The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over Austramore’s sprawling grounds. The courtyard was alive with the chatter of students enjoying their weekend, but Soya wasn’t interested in joining them. Instead, he carefully slipped past the bustling groups, heading toward the quieter alcove just beyond the main courtyard—a little pocket of peace where most students rarely ventured.

Inkwell, his tiny calico tabby kitten, perched happily on his shoulder, her tail swishing rhythmically as they moved. Soya’s sketchbook was tucked under one arm, his pencils clinking softly in the tin he carried.

Reaching the alcove, Soya exhaled in relief. It was as secluded as he’d hoped, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of students in the courtyard. A bench sat under an old willow tree, its branches forming a natural canopy, and he made his way toward it. Inkwell hopped down and began batting at a stray leaf, her little paws flailing adorably.

“Alright,” Soya muttered to himself, setting his things on the bench. “Let’s see if I can figure out... whatever this is.”

He flipped open his sketchbook to a blank page, his fingers tightening around his pencil. His heart raced a little—he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish. Marilla’s strange questions had stuck with him, though. Why had she seemed so curious about his drawings? Why had she looked at him like she knew something he didn’t?

“Okay, just... draw something simple,” he said, mostly to steady his own nerves.

His pencil touched the page, and he began sketching a tree—a simple, crooked tree with gnarled branches. The strokes were loose, the kind of doodle he could’ve done in his sleep. When he finished, he stared at the drawing, waiting.

Nothing happened.

“Great,” he muttered, leaning back against the bench. “Maybe I’m just going crazy.”

Inkwell meowed from the ground, pawing at his shoe. Soya smiled faintly, reaching down to scratch her head. “What do you think, Inkwell? Am I imagining things?”

The kitten purred in response, entirely unhelpful.

Sighing, Soya turned back to the sketchbook. He stared at the tree, squinting like that might somehow make it come alive. “Okay, maybe... maybe I need to focus more.”

He leaned forward, his hand brushing over the page as he tried to picture the tree in his mind—not just as a drawing, but as something real. He imagined the bark rough beneath his fingers, the leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, the roots stretching deep into the earth.

The pencil marks on the page shimmered faintly.

Soya froze. “Wait, was that—?”

Before he could finish the thought, the drawing moved.

The tree on the page shifted, its branches swaying as though caught in a wind. One of the roots curled upward, brushing against the edge of the paper. Soya’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, both exhilarated and terrified. “That’s new.”

Inkwell, meanwhile, had climbed onto the bench and was now pawing at the moving sketch. The kitten’s tiny claws caught the edge of the page, and with a sharp tug, she tore it clean out of the sketchbook.

“Inkwell!” Soya yelped, scrambling to grab the paper.

But before he could, the drawn tree began to expand, its branches stretching upward as though trying to escape the confines of the paper. The root that had been curling near the edge suddenly shot out, snaking across the bench and tangling around Soya’s wrist.

“Ah! No, no, no!” he shouted, shaking his hand wildly.

Inkwell, clearly thinking this was the best game ever, leapt onto the paper, her little paws swiping at the moving branches. The tree recoiled slightly, but it didn’t stop growing. By now, it had stretched to the size of a small sapling, its roots spilling over the bench and onto the ground.

“This is bad,” Soya muttered, grabbing his pencil like a weapon. “Really bad.”

He quickly tried to scribble over the tree, hoping to erase it, but the ink marks wouldn’t budge. Instead, the tree seemed to shudder, almost as if it was annoyed, and one of its branches swatted his hand away.

“Hey!” Soya snapped, glaring at the sketch. “I drew you—you don’t get to hit me!”

Inkwell, undeterred by the chaos, climbed onto the sapling’s trunk, her tail flicking as she swatted at the leaves. Soya groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Inkwell, get down from there!”

The kitten ignored him, letting out an excited chirp as she batted at a particularly wiggly branch.

“Fine, you win,” Soya grumbled, pulling out his wand. “Let’s see if this works.”

He pointed the wand at the paper tree and muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The tree froze mid-sway, its branches halting their movement. Slowly, it began to shrink, retreating back into the paper until it was once again a simple sketch.

Soya collapsed onto the bench, his heart racing. “Okay. That... was a disaster.”

Inkwell meowed, hopping back onto his lap as if to say, “What’s next?”

Soya stared at the sketchbook, his fingers trembling slightly. He still didn’t understand what had just happened, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t normal magic. Whatever his drawings were doing, it was something entirely different.

And he had no idea how to control it.

“Well,” he muttered, stroking Inkwell’s fur as the kitten purred happily. “At least you had fun.”

The courtyard buzzed with an unusual energy as Soya approached, still shaken from his earlier encounter with his animated drawing. The warm sun bathed the stone pathways, and laughter and cheers echoed off the walls. A small crowd had gathered near the central fountain, their attention focused on a makeshift stage where several students appeared to be dueling.

At the center of it all stood Professor Marilla, her sharp figure commanding the space as she gestured animatedly toward the dueling students. Her robes billowed faintly in the breeze, and her normally reserved demeanor seemed oddly... enthusiastic. She clapped once as one of the students landed a disarming charm, her voice ringing out.

“Well done, Mr. Hawkins! Keep your focus steady next time, and you may just win the next round!”

Soya blinked, momentarily taken aback. A dueling contest? Outside of class? It wasn’t unheard of, but it was definitely strange, especially given how strict Marilla normally was about maintaining structure.

“Oi, Soya!” Davonte’s voice cut through the crowd.

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Soya spotted him near the edge of the fountain, waving him over. Saunak and Draven were with him, along with a few other familiar faces, including Manaya Moon, who was watching the duels with her usual unflappable confidence.

“What’s going on?” Soya asked as he joined them, Inkwell perched lazily on his shoulder.

“Dueling contest,” Davonte replied, grinning. “Apparently, Professor Marilla thought it’d be fun to organize something ‘informal.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. “I mean, who are we to complain? No classes and we get to blow stuff up? Sign me up.”

Soya frowned slightly, glancing toward Marilla. Something about the whole setup felt... off. But before he could dwell on it, Manaya turned to him, her sharp eyes gleaming.

“You should join,” she said, her tone more of a command than a suggestion. “You’re good under pressure, aren’t you?”

“Uh, not really,” Soya said, shifting awkwardly. “I’m not exactly a dueling expert.”

“That’s the point,” Saunak added with a smirk. “You’re supposed to learn. Besides, it’s all in good fun. Unless you’re scared, of course.”

“I’m not scared,” Soya muttered, though the idea of dueling in front of a crowd made his stomach twist.

Draven adjusted his glasses, his tone matter-of-fact. “Participation would provide an opportunity to test your reflexes and spellwork under realistic conditions. You might discover strengths you didn’t know you had.”

“Or get completely embarrassed,” Soya mumbled, earning a laugh from Davonte.

Before he could protest further, Marilla’s voice rang out. “Ah, Mr. Vareen! How wonderful of you to join us.”

Soya froze as her piercing gaze landed on him. The soft smile she gave him was disarming—far more pleasant than her usual sharp, no-nonsense expressions. It sent a small chill down his spine.

“We could use another competitor,” Marilla continued, gesturing for him to step forward. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully.”

The crowd’s attention shifted to him, and Soya felt his face heat up. “Oh, um, I don’t think—”

“Nonsense,” Marilla cut him off, her smile widening ever so slightly. “Everyone starts somewhere. Come along.”

Soya glanced at Davonte, who gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up, and Saunak, who was clearly enjoying his discomfort. Even Inkwell seemed to be giving him an expectant look from her perch on his shoulder.

With a resigned sigh, Soya stepped forward. The crowd parted slightly to let him through, and he found himself standing on the makeshift stage. His heart pounded as Marilla handed him a practice wand—the kind used for training duels that delivered mild shocks instead of actual harm.

“Your opponent will be Mr. Tanis,” Marilla announced, motioning to a lanky fifth-year boy with a cocky grin. “A seasoned duelist, but I’m sure you’ll hold your own.”

Soya’s stomach flipped. Seasoned duelist? He was barely past basic defense spells!

Tanis gave him a mock bow, his grin widening. “Ready to lose, first year?”

Soya swallowed hard, gripping the practice wand tighter. The crowd’s murmurs seemed deafening, and he could feel his palms growing sweaty.

Marilla stepped back, her voice cutting through the noise. “On my count. Three... two... one... duel!”

Tanis moved first, firing a simple knockback jinx. Soya yelped, barely dodging as the spell zipped past his ear. He stumbled, nearly dropping his wand, and the crowd laughed.

“Keep your footing, Mr. Vareen!” Marilla called, her tone oddly encouraging. “You’ll do fine.”

Soya clenched his teeth, his embarrassment fueling a spark of determination. He raised his wand, muttering, “Expelliarmus!”

The spell was clumsy but effective enough to send Tanis’s wand flying a few feet. The older boy recovered quickly, though, summoning his wand back with a flick and launching another spell in quick succession.

“Protego!” Soya managed to cast a shield charm, though it wobbled slightly under the force of Tanis’s spell.

The duel continued, with Soya barely keeping up. He was outmatched in experience, but his quick reflexes and sheer stubbornness helped him hold his ground. The crowd’s laughter shifted to murmurs of surprise as he dodged and countered with surprising agility.

Marilla’s eyes never left him, her expression unreadable. When Soya managed to land a weak but well-aimed stinging hex on Tanis, her lips curled into a faint smile.

“Impressive,” she murmured, almost too softly for anyone to hear.

The duel ended with Tanis narrowly winning, but the applause for Soya was genuine. As he stepped off the stage, his legs trembling, Davonte clapped him on the back.

“Not bad, mate,” Davonte said, grinning. “You actually made him sweat a little.”

Soya managed a weak smile, though his mind was still racing. Marilla’s behavior during the duel stuck with him—the way she’d watched him so intently, her demeanor so unlike her usual self.

As the crowd began to disperse, the energy from the dueling contest still lingered in the air. Soya slumped onto a nearby bench, his heart pounding and his arms feeling like jelly. Inkwell, who had jumped off his shoulder earlier, hopped onto his lap and let out an approving little "mew." He scratched her behind the ears absentmindedly, trying to process what had just happened.

“That was insane!” Davonte exclaimed, practically bouncing as he sat beside Soya. “Mate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a first year hold their own like that. You had Tanis sweating.”

“I don’t think ‘sweating’ is the right word,” Soya muttered, his voice shaky. “He was playing with me half the time.”

“Still,” Saunak chimed in as he approached with a sly grin, “you didn’t look like a complete idiot. That’s a win in my book.”

Soya gave him a tired glare, but before he could respond, a group of students gathered nearby began murmuring.

“Did you see how quick he was with that shield charm?”

“Yeah, and that stinging hex? I don’t even think I could pull that off under pressure.”

“He’s a first year, though, right? That’s insane.”

The quiet compliments sent a flush of heat to Soya’s cheeks. He tried to focus on petting Inkwell, but the attention was hard to ignore.

Draven stepped forward, his expression as calm and composed as ever, though there was a faint glimmer of approval in his eyes. “You showed adaptability under pressure. That’s a rare skill for someone your age.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Soya mumbled, still unsure how to handle the praise.

Manaya Moon joined the group, her sharp eyes appraising him. “You did well,” she said simply, her tone neutral but carrying a weight that made the compliment feel significant. “But don’t let it get to your head. Tanis went easy on you.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” Soya replied, looking down at his lap. “I was just trying not to fall on my face.”

“You didn’t,” Manaya said with a small nod. “And that’s what matters.”

“Not bad for a Muggle-born,” someone muttered nearby. The words were quiet, but they carried enough weight to make Soya’s stomach twist.

Davonte’s grin faltered, his cheerful demeanor shifting in an instant. “Oi, who said that?”

The group turned toward the source, but whoever had spoken had already melted into the crowd. The tension lingered, but Davonte clapped a hand on Soya’s shoulder, his voice firm. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous.”

Soya forced a smile, though his chest felt tight. The reminder of his status as a Muggle-born always seemed to creep in, no matter what he did.

“Anyway,” Saunak said, breaking the awkward silence, “you might’ve lost, but you put on a better show than half the people here. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Yeah, like not being humiliated in front of the whole school,” Davonte added with a laugh.

Soya chuckled weakly, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Marilla’s strange behavior during the duel, the way she’d looked at him—none of it made sense. And now, with everyone talking about his performance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d drawn more attention to himself than he wanted.

“Thanks, guys,” he said finally, standing up and cradling Inkwell in his arms. “I think I need some air.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Davonte called after him. “You did great, mate!”

Soya nodded but didn’t look back as he made his way toward the quieter edges of the courtyard. The murmurs of the other students faded behind him, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the soft purring of Inkwell in his arms.

The group lingered near the dueling platform, the air still charged with energy from the earlier contest. Manaya stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on the direction Soya had disappeared. Saunak leaned against a stone pillar, idly flipping his wand in his hand, while Davonte paced back and forth, his usual grin replaced by a thoughtful frown. Draven sat on a nearby bench, his journal open but untouched.

“That kid’s a mystery,” Saunak said, breaking the silence. “One minute, he’s barely noticeable, and the next, he’s standing toe-to-toe with a fifth year.”

Davonte stopped pacing and nodded. “Yeah, he’s a quiet one, but when he steps up, he really steps up. Didn’t think he had that in him.”

Manaya shifted her weight, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not just his talent,” she said, her tone measured. “It’s the way he moves, the way he thinks. He’s not like most first years. He’s deliberate.”

“Deliberate or just lucky?” Saunak quipped, though there was no malice in his voice.

“Luck doesn’t explain how he reacted during that duel,” Draven interjected, his calm voice cutting through the conversation. “His spellwork is raw, yes, but it’s instinctive. He doesn’t rely on textbook techniques because he hasn’t had the time to learn them. That makes him unpredictable—and dangerous.”

Davonte grinned, his usual energy returning. “Dangerous? Come on, Draven, he’s just a kid.”

“A kid who managed to land a stinging hex on Tanis while simultaneously deflecting a disarming charm,” Draven replied, arching a brow. “That’s not something you see every day, especially from someone with his background.”

Manaya nodded, her expression thoughtful. “He’s Muggle-born. That alone puts him at a disadvantage, not just with magic but with understanding our world. Yet, he adapts. Quickly.”

“It’s gotta be tough,” Davonte said, his grin fading again. “Growing up Muggle, then suddenly getting thrown into all of this. I mean, we’ve all been doing this stuff since we were kids. He’s playing catch-up.”

Saunak smirked. “He’s doing more than catching up. He’s making the rest of us look bad.”

“That’s what’s interesting,” Manaya said, her voice quieter now. “He doesn’t act like he knows how good he is. If anything, he seems... hesitant. Like he doesn’t want the attention.”

Draven closed his journal and set it aside. “It’s not surprising. From what I’ve observed, Soya is highly introverted. He avoids crowds, speaks only when necessary, and seems most comfortable when he’s alone or with a small group.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too,” Davonte said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Even with us, he doesn’t really open up much. I mean, he’s friendly and all, but he keeps a lot to himself.”

Manaya glanced at him. “Think about his background. If he was always different growing up—being a Muggle-born with no idea about magic—it would’ve set him apart. People probably treated him differently. Maybe that’s why he’s so reserved.”

Saunak shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess. If you’re used to being the odd one out, you learn to keep your head down.”

Davonte frowned. “That sucks, though. He shouldn’t feel like he has to hide.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” Manaya agreed. “But that’s the reality for a lot of Muggle-borns, especially in schools like this.”

Draven tapped his fingers on the bench, his expression pensive. “It’s also possible that his reluctance stems from something deeper. He’s not just talented—he’s exceptional. And I don’t think he fully understands it yet.”

“Exceptional?” Saunak raised an eyebrow. “Bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Draven replied. “Natural talent like his is rare, especially in someone so new to magic. It’s as if he was... meant for this.”

Davonte grinned again, though it was softer this time. “Yeah, well, if he keeps this up, he’s gonna be famous by the time he’s a fifth year.”

“Maybe,” Manaya said, her tone cautious. “But fame isn’t always a good thing. Especially not for someone like Soya.”

The group fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The courtyard had grown quieter, the earlier crowd now dispersed, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of conversations from the castle.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on him,” Davonte said finally, his usual cheer returning. “Make sure he doesn’t get in over his head.”

Manaya nodded, her sharp gaze softening slightly. “Yeah. He might not realize it, but he’s got people looking out for him now.”

Draven stood, brushing off his robes. “And that, I suspect, will make all the difference.”

With that, the group began to disperse, each carrying a growing sense of curiosity—and concern—about the quiet first year who seemed destined to leave a mark far greater than any of them could anticipate.