Soya stretched his arms as he sat up in bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the Thylacea dormitory. The room was still quiet, apart from the occasional shuffle of other students waking up and getting ready for the day.

Across the room, Davonte was rummaging through his trunk, tossing clothes and books onto his bed with reckless abandon. "Where the hell is my other sock?" he muttered, digging deeper into the mess.

Draven, already fully dressed and seated at his desk, didn’t look up from his journal. "Perhaps if you organized your belongings instead of treating them like an excavation site, you wouldn’t misplace things so often."

Davonte shot him a flat look. "Yeah, thanks, mate. Real helpful."

Soya swung his legs over the side of his bed and ran a hand through his messy hair before reaching for his uniform. "You lose your socks every morning, Davonte. Maybe just accept that they exist in another dimension now."

"That dimension being the inside of your trunk," Draven added without missing a beat.

Davonte scoffed but, sure enough, after a few more seconds of frantic searching, he pulled the missing sock from his own pile of clothes. "Right. So anyway, breakfast?"

Soya pulled his robes on and grabbed his bag. "Yeah, let’s go before all the good food’s gone."

Draven closed his journal and stood up. "It’s a buffet-style meal with magically replenishing food. The notion of anything running out is entirely irrational."

Davonte clapped him on the shoulder. "And yet, mate, the best stuff still disappears first."

Soya smirked as they headed out of the dormitory and into the common room, the familiar warmth of a new day settling over them as they made their way toward the Great Hall.

The Great Hall buzzed with conversation as students gathered for breakfast. Soya, Davonte, and Draven took their usual seats at the Thylacea table, their plates filling with warm toast, eggs, and fresh fruit. The familiar, comforting clatter of cutlery echoed through the hall, making it feel as if everything had finally settled back to normal.

But then, the murmurs of casual conversation died down as Headmaster Boromus Spellchecker stood at the front of the hall. The air shifted. Even before he spoke, the students knew this was more than the usual morning announcement.

Boromus raised his ironbark staff, tapping it once against the floor. The enchanted torches lining the walls flickered as a hush fell over the room. His sharp, knowing gaze swept across the students before he spoke.

"As many of you are aware," he began, his voice warm but firm, "recent events have shaken not only Austramore but the entire magical world." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "What you may not know is that we were not the only school affected. These attacks extended beyond our walls, reaching far across our great continent. Several magical institutions have suffered losses, and some have even been forced to close their doors indefinitely."

A ripple of whispers spread through the students. Some exchanged uneasy glances, while others leaned in closer, straining to hear what came next.

Boromus continued. "Austramore remains standing—not by luck, but because of the strength of those who protect it. However, we do not turn away those in need. As the most secure and prestigious magical school in Australia, it is our duty to offer refuge to those displaced by these unfortunate circumstances."

At that moment, four students stepped forward, moving to stand before the head table.

The first was a small, anxious-looking girl with long blonde hair, her oversized jumper nearly swallowing her frame. She fidgeted slightly, her blue eyes darting nervously over the gathered students.

Beside her stood a boy of average height, his striking white hair streaked with pink and teal, his yellow eyes scanning the crowd with bright curiosity. He gave a small, mischievous grin to no one in particular, his hands tucked into his pockets.

The third student was a poised and disciplined-looking girl with steel-blue hair, her sharp, intelligent eyes betraying no uncertainty. She stood with quiet confidence, her presence commanding attention even without a word.

And then, towering over them all, was a massive boy—easily seven feet tall—with wild red hair and warm amber eyes. His large hands were folded awkwardly in front of him, as if he were trying not to take up too much space.

Boromus smiled at the four students before turning back to the hall. "These students have been entrusted to our care. They will be sorted into their proper houses, and I expect you all to welcome them as brothers and sisters of Austramore."

He raised his staff once more, and as he did, a shimmer of golden light swirled above the hall. A strange, ancient-looking scepter materialized in midair, glowing with a soft, pulsing energy. The very air seemed to hum with its presence.

The Sorting was about to begin.

As Boromus Spellchecker lifted the ancient Arboris Scepter, the entire Great Hall fell silent. The scepter pulsed, glowing faintly as the first new student stepped forward. The ritual was one of the oldest at Austramore, a tradition that dated back to its founding.

Alara Steel was the first to approach, her small hands clenched tightly in front of her. Her blue-tongued skink, Wally, clung to her shoulder, flicking his tongue nervously. She looked around the hall with wide, uncertain eyes, clearly overwhelmed by the attention.

Boromus gave her a warm smile, his voice as welcoming as always. “Alara Steel. Let us see where the scepter guides you.”

The Arboris Scepter crackled with energy as Alara stepped closer, her entire body stiff with nerves. The room held its breath as the light flickered to life, swirling momentarily before settling into a deep green glow—Bunjil.

“Bunjil House,” Boromus announced.

A soft murmur ran through the hall, and the students at the Bunjil table clapped politely. Alara’s face turned red as she hurried over to join them, clearly relieved the moment was over.

Boromus chuckled to himself before turning his gaze toward the next student.

“Kalsei Detra.”

Kalsei stepped forward confidently, his white hair with pink and teal streaks catching the light as he grinned at the scepter. His piercing yellow eyes held nothing but amusement, as if he had already guessed where he would end up.

He placed his hand on the scepter, and instantly, the light burst into a brilliant orange glow—Thylacea.

“Thylacea House,” Boromus declared, his voice carrying over the Great Hall.

Kalsei giggled to himself as he made his way toward the Thylacea table, settling in as if he had always belonged there. The other students at the table exchanged curious glances, but Kalsei simply leaned back, completely at ease.

Boromus wasted no time moving on. “Tiana Loreman.”

Tiana walked forward with measured steps, her steel-blue hair cascading over her shoulders. She carried herself with a quiet confidence, her dark eyes unwavering as she approached the scepter. Unlike Alara, she did not hesitate. She placed her hand on the scepter, her fingers steady.

For a moment, the scepter seemed unsure, flickering between colors—first red, then blue, then back again. The hall murmured as the glow finally settled into a strong, unwavering orange—Thylacea.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Thylacea House,” Boromus announced with a satisfied nod.

Tiana’s expression did not change, but as she walked toward her new house table, there was an unmistakable sense of purpose in her stride. She took a seat beside Kalsei, who grinned at her.

“Guess we’re housemates,” he said cheerfully.

Tiana merely nodded, her dark eyes studying him curiously.

Boromus turned his attention to the last student, his voice carrying across the hall. “Grundle Strang.”

A ripple of whispers spread through the students as the towering boy stepped forward. At seven feet tall, Grundle was an imposing figure, but there was no trace of arrogance or intimidation in his amber eyes. He walked carefully, mindful of every step, as if afraid of knocking something over.

The scepter pulsed the moment his hand touched it. There was no hesitation, no flickering between colors. A strong, unwavering blue glow filled the hall—Ningaloo.

“Ningaloo House,” Boromus declared, and this time the applause was louder.

Grundle grinned widely, his deep, booming laugh echoing through the hall as he made his way toward his house table. Some of the Ningaloo students had to crane their necks just to look up at him as he sat down, but his presence was already putting them at ease.

With the sorting complete, Boromus lowered the scepter, the glow fading once more. He surveyed the hall, his sharp eyes glinting with wisdom.

“Austramore welcomes you all,” he said simply, his voice carrying warmth and authority. “May this be the start of a new journey.”

And with that, the Great Hall erupted into chatter once more, the excitement of the new arrivals settling in as breakfast continued.

Soya took a sip of his juice, eyes flicking between the two new additions to the Thylacea table. Kalsei Detra and Tiana Loreman. The former had already made himself comfortable, lounging against the bench like he’d been at Austramore for years. The latter sat perfectly upright, her sharp gaze sweeping the table like she was analyzing everything at once.

Davonte, never one to shy away from new faces, was the first to break the silence. “So, Kalsei, right? You’re the exchange student?”

Kalsei nodded, his grin playful. “Yup. Been to a few places, but thought I’d try Australia next. Never wrestled a crocodile before, so that seemed like something I should fix.”

Soya blinked. “That’s… not a requirement to live here.”

Kalsei gasped dramatically. “What? Then why am I even here? I was promised adventure, danger, and snacks.”

Draven, who had been quietly observing, set his spoon down and adjusted his posture. “So you chose to study here for the… thrill of it?”

“Obviously,” Kalsei said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Well, that and I wanted to see if the spiders here are really as bad as people say. I have not been disappointed.”

Soya shuddered. “Please tell me you didn’t bring one inside.”

Kalsei smirked but said nothing.

Davonte pointed a fork at him. “See, I like you already. You understand the spirit of adventure.”

Tiana, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. Her voice was calm, measured. “Adventure without direction is foolish.”

Kalsei gasped again, clutching his chest as if she had mortally wounded him. “Ouch. Straight for the heart.”

Tiana did not flinch. “I only speak truth.”

Draven leaned in slightly, curiosity in his gaze. “You’re very… precise with your words.”

Tiana met his eyes. “Words should not be wasted.”

Soya exchanged glances with Davonte, who raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, noted. No small talk with you,” Davonte said, slicing into his toast. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your story, Tiana?”

Tiana hesitated. It was brief, but noticeable. “I was at Warragal Academy before… the attacks.”

Soya’s stomach twisted. They all knew about the schools that had been destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Tiana nodded once, accepting the sentiment but not dwelling on it. “It is why I am here now. A fresh start.”

Kalsei, perhaps sensing the weight of the moment, leaned forward conspiratorially. “I, too, am here for a fresh start. And also because my last school banned me from making impromptu concerts in the hallways.”

Soya narrowed his eyes. “Is that… actually true?”

Kalsei wiggled his eyebrows. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Davonte grinned. “Oh, I like this one. This is going to be fun.”

Tiana sighed softly, as if she had already resigned herself to the chaos. “I foresee trouble.”

“You see the future now?” Kalsei teased.

“No,” Tiana replied smoothly. “Just a keen sense for nonsense.”

Soya hid his smile behind his cup. Yeah, things were about to get a lot more interesting.

The corridors buzzed with the usual morning rush as students shuffled between the long stone halls, their robes swishing against the polished floors. Soya, Davonte, and Draven led Kalsei and Tiana through the winding paths toward the Potions classroom, dodging a few students in their haste.

“So, what’s Professor Blackthorn like?” Kalsei asked, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Soya and Davonte exchanged a glance.

“He’s… a bit of a nightmare,” Davonte admitted. “But he knows his stuff.”

Soya nodded. “Yeah, he’s strict. And don’t expect him to tolerate mistakes. At all.”

Draven, walking beside them with his usual calm demeanor, added, “He doesn’t suffer fools, and he has very high expectations. If you respect the craft, he’ll acknowledge it. If you don’t…”

“He’ll eviscerate you,” Davonte finished.

Kalsei’s eyebrows lifted. “Sounds fun.”

“You say that now.” Tiana’s tone was neutral, but there was the faintest hint of amusement.

As they rounded the last corner, the cool dungeon air wrapped around them like a second cloak. The Potions classroom was carved deep beneath the school, the walls damp with centuries of history, the scent of herbs and cauldrons ever lingering in the air. The moment they stepped inside, the murmur of students settled, and all eyes subtly shifted toward the imposing figure at the front of the room.

Professor Seikan Blackthorn stood at his usual place behind the grand iron cauldron, his presence as sharp as ever. His long, dark cloak barely moved as he turned his piercing emerald gaze toward the class, scanning the students with the same calculating scrutiny as always.

Soya took his usual seat with Davonte and Draven, while Kalsei and Tiana found spots nearby. Soya noticed it almost immediately—the slight flicker of Seikan’s eyes toward Kalsei. It was brief, barely perceptible, but it happened more than once. And yet, Blackthorn’s expression remained unreadable.

The professor clasped his hands together, signaling the official start of the lesson. “Today, we will be crafting a rather delicate potion—one that requires precision, patience, and competence. Qualities I expect from every single one of you.”

Soya and Davonte exchanged a glance. This was going to be brutal.

Seikan waved his hand, and the large blackboard behind him filled with elegant script.

The Elixir of Vitality

“This potion,” he continued, “is designed to restore stamina and energy to the drinker. It is deceptively simple in its composition, yet the brewing process is utterly unforgiving.” His voice was smooth but edged with warning. “One mistake, one lapse in judgment, and you will not create an elixir. You will create an undrinkable sludge. Or worse.”

There was an uneasy shuffling among the students.

“Begin,” Seikan instructed.

The room erupted into quiet activity, the sound of ingredients being measured and knives rhythmically slicing through roots and herbs.

Soya carefully measured out his ingredients, meticulously double-checking his work. Davonte, on the other hand, looked like he was debating whether or not to throw everything in at once just to see what would happen.

“Do not even think about it,” Soya whispered.

Davonte sighed but obeyed, adding his crushed scarlet beanstalk petals with uncharacteristic patience.

A few cauldrons over, Kalsei seemed… entirely too comfortable. He moved with an ease that felt almost practiced, as if he’d done this before. Soya raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Tiana, meanwhile, was methodical. Every slice was uniform, every measurement precise. It was like watching a machine at work.

Seikan prowled through the room, his gaze sweeping over each student’s work. Occasionally, he would stop, make a sharp correction, or simply murmur a faint “acceptable” before moving on.

When he reached Kalsei’s cauldron, he paused.

The silence stretched.

Soya didn’t dare turn to look, but he could feel the weight of the moment. Seikan’s gaze lingered just a fraction too long before he finally moved on.

The rest of the lesson continued with the usual intensity. Soya managed to get his potion to the right consistency—barely. Davonte’s, miraculously, hadn’t exploded, though it smelled faintly of burnt caramel, which was definitely not part of the process.

Finally, Seikan lifted his hand, and the class fell into silence.

“Your potions will be tested for effectiveness.” His expression remained impassive as he examined the rows of completed work. “Those of you who have failed…” His eyes flickered toward one unfortunate student whose potion was the color of swamp water. “…will reflect on your incompetence and do better next time.”

The student shrank in their seat.

Without another word, Seikan dismissed them with a flick of his wrist, and the class eagerly began packing up their things.

As they filtered out, Soya stole a glance at Kalsei.

The new student was smirking to himself, but his golden eyes flickered with something else—something unreadable.