Stepping into my new digs felt like walking into someone else’s life. The small room in Wisenforth House had that lived-in look, despite being empty. Maybe it was the way the enchanted knickknacks strewn about gave off a faint, homely glow. Or maybe it was the lingering presence of past Fetches who’d called this broom closet home. Either way, it beat living out of a tent.

I flopped onto the bed, which felt like a slab of enchanted concrete. I could never get used to this. Sleep poked at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to pull me under. But my mind was a hamster on a wheel, too wired from the day’s events to shut down.

Talk about whiplash. Now I was in a world where folks threw around terms like "witch" and "warlock" with straight faces. And the craziest part? They expected me to just roll with it.

I dragged myself off the bed and started fiddling with the various baubles and trinkets. One looked like a crystal ball, but sized for a dollhouse. Another was a clay golem, its eyes flickering to life when I touched it. All of it screamed “magic,” something I’d always thought was for kids and con artists.

A heavy sigh escaped me as I surveyed the room again. Spartan would be an upgrade. The only thing with any character was the bedspread, a quilted monstrosity that looked like it was stolen from a grandma's knitting circle. I ran a hand over it, feeling the different textures and wondered how long it would take for this place to feel like mine.

Probably forever. This wasn’t just a change of scenery; it was a whole new reality. One where I was supposed to fit in, contribute, maybe even belong.

Was I ready for all this magical mumbo jumbo? The thought gnawed at me as I trudged down the hall in search of answers.

The halls of Wisenforth were eerily quiet for a dorm. Back in college, you couldn't walk ten feet without running into a drunken rager or someone blasting dubstep. Here, it was all hushed conversations and the occasional rustle of parchment.

I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a cluster of students. They wore a mix of Bothwell uniforms and Wisenforth green and gold pajamas, creating a sort of scruffy elitist vibe. One girl in a bathrobe that screamed “witch in training” cast a quick glare in my direction before going back to whispering with her crew.

"...MacNewthorn House is pushing hard this semester," said a girl with piercings in places I didn't think were pierceable. "If they poach any more Fetches, we're screwed."

"We just need to hold out until the Eclipse," the bathrobe girl replied. "Jessica has a plan."

At the mention of Jessica, my ears perked up. I lingered, pretending to study a bulletin board plastered with notices and flyers. One announced a bake sale, another advertised “Rune Study Sessions.” The most interesting was a crude, hand-drawn map titled "Factions of the Fetchlands," with different territories color-coded like a Risk board.

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The group started to disperse, walking in my direction. Nervous glances ricocheted around the hallway, landing on me then bouncing off like rubber balls. One of the girls muttered something that sounded like "newbie" under her breath.

It was like stumbling into a live-action role-playing game, only these guys were playing for keeps.

The common room was a large, open space with vaulted ceilings and stone walls that looked like they'd been imported from a castle. Various clusters of students lounged on sofas and beanbags, each group absorbed in their own activities. A giant fireplace dominated one wall, its flames dancing with what I guessed was enchanted enthusiasm.

I took a slow lap around the room, eyes grazing over the different tables and their occupants. One table was covered in cards and chips, the players locked in a high-stakes game of poker—or maybe it was wizarding Euchre, who knew? Another had a pile of books so tall it threatened to topple, with two girls studying furiously and making notes in the margins.

But the table that caught my attention was in the center of the room. A dozen different maps and diagrams sprawled across its surface, all glowing with various colors and runic symbols. A group of five students huddled around it, their postures rigid with intensity. They pointed at sections of the maps, murmuring in conspiratorial tones. Words like "alliance" and "takeover" floated up, mingling with the crackle of the fireplace.

I thought about wandering over, maybe asking what the deal was with the map of the Factions. It looked almost identical to the one in the hallway, with territories marked out and little figurines placed strategically. Instead, I headed for the exit.

A few heads turned, giving me the once-over before going back to their war councils.

By the time I got back to my room, the weight of the day had settled into my bones. I half-expected to find an owl with a message from Jessica, like in those fantasy books my sister used to read. Nothing against owls, but I was relieved when my phone buzzed instead.

"Hope you're settling in okay. Let's talk tomorrow. – J"

I set the phone down and eyed the green and silver duffel bag the House issued me. I left most of what I owned back in the normal world, but all the essentials were here: the Wisenforth wardrobe they'd issued me, my trusty multitool, and a stash of protein bars. I always kept the multitool in my pocket; it was the one thing I could rely on. The clothes were a different story. I started to put them away, more out of a sense of duty than anything else.

The dresser was old and sturdy, made of wood that had probably seen a century's worth of magical abuse. I stuffed my clothes into the drawers, then looked out the window. The grounds of Bothwell College stretched out before me, dark and silent except for a few pinpricks of light from the main campus. The distant sound of chanting floated on the breeze, mixing with the earthy scent of ancient trees and older tomes.

This was real. All of it. The magic, the covens, the factions. Even my new title: Chapter Advisor of House Wisenforth. It sounded important, like something you'd put on a resume. Except I didn't have a clue what the job actually entailed, or how long I'd be stuck here.

Excitement and dread did a tango in my stomach. I'd always been good at adapting, at making the best of whatever situation life threw at me. But this? This was a curveball from another dimension.

I closed the drawers, turned away from the window, and eyed the bed. Sleep was no longer a suggestion; it was a mandate.

Tomorrow, I’d start figuring all this out. For now, I just hoped my dreams would stay on the non-magical side.