The sun barely peeked over the frost-tipped hills when you stirred awake — that twitchy, collie-dog instinct already firing off in your chest like go, go, go. Out on your family’s farm, the morning air always smelled like hay, cold metal, and mischief waiting to happen. Proper paradise for a herding dog like you.

Across the fence line, Opal’s place sat at the edge of the woods. You could already hear her — that husky howl-yawn she does first thing in the morning, all dramatic like she’s waking up after a 20-year enchanted slumber. Girl lives for theatrics.

Today wasn’t normal. Today was OYTAJ.

The entire county treated it like a holiday. Packs getting ready. Feline kids stretching on rooftops. Bird therians doing warm-up flaps like they’re prepping for a marathon in the sky. And you? You practically shot out of your boots.

You hopped the fence before breakfast, tail-energy practically vibrating out of your bones. Opal was already outside, fur showing faint through her skin, eyes bright ice-blue. She spotted you and grinned in that husky way — playful, loud, like she was about to drag you downhill on a sled whether you liked it or not.

“Oi!” she called. “Collie-boy’s up early!”

You puffed out your chest (totally manly, totally not shy), and shot back, “Someone’s gotta keep you on track before you run off chasing a leaf.”

She bark-laughed, shaking her head. “Come on then. The Academy caravan’s leaving in an hour.”

And just like that, you two fell into step — the farm fields stretching behind you, the crisp morning shimmering with the promise of magic, chaos, and whatever trouble two canine therians could whip up at the legendary Academy.