"It's like a YA wizard movie on steroids," I said, trying to keep up with Harper as she strode purposefully through the campus. She’d given me a ten-minute lecture about why pop culture references were the lowest form of wit, but I was determined to sneak one in every now and then.

"Steroids are for mundanes," Harper shot back, but I caught the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was warming up to me.

We rounded a corner, and the view took my breath away. The stone buildings of Bothwell School of Witchcraft stood like ancient sentinels, their surfaces shimmering with a patina of enchantments. Pathways wove through lush, green courtyards, and the air was thick with the smell of herbs and old books. It was like stepping into a fantasy novel, one with an unreasonably large budget for set design.

"Over there is House Boyeswick," Harper said, pointing to a sturdy, stone-wrought hall nestled in a grove. "They’re all about bravery and loyalty. Think of them as the school's protectors."

"Like the good guys?" I asked, unable to resist."More like a pack of Irish wolfhounds," she said. "Fierce, but with big hearts."

I shivered, half from the cool night air, half from the idea that such intense loyalty could be a double-edged sword. Harper noticed and slipped an arm around my waist. It was probably just to share body heat, but my mind started doing cartwheels regardless.

"Don’t worry, you’ll be safe as long as you stay out of their way," she said, leading me down another path. "This way."

We passed through an archway, and the landscape changed. Here, the plants seemed to glow with an inner light, their colors shifting and swirling like an enchanted kaleidoscope. The air hummed with a palpable magic, almost like the distant strumming of an astral guitar.

"And here we have House Tabwen," Harper continued. "They're cunning and charming. Strategic alliances, emotional intelligence, that sort of thing."

The charm in question took the form of an elegant manor surrounded by a grove, adorned in rich purple and gold hues. It exuded a regal air, like the stately home of a court wizard in some medieval tale.

"So, a den of manipulative social climbers?" I ventured.

Harper snorted. "You have a gift for understatement. Come on, there's one more."

We doubled back and made our way toward a hilltop. Harper pointed to a fortress-like structure in the distance, its walls bristling with what looked like enchanted cannon.

"House MacNewthorn," she said. "The subtlety of a whisper and the ambition of a storm. They're masters of creativity and control, always a step ahead in the game of power. Think Machiavelli with a wand."

I let out a low whistle. "And where does House Wisenforth fit into all this?"

Harper slowed her pace, and I wondered if I’d struck a nerve. "We focus on knowledge and wisdom," she said. "We like to think we're the balance between the other houses."

The path leveled out, and we stood before an elegant manor. Its façade was more subdued than the other buildings, but there was an understated grandeur to it, like a retired general wearing a comfy old bathrobe.

"This is us," Harper said, gesturing to the House of Wisenforth. "The Owl's Nest."

I took a deep breath, letting the magic-laden air fill my lungs. Despite the whirlwind tour and Harper's…efficient…style, I felt a strange sense of belonging here. Like I’d found the exact page of the book where my story was supposed to start.

The hum of ancient magic seeped into my bones, making me tingle with excitement—or maybe that was just Harper's hand, now resting casually on my arm.

"I'm supposed to meet the head of the house," I said, reluctantly pulling away from Harper. "Thanks for the tour. And for…everything else."

"Don’t thank me yet," she said, winking.

With that enigmatic—and tantalizing—statement hanging in the air, I walked up the steps to the Wisenforth manor. Harper lingered at the foot of the stairs for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the night.

The front doors of the manor opened with a soft creak, and I was greeted by a wave of warmth and the faint aroma of lavender. The interior was exactly what you'd expect from an institution calling itself "The Emerald Council"—plush green carpets, dark wooden walls lined with bookshelves, and the occasional bronze owl statue.

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The soft glow of the fireplace bathed the Wisenforth common room in warm light as I sank into a plush armchair. The scent of old books and lavender polish filled the air, offering a comforting embrace after the evening's chaotic events. Just as my eyes began to drift shut, a familiar voice pulled me back to the present.

"Mr. King, we meet again," said Professor Wildwood, her red hair glowing like a tangle of warm embers. Seeing her was like slipping into a comfortable pair of enchanted slippers—a welcome respite for my frazzled nerves.

"Professor," I said, standing up. "Thank you, for earlier. Your help meant a lot."

"Come now, no need for thanks," she waved a hand dismissively, her bangles jingling softly. "We’re all part of the same family now."

Family. The word had a nice ring to it, even coming from a group of sorcerers. "You were part of Wisenforth?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

"Was indeed, my dear," Wildwood replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Had many amazing adventures within these walls... and more secrets than you can count." She cackled softly.

From the folds of her robe, she produced a small, fluttering creature—a cross between a hummingbird and a dragon. It sparkled with an ethereal glow, as if dusted with star fragments.

"Meet Luma," she said. "A faerie drake. Quite harmless, unless you're made of pixie dust."

I took Luma gingerly, half expecting her to vanish. Her tiny, jewel-like eyes regarded me with curious intelligence. A warmth spread through me, an overwhelming desire to protect this fragile being.

"She's beautiful," I whispered.

"We have a whole rookery of them in the gardens," Wildwood said proudly. "You're welcome to visit anytime."

Reluctantly, I handed Luma back. "I might just take you up on that."

"Do," she encouraged. Her gaze shifted to the Wyrmling Amulet around my neck. "The amulet suits you. It's a sign of great potential."

Before I could respond, she gave a knowing smile and glided away, leaving me feeling both comforted and intrigued. As her footsteps faded, a cool breeze brushed against my neck.

"And who do we have here?" came a voice as smooth as midnight. I turned to find a woman with raven-black hair and eyes like amethyst jewels. Her robe shimmered as though woven from moonbeams, and an air of mystery enveloped her.

"Tyler King," I said, offering my hand. "I’m new here."

"I know who you are," she replied, her touch cool and lingering. "Seraphina Nocturne. I teach Dark Arts and History."

Her name suited her perfectly. "Pleased to meet you," I managed.

"I trust you'll find history less terrifying than tonight's events," she said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Though some argue history is the more dangerous of the two."

A subtle shiver ran down my spine. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do," she said with a mysterious smile before drifting into the shadows. I watched her go, questions swirling in my mind.

Lost in thought, I almost didn't notice the man with wild hair and goggle marks approaching. His attire was a chaotic mix of leather straps and metal gears—a stark contrast to the serene common room.

"Just don't touch anything," he snapped, arms crossed tightly.

"Professor Gearbound, I presume?" I asked cautiously, remembering seeing his picture on the roster when I toured with Harper.

"Obviously," he huffed. "Curiosity can be valuable, King. Dangerous, but valuable. Remember that."

"Yes, sir," I replied, unsure of what else to say.

He eyed me for a moment longer before nodding curtly and striding away, muttering about kinetic energy. I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.

Deciding fresh air might clear my head, I made my way to the main hall and stepped into the garden. The night sky stretched above, stars twinkling like scattered gemstones. A soft murmur of voices drew my attention to a small gathering nearby—figures in green robes chatting amicably.

"Tyler," a voice called out. Turning, I saw a woman with sandy blonde hair and an athletic build approaching. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of kindness and determination.

"Miss Wisenforth?" I asked, recognizing her from portraits.

"Please, call me Jessica," she smiled, extending her hand. Her grip was firm, exuding confidence. "Welcome to our House. I trust you're finding Bothwell to your liking?"

"It's incredible," I admitted. "Almost overwhelming."

"I understand," she nodded. "Walk with me?"

We strolled along a path lined with luminescent flowers, their glow casting a gentle light. "The role of Fetch is an ancient and honored tradition," Jessica began. "It requires more than obedience—it demands understanding and dedication."

I listened intently as she explained the responsibilities and the significance of the binding. The weight of her words settled over me, but instead of fear, I felt a growing resolve.

"Are you willing to take this on?" she asked, her gaze searching mine.

I took a deep breath. "I am."

Her face softened into a warm smile. "Then, as Head Priestess of House Wisenforth, I hereby designate you a Fetch for our House."

She extended her hand once more, and as I clasped it, a subtle warmth radiated between us. "Welcome to the family, Tyler."

A sense of purpose filled me. Looking around at the enchanted gardens and the people who inhabited this world, I knew I'd made the right choice.