“Where are we?” Rosaldo asked Henry, the headmaster of the Academy of the Order, or which he would soon be a part of. To be a part of something where Rosaldo naturally belonged, for what he’d been different for all his life, it felt wonderfully freeing. He wondered if it was all a dream, if he’d wake up at any moment and return back to reality. He pinched himself. You never really pinched yourself in a dream…

The headmaster walked briskly along the winding stone path, the cobblestones lit golden by Victorianesque black street lamps. Delicate looking orchids, berried bushes, herbs and other plants Rosaldo couldn’t name grew between the circular series of paths, a waist high maze of vegetation. The moon hung over the sky, full and bright, brighter than any moon he’d ever seen.

“We’re in the Academy, Rosaldo,” Henry said, continuing towards a three storied brick and mortar building topped with menacing stone gargoyles over the eaves of its roof. “This is not the world as you know it. This is, in fact, another world, much smaller, much more different than what you normally know. The planes of existence live between each other, and across another at the same time. Think of it like a bridge interconnected in a circle, each step linked to the next. The Academy is just a microcosm of what is possible. The Order manufactured this plane for this school's existence. There are other parts to this world, and you will learn to explore it once your training begins.” Henry stopped outside the building’s door, rapping its ringed knocker. “But first, you must get yourself acquainted with how you’ll live and conduct yourself as a student of this Academy.”

A woman opened the door, or Rosaldo thought it was a woman, at first. In fact, she looked part woman, part tree, her skin like rough bark, her eyes a beady amber resin in color, covered in a shawl and wrapped flaxen robe. She carried a brass lantern that didn’t show any candle flame or mechanical light, but glowed with a soft, golden aura, like a forgotten, formless star that would’ve been otherwise seen in the night sky.

“Headmaster Corinth,” the tree woman greeted him and bobbed her head, her voice raspy and worn.

“Keeper Anabelle,” Henry said, gesturing, “This is our new student, Rosaldo Ren. The replacement of room one-one-four.”

“Ah, yes. Let me have a look at you.”

The woman’s fingers clutched Rosaldo’s chin, prickling him with her thorny grip. Her bulbous yellow eyes widened. Rosaldo resisted the urge to shudder. “He’s a dove, through and through. His roommate will try to peck at him, as all crows do.”

Henry said, “Which is why you will tell Stephen Bakri to mind his manners, or else he will consequently be punished at your behest.”

“Harumph. You should tell him yourself. He listens to you, and wheedles and plots whatever he can try when my lantern isn’t around.”

The headmaster offered a thin smile. “He can try. Take care, Keeper. Don’t be afraid, Rosaldo. Keeper Anabelle will make sure you are taken care of. I wish you both a good night.”

He stepped back through the maze-like hedges, disappearing from view.

Keeper Anabelle beckoned Rosaldo inside a lavish corridor floored with rugs and wooden side tables. Silvered mirrors flourished with leaf designs covered every dark wood paneled wall. The place smelled of tree sap, the kind Rosaldo remembered in his youth on a hot and sticky summer’s day living in his farmstead home. It was hauntingly quiet, dimly lit by more of the polished jade lamps that Rosaldo had seen in the headmaster’s office back in the outside world. The Keeper moved in a disjointed, laborious way, like a tree walking without roots. Her lantern illuminated the intricate designs of the rug patterns they walked over, doubly shone against the polished mirrors.

There were no elevators here, only staircases and floors and doors, a structure of a past age in an unknown world. Their shoes scraped over the stone steps, Rosaldo waiting patiently behind the tree woman’s plodding pace.

“You don’t have any luggage,” the Keeper remarked, poking a finger into a brass door lock. Her finger grew out a tiny shoot of a key, clicking and twisting into the lock’s workings. “That’s alright, few come prepared arriving here. Your wardrobe will outfit you with everything you need. Toiletries and supplies for your curriculum have already been prepared and provided. Welcome to the Academy, Rosaldo Ren.”

Rosaldo was uncertain to ask any questions that would slow down the woman even more, so he simply murmured, “Thank you.”

She opened the door, shuffling inside a smaller hall lined with more closed doors, no doubt students’ rooms from the brass tacked number signs in numerical order. They stopped at one such door: 114.

“Now,” the Keeper said, “There is one thing you should know. Students are forbidden to explore the Academy's grounds at night. You are free to study in the shared library, but otherwise the building is locked down for your safety. Here is your room key.”

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The tree woman lifted her pointing finger, an offshoot sprouting out, shaping into a perfectly geometric wooden key. The key dropped into the palm of her other hand, which she gave to Rosaldo.

The key felt heavy and warm to the touch, still alive and quite unnerving, knowing that it was a part of the tree woman. Rosaldo wondered if it could still be sentient, but thought better not to ask.

The Keeper motioned for Rosaldo to test the key to his room, unlocking the door.

The room was wide and tall, a large barred window blocked with curtains. The floorboards were bare. From two sides of the room were what must have been the washroom doors, but those were the only dividers Rosaldo could see. The rest was open. For each side stood a large wood wardrobe, a study table with a chair, a bed at each wall, and lazing on one bed sprawled a young man dressed in a gray uniform of slacks and a white dress shirt.

The young man raised his head, grinning. “Who have we here, Annie?” He had an Oxford accent, his words carried across the dead quiet of the room.

He was tan and handsome, a sculpture's face with a sharp nose, chiseled cheekbones and thin set eyes hidden beneath a mane of black hair. Rosaldo found men with such features in his experience to be haughty and spiteful. He decided he wouldn't like this man, and certainly not trust him.

“Behave yourself, Stephen,” warned the tree woman. “Rosaldo is your new roommate for this term. You will be hospitable.”

Stephen cracked open a brittle smile, nodding. “Of course, Annie. Of course. Could do with someone to talk to here. Place is boring me as it is to unfucking death.”

The Keeper harumphed and turned to Rosaldo. “You'll find all your necessary things in the washroom. Your wardrobe will outfit you with your uniform. Bring your tome to class, it will direct you to where you need to go. The morning bell will wake you, the second bell, an hour later, signals you should be on your way to class. I wish you a good night, Rosaldo. Stephen.”

Stephen kept a closed smile plastered on his lips, waiting until the Keeper left with a clocked click of the door before he stood and stepped towards Rosaldo. Though Rosaldo was tall, he was thin, and Stephen was lithe though lean with muscle through his oxford pale shirt.

Rosaldo took a step back.

Stephen laughed. “Relax, I'd just like to see who my roommate is. So tell me, are you a dove or a crow?”

“What?”

“A dove or a crow. A dove never grew up knowing magic. Innocent, and ignorant in that way. But a crow knows better. They grew up following their ancestors’ rites and passages, their gods and magic. They know the bones of the soul. So are you a dove, or a crow?”

“A dove, I guess.”

Stephen sighed. “Yeah, I thought as much. I was raised a crow. English druid from my mother's side, Egyptian priest from my father's. What's your lineage?”

“I'm Filipino and Mexican.”

“Huh. You're mixed too. More power to you, then. So how'd you even get here?”

“I met the headmaster.”

Stephen sniggered. “Everyone meets the headmaster. He’s pretty much the recruiter of the school. You have a history of mental illness?”

“What?”

“As in, you’re not a psycho who will try to kill me while I sleep?”

Rosaldo was flustered and unsure how to deal with the man’s entitled questioning and arrogance. “No. I’m not. Are you?”

Stephen spread his arms out. “I’m an open book. Stick to your side, and I’ll stick to mine, and I won’t punch your throat in. Welcome to the academy, dove. Try not to die on your first day.”

He walked to his side of the room, laying back down on his bed.

He’s such an asshole.

Rosaldo whirled around, face to face with another young man. He wore glasses like himself, short and stout, a mop of brown hair over his squared head and snub nose. He also wore the school’s gray uniform with a blazer, except that unlike Stephen, he glowed with a golden light like the Keeper’s lantern, soft and ephemeral in his flickering form, a dimming candlelight.

Wait, the young man put a finger to his mouth to shush Rosaldo. Don’t say anything, or Stephen will think you’re crazy. You can see me. He can’t. Bastard thinks he knows everything, but he’s the most blind Mancer I ever met. Please nod if you understand me.

Rosaldo nodded.

Great. I’m Chris, nice to meet you. And by the way, you’re not crazy. I’m just a ghost. And I can’t leave this plane until you help me find out why I was murdered.

Rosaldo whispered, “What do you mean?”

The ghost, Chris, unbuttoned his collar, revealing blotched bruises purpling his neck. They’d say I hanged myself in my washroom, but my blanket just moved by itself and started strangling me, pulled me in and the door opened by itself. Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten into the details, the ghost apologized when he saw Rosaldo staring at his new washroom door. I’ve been trying to hide from the Keeper’s sight, and now that this room is taken they won’t look here. You should get some sleep. I’ll be back later tomorrow.

Chris’ ghost walked through the washroom door, disappearing from sight.

Rosaldo sat on his bed and kept staring at the door, partly curious, mostly terrified of what was to come. What had he brought himself into?