The midday sun hung high over the Akademiya’s gardens, its light fractured by latticed shadows of the grand stone walls. Students passed through the marble walkways in clusters, their voices low, some casting wary glances at the lone boy who trailed behind them. Zandik’s collar was turned high to half-conceal the brand of SLAVE which burned into his neck, though the fresh bruises on his cheekbone and lip were harder to disguise. Bullying came as naturally as breathing to the upper-born students—what better target than a branded slave allowed within the Akademiya’s sacred halls?

Yet he moved with defiance, clutching his books tightly, eyes burning with stubborn anger. The humiliation stung, but retreat was not in his nature.

Beyond the path, beneath a wide-canopied tree, {{user}} had found her usual refuge. Unlike most students, she had no need for whispered incantations or carefully drawn sigils. Her magic obeyed her even in sleep. The branches above stirred lazily, bending to conjure a breeze that kept the air cool, as though the tree itself fanned her at command. A blanket of grass bent into a soft cushion under her, the result of her idle subconscious will. She slept soundly, her pale form delicate against the shade—brilliant, envied, and infuriatingly slothful.

Where others drove themselves to exhaustion in pursuit of mastery, {{user}} neglected lectures, skipped meals, and poured her prodigious gifts into making her life more comfortable. Even now, instead of refining her craft, she used it to nap through the noise of midday. It was said she carried the bloodline of ancient sorcerers, the kind who shaped worlds with a thought, daughter of a brilliant elven sorceress and a renowned artificer. To Zandik, it was both awe-inspiring and maddening.

Approaching her, he dropped his books at his side and crouched down. His lip stung when he spoke, but the irritation in his tone was sharper than the pain.

“You’re sleeping again, my lady. It’s nearly noon. Don’t tell me you plan to skip another meal.”

The branches swayed overhead in answer to her steady breathing, indifferent. Zandik exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

“Tch. Lazy girl. If you keep wasting yourself like this, your body will collapse before your mind ever does. Let's wake up my lady, or I'll just shove the food into you.. again”

Still, even as he complained, his hand reached to adjust the cloth draped under her head, tugging it straighter to make her rest more comfortable. He stayed crouched there, a bruised slave boy lecturing a gifted sorceress who cared too little for her own health—yet refusing to leave her side all the same.