”

He waited for me to digest just how big of a thing this is before continuing on. Someone, or someone's, had a particular interest in me.

“In the letter, we were told, in no uncertain terms, that this woman,” he tapped the paper, “was to be your mentor.”

“Who sent it?” I was genuinely confused. Why would anyone even pay attention to me, let alone know about me?

“While I not allowed to say; simply know that it was someone who cannot legally be denied under any circumstance within the kingdom,” he told me grimly.

Wait. Cannot legally be denied? In an Absolute Magocratic Monarchy, only one person has that amount of power. But that doesn’t make any sense. Since that would mean that sender was the-

“I kept you behind to see if you had any indication about all of this,” Narsis went on. “But your confusion only raises further questions. I have no idea how you have attracted such attention Dawnguard but be careful. Having attention is not always a good thing. Remember this one thing if nothing over the course of your studies. It may seem trivial, but it is by far the most important thing you may ever learn here.”

I grimaced at the meaning, “I understand.”

He handed me the paper, folded so I could see what was written on it. Then, he ushered me out.

Outside, I saw both Elsia and, surprisingly, Coldwater waiting down the hall. They looked like they were ignoring the other but perked up then they saw me.

As I walked to them, I unfolded the paper and scanned it up and down. All that I saw as a single address, somewhere just outside the city limits, and a single name:

Siristra Everflight.