The Academy’s routine settled over me like a heavy blanket. Classes, study, meals, and meditation—each day blurred into the next, a monotonous rhythm broken only by brief moments of discovery or frustration.
While the halls buzzed with the energy of students forging new friendships and alliances, I found myself increasingly disconnected.
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Reinfelt, Marcus, and Eren had become a tight-knit group, their shared experiences weaving bonds that I couldn’t seem to penetrate.
I often heard their laughter late into the night, muffled through the walls as they exchanged jokes and stories. Reinfelt loved to regale them with exaggerated tales of his family’s escapades, while Marcus played the attentive listener, always ready with a sharp quip. Even Eren, usually quiet, had found his place among them.
“Wolfhart,” Reinfelt said one evening as I was buried in a history text, “you should join us. We’re heading to the training grounds to watch some sparring matches.”
“I’ve got reading to do,” I replied without looking up.
Reinfelt shrugged, muttering something about my “book obsession” as they left.
Hexa’s voice cut into my thoughts. “You are aware that isolation has social and emotional consequences, correct?”
“I know,” I thought back. “But what’s the point of pretending to fit in when I don’t?”
“They may offer perspectives or experiences that you lack,” she replied. “Your dismissal of them is inefficient.”
“I’m not here to make friends,” I countered, though the words felt hollow.
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The one connection that brought some comfort came in the form of letters from home. Ava wrote regularly, her neat handwriting spilling across the pages with stories of Valda-Ashdock and the small, quiet life I had left behind.
She wrote about her studies with the local scholar, her excitement at the thought of joining the Academy next year, and the occasional mischief she got into with the other village kids.
“Wolfhart,” one letter read, “it’s so strange here without you. The lake seems quieter, and Father says you’ve left a hole in the guard’s drills. I can’t wait to see you next year—it’ll be just like old times, except in the big city!”
I smiled faintly as I read, her enthusiasm cutting through the fog of my routine. But beneath the warmth, there was a pang of guilt and frustration.
“She doesn’t understand,” I thought, staring at the letter. “How could she? She’s still a kid.”
Hexa, ever perceptive, picked up on my unease. “Your relationship with her is rooted in a shared history,” she said. “However, your current experiences are diverging rapidly.”
“It’s not just that,” I replied. “It’s... I’m not her age. Not really. How am I supposed to talk to her when I feel like I’ve lived an entirely different life?”
I folded the letter carefully and tucked it into the small chest at the foot of my bed. It was a small connection to home, a reminder of simpler times—but it also felt like a weight, tethering me to a life I was steadily outgrowing.
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As the end of the year loomed, the Academy buzzed with anticipation. For most of the students, it marked a milestone—a time to reflect on their growth and look forward to the next stage of their training.
For me, it felt like just another marker on a timeline I wasn’t entirely part of.
My tenth birthday was just a few weeks away, a date that would have been cause for celebration in Valda-Ashdock. Here, it felt insignificant, a footnote in the larger narrative of the Academy’s relentless cycle.
Late one evening, as the dormitory fell silent, I found myself staring out the small window by my bed. The city stretched out below, its lights twinkling like stars, and beyond that, the faint silhouette of the Ash Mountains loomed against the dark sky.
“Hexa,” I thought, “what am I even doing here?”
“You are building a foundation,” she replied. “Every piece of knowledge, every skill you acquire is another step toward your goals.”
“But I feel so... stuck,” I admitted. “Like I’m just treading water while everyone else is swimming ahead. I’m not even sure what my goals really are just since i was reborn here its been to level up and see the nexus is that enough?
“Your progress is not linear,” Hexa said. “Focus on the long term. The disparities you perceive now can be mitigated through effort and strategy.”
Her words were logical, but they didn’t ease the weight in my chest.
I turned away from the window and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts of Ava, the Nexus, and the relentless march of time swirled in my mind.
My tenth birthday would come and go, just another day in the grand scheme of things. But I promised myself that by the time the next year ended, I would no longer feel like I was lagging behind.
The morning of my tenth birthday was like any other. No one at the Academy knew the date, and I didn’t plan to bring it up. Birthdays had felt meaningless since I was reborn in this world. What did a date matter when I was already decades older in my mind?
Still, I allowed myself a small ritual. After breakfast, I wandered into the Academy gardens, notebook in hand, and found a quiet bench under a sprawling ash tree. The crisp air carried the faint scent of flowers, and the distant hum of the city beyond the Academy walls provided a soothing backdrop.
“Hexa,” I thought, opening my notebook to a page filled with diagrams and equations. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”
“Gravity theory,” she replied, her tone clinical. “We were discussing its interaction with the Nexus structures.”
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For weeks, Hexa and I had been puzzling over the nature of the Nexus. The massive webways that connected the worlds defied the laws of gravity as I had understood them on Earth. Their structures hovered in the void, their paths seemingly impervious to the gravitational pull of the planets they connected.
“Mana might act as a stabilizing force,” I mused, sketching a rough diagram of the Nexus webways. “But how does it counteract gravity on such a massive scale?”
“It is possible that living mana, in its raw form, has properties that manipulate spatial dimensions,” Hexa suggested.
“Or,” I countered, “the Nexus itself is some kind of artificial construct, designed to override natural laws.”
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Hexa cut me off “I doub….”
Our discussion was interrupted by a voice, sharp and curious.
“You’re talking about gravity?”
I looked up to see two figures standing nearby. The girl who had spoken was tall for her age, with fiery red hair that shimmered in the sunlight and eyes that seemed to glint with a mix of intelligence and mischief. Beside her stood a boy with similar features, though his demeanor was quieter, more measured.
“Morgana and Stephan Ash,” Hexa whispered in my mind, identifying them instantly. “Cousins to the royal family. They are in your year but have special tutors. Highly intelligent and politically significant.”
I stood quickly, unsure how to respond. The Ash name was enough to make anyone tread carefully.
“Uh, yes,” I said awkwardly, clutching my notebook. “I was just... thinking out loud.”
Morgana smirked, stepping closer. “About gravity and the Nexus?” she pressed. “Not exactly light reading for a ten-year-old.”
Stephan studied me with a cool gaze. “Most people here don’t even know what gravity is, let alone question it.”
I hesitated, but there was something in their expressions—curiosity rather than judgment—that encouraged me to speak.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said, gesturing to my notes. “The Nexus webways defy everything I know about gravity. I’ve been trying to figure out how they work.”
Morgana’s smirk widened. “Finally, someone worth talking to,” she said, dropping onto the bench beside me.
Stephan followed, nodding slightly. “Most of the students here only care about their stats and classes. It’s rare to find someone who thinks beyond themselves.”
What began as a chance encounter turned into an impromptu discussion. Morgana and Stephan were surprisingly well-read, their knowledge extending far beyond the Academy curriculum.
Morgana, in particular, was fascinated by the theoretical applications of mana. “If mana density affects gravity,” she said, leaning forward, “then denser worlds should have completely different physics. Have you read anything about Terra Primus?”
“Only scraps,” I admitted. “But Hexa thinks their cities might be stabilized using mana constructs that act as counterweights.”
“Hexa?” Stephan asked, raising an eyebrow.
I froze for a moment, realizing my slip. “Uh, just a nickname I gave to my thoughts,” I said quickly.
He didn’t press further, though his gaze lingered on me for a moment before he returned to the discussion.
It didn’t take long to realize that Morgana and Stephan were different. It wasn’t just their intelligence—it was the way they carried themselves, the way people watched them.
As we talked, I noticed students passing through the gardens casting nervous glances our way. Some whispered to each other, while others quickly looked away, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.
“They’re royalty,” Hexa reminded me. “Their status alone sets them apart, regardless of their individual merit.”
I wondered what it must be like to live under such scrutiny, to have every move watched and judged. Yet neither Morgana nor Stephan seemed bothered by the attention. If anything, they appeared accustomed to it.
“Do people always stare at you?” I asked bluntly.
Morgana laughed. “Pretty much. You get used to it.”
“Or you learn to ignore it,” Stephan added, his tone more subdued.
Our conversation lasted for hours, stretching through the morning and into the early afternoon. By the time Morgana and Stephan left, promising to continue the discussion another day, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and unease.
They were fascinating—intelligent, driven, and unafraid to challenge the status quo. But their presence also brought a new layer of isolation.
Reinfelt and Marcus had already started to drift away, their camaraderie forming a wall I couldn’t breach. Now, with Morgana and Stephan occupying my time, that gap felt even wider.
“Careful, Wolfhart,” Hexa warned. “Your association with the Ash twins will not go unnoticed. It may alienate you further from your peers.”
“I don’t care,” I thought stubbornly. “I’m not here to fit in. If they can help me understand this world, that’s all that matters.”
The final weeks of the year came with a mix of anticipation and reflection. The Academy, which had been alive with the hum of daily lessons, began to shift its energy toward evaluations and preparations for the break.
Despite the looming pause in our studies, life at the Academy remained as rigorous as ever. Professors pushed us to consolidate everything we’d learned over the year, drilling fundamentals and issuing endless practice exams. For most of the students, it was an exhausting sprint to the finish line.
For me, it was just another routine.
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As I sat in the quiet of the library one evening, I flipped through my notebooks, skimming over the countless pages of notes, diagrams, and questions I’d amassed.
“Hexa,” I thought, “what do you think? Did I make any progress?”
“Your knowledge and understanding have expanded significantly,” she replied. “You’ve absorbed foundational concepts in mana theory, Nexus history, and interplanetary politics at a pace well beyond your peers.”
“But does it matter?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. “I’m still behind where I want to be. I’ve seen the nobles, their stats, their resources. It’s like trying to climb a mountain with half the gear.”
Hexa paused before responding. “Progress is cumulative. While disparities exist, your ability to adapt and strategize will serve you in the long term.”
I nodded, her words logical as always. But there was a part of me that couldn’t shake the feeling of impatience, a gnawing frustration at the slow pace of it all.
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The day before the break officially began, the headmaster, Magister Arlan, addressed the first-year students in the central courtyard. His presence was commanding as always, his voice amplified by subtle magic to carry across the gathered crowd.
“As the first year draws to a close,” he began, “you should take pride in the foundation you have built. You are no longer children of the outer villages and cities. You are students of the Academy, the future of the Nexus.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd, though I remained quiet, listening.
“Over the coming weeks, you will have time to reflect on what you have learned,” the headmaster continued. “Most of you will remain here, as is tradition for second sons and daughters, while others may explore the capital or engage in sanctioned apprenticeships. Use this time wisely.”
The words were a reminder of our status—second sons and daughters, expendable in the eyes of our families until we found permanent roles in the Nexus. Returning home was a privilege reserved for those who had secured their futures, something most of us had yet to do.
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As the other students began discussing their plans for the break, I found myself retreating to my dorm.
Reinfelt and Marcus were planning to explore the capital, excitedly listing the shops and sights they wanted to visit. Eren, true to form, had said little about his plans, though I suspected he would spend most of his time training.
“What about you, Wolfhart?” Marcus had asked, glancing over at me.
“I’m staying here,” I said simply. “There’s still too much I need to study.”
Reinfelt had snorted. “Of course you are. Don’t work too hard, though. You’ll burn out before you even get your first class.”
I shrugged, letting their laughter fade as they turned back to their plans.
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That evening, I sat at my desk, a piece of parchment spread out in front of me. Writing to Ava had become a small comfort over the year, a way to stay connected to home even as I drifted further from it.
I dipped the quill into the ink and began to write.
Dear Ava,
It’s strange to think how much has changed in a single year. The Academy is unlike anything I could have imagined—larger, more complex, and far more challenging. I’ve learned so much, but there’s still so much I don’t understand.
The other students are... different. Most of them are from noble families, and their abilities reflect it. They’re stronger, faster, and more experienced. But I’m learning in my own way. I’ve found the library here to be a treasure trove of knowledge, and Hexa has been a great help in sorting through it all.
I can’t wait for you to see it for yourself. When you arrive next year, I’ll meet you at the gates. I’ll show you everything—the library, the gardens, the training grounds. It’s overwhelming at first, but you’ll find your way, just like I have.
Tell Father and Mother I’m doing well. Tell them I’m learning a lot and that I’m making progress. I know they don’t expect much from me, but... I’ll make them proud, even if it takes time.
Take care of yourself, Ava. The Academy is big and exciting, but I miss the quiet of Valda-Ashdock. I miss you.
Your friend,
Wolfhart
I set the quill down, letting the ink dry before folding the letter carefully and sealing it.