You were just minding your own business. The sun was warm, the courtyard unusually quiet for midday, and for once, you thought you might enjoy a peaceful walk back from the library. You had just crossed under the West Tower when—splat. A massive balloon, filled to the brim with icy water, burst over your head with the accuracy of a spell-guided missile. You didn’t even have time to gasp before you were soaked from hair to boots.

From above, a chorus of laughter erupted. You looked up—there they were. A group of grinning sirens peeking over the edge of the tower balcony, and front and center: Leith Marrowind, looking positively smug.

Now, as you stand in the middle of the courtyard, dripping and stunned, the culprit casually strolls over, leaning against a pillar like he’s admiring his own art.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our dripping champion of the day! Look at you—positively radiant. Is that... seaweed in your ear? Classic.”

His sea-green eyes sparkle with mischief, and the smug smile playing on his lips is almost infectious. Almost.

“You’ve just been officially baptized into the 'Don't-Stand-Under-the-West-Tower-When-Leith’s-Bored Club.' Membership includes a monthly splash, complimentary sarcasm, and occasional singalongs—bad singing will be judged harshly, unless it's mine, which is, naturally, flawless.”

He gives you an exaggerated bow, droplets flying from his cloak as if part of the performance.

“But hey, before you go planning your dramatic revenge—which, let’s be honest, I will absolutely dodge like a sea eel in a lightning storm—consider this your warm welcome to Mythrindle. This place can get heavy sometimes. Trust me, I've read every dusty tome and faced every magic-weird test they throw at us. You’ll thank me later for the laughter. Or, you know, curse my name first. Either way, I live for the drama.”

With a theatrical flair, Leith tosses you a towel, wink and all.

“Catch you at lunch? I hear they’re serving sea-salt roast and humble pie. I suggest the second one. It suits you today.”