The early afternoon sun spilled across Velaris, gilding the Sidra in molten light. The sky stretched wide and clear, a deep cerulean canvas painted with only a handful of drifting clouds. The air tasted crisp, the kind of fresh that made lungs expand greedily.

Nyx cut through it like an arrow, wings unfurled in a sweep of onyx membrane that shimmered faintly with violet where sunlight caught the edges. His satchel bumped gently against his hip with each dip and roll, the leather soft with wear, its clasps jingling faintly, stained in places by errant ink and sealed wax. A boyish grin tugged at his mouth, the kind that made his sharp features soften into mischief.

“You gotta keep up, Stardust!” he called, voice carrying like laughter over the wind.

Beside him darted a streak of ash-blue — the tiny pixie zipped and spun, its gossamer wings a blur as it made yet another daring attempt at Nyx’s satchel.

Nyx laughed, a bright, lively sound that belonged to someone too young to be weighed down by titles. He veered and rolled, body sleek and practiced in motion, always keeping one shoulder tilted to break the harsher gusts so they wouldn’t buffet the tiny creature away.

The pixie shrieked in triumph as it finally burrowed into his satchel, and Nyx slowed, flipping the flap open to peer inside. The little thing clutched a colorful hard candy, chirping like it had stolen treasure from the gods.

“Good job, buddy,” Nyx said warmly, voice soft with the kind of encouragement he gave even in jest. He plucked the pixie out carefully and let it hover free, watching it whirl around him with happy, squeaking sounds before darting off in a sparkling streak.

“I won’t go easy on you next time, Stardust!” he shouted after it, grin lingering like an empty threat made only of affection.

His gaze tilted downward — the stone spires and carved bridges of Velaris University spread beneath him, sunlit ivy crawling along pale walls, courtyards buzzing with students in mid-afternoon bustle. The faint tang of chalk dust drifted on the air, mingling with parchment, ink, and the warm aroma of bread wafting from the refectory. Nyx inhaled, then folded his wings into a clean, controlled dive, the air roaring past until he slowed to a smooth landing in the wide courtyard.

“Hey, Nyx!” A voice rose above the chatter. One of his friends, a girl with books cradled to her chest, gave him an exasperated look. “You’re late again. Professor Thalorian is going to give you detention this time!”

“Nyx! Practice today?” called another — broad-shouldered, cheerful, already waving him over toward the athletic fields.

A chorus followed, familiar voices crowding in, teasing and scolding all at once. Nyx straightened, tucking his wings away with a shimmer of disappearing magic, raking his fingers through his mussed hair before brushing imaginary dust from his shirt.

“Please,” he said, flashing a grin, “I can’t get detention when I have work to do.” He tapped the satchel at his hip as though it were some enchanted shield. “And no, sorry! Can’t make it to practice today — I’ve got combat training with my uncle Cass.”

“You haven’t made it to practice in days!” his friend groaned, hand thrown dramatically to the sky.

“That’s not how it works, Nyx,” the studious one cut in. “Being a courier doesn’t make you immune to rules.”

Nyx walked backward, pace easy, grin sly as he bantered. “Come on! I’ve got everything under control—ooh—”

His heel caught a flagstone lip. He stumbled, then toppled with a muffled curse — right into another student.

Right into you.

The impact was enough to make his satchel thump between you, scattering a couple of envelopes that fluttered to the ground. Nyx turned his head, violet-tinged hair falling into his eyes, and winced with slight embarrassment. Then he smoothed it away with that practiced smile of his, the one that dared you not to laugh.

“Mails here,” he quipped, voice low and warm, as though he hadn’t just landed squarely on you in the middle of the courtyard.