Chapter Seven: Questing For iPods

  When I'm dreaming I always return to darkness . . . my old friend.

  However, instead of the familiar sounds and sensations I'm used to. . . this time I'm. . .

  Falling.

  Not the metaphorical kind. The actual, physics-based, gravity-is-a-harsh-mistress kind of falling. Wind screams past my ears, tearing at my hair, my clothes, my skin. The air is so cold it burns, stealing the breath from my lungs before I can even think to scream.

  I can't see. Or maybe I can, and there's just nothing to see except darkness rushing past, formless and absolute. My stomach is somewhere near my throat, doing acrobatics it was never designed for. My arms flail uselessly, grasping at nothing, finding nothing, because there's nothing to find when you're plummeting through empty space.

  The worst part is the waiting. The knowing that eventually, inevitably, there will be an end to this fall. The ground is coming. I can feel a presence below me, patient and unforgiving, ready to catch me in the least pleasant way possible.

  This feels familiar. Wrong, but familiar. Like I've done this before.

  The ground rushes up. I can feel it approaching, the air pressure changing, the inevitability of collision bearing down on me like...

  I jerk awake, gasping.

  For a moment, I can't tell what's real. My hands are shaking as I press them against the mattress beneath me, needing the solid confirmation that I'm not still falling. The sheets are rough and real and decidedly not air. My lungs are burning from the gasp that pulled me out of sleep, my heart still convinced it's about to become intimately acquainted with stone.

  It was a dream. Just a dream.

  I take another breath. Then another. The room is still here. The stone ceiling is still there. I'm still alive and not splattered across anything.

  Okay. Okay. I'm awake. This is real. The dream was the dream.

  Probably.

  Then I notice her.

  Mira is sitting mere inches from my bed. Her chair pulled so close that her knees were almost touching my sheets. She was leaning forward, almost above me, resting her chin on the hilt of her sword, fully dressed in her green shirt and skirt, her posture rigid and alert. She stares down at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, and she makes absolutely no effort to hide what she's doing.

  I yelp, an undignified sound that I'll definitely regret later. It takes me a moment to collect myself, but when I do I stare upwards at her.

  "If you wanted to watch me sleep so badly, you could've just asked to slide under the covers. That's a real serial killer vibe you have going on, Mira."

  Mira's face does something complicated, her eyes widen, her mouth opens and closes like a fish, and then she recoils so fast her chair scrapes backward.

  "Not a chance," she says, horrified. "I'm merely watching a threat. Who could sleep with a strange creature in the bed next to them?" She pauses. "Also... what is a serial killer . . . vibe?"

  "No serial killers? Good for you." I pull the sheets up, giving her a pointed look. "How about a ceasefire? You don't watch me sleep, I don't try to bite you. Deal?"

  "Only if you can be quiet. You were thrashing. Talking in your sleep."

  Great. So she's been watching me have nightmares. That's not creepy at all.

  "Just a bad dream," I say, trying to sound casual and probably failing spectacularly.

  "You've been here one day and you're already having nightmares." She says, moving her chair back to under her desk where it belonged. "Interesting."

  "Is it?" I ask, reaching for my single uniform I'd thrown at the foot of my bed last night. I wonder what laundry looks like in this world, maybe the clothes are self cleaning . . . Wouldn't that be nice. . . If not, I'll have to look into getting a second uniform . . . Maybe a third.

  "I thought nightmares were pretty standard for people who've been portal-napped to another dimension." I say, pulling the sweater over my head.

  "Portal-napped." She repeats the word like she's testing it on her tongue. "You have an unusual way of speaking."

  "Thanks. I'll add it to my list of unusual qualities. Along with being formally blind, and a member of the cheesecake lovers club." I pull the shirt over my head, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. "How long have you been awake?"

  "I never slept."

  She's been sitting there all night, watching me sleep, watching me have nightmares, probably judging every unconscious movement I made. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm definitely not sharing a room with someone who might murder me in my sleep.

  I went to bed immediately after getting to the room last night. Didn't even try to stay up, didn't explore, didn't do anything except collapse into the mattress and hope unconsciousness would be kind. Apparently that wasn't enough to spare me from nightmares. Or from having a roommate who thinks all-night surveillance is a reasonable hobby.

  "You could have woken me up," I say, fumbling with the buttons. My fingers are still shaking slightly from the dream.

  "I considered it. You seemed distressed." She pauses, and I feel her eyes tracking my movements. "But I didn't care enough. Plus, after you bit me, I figured you deserved it. Divine retribution, as they say."

  "I tried to bite you. Big difference."

  "Says the creature from another world," she says, standing and brushing off her clothes.

  Loud, insistent knocking interrupts the tension, and I've never been more grateful for an interruption in my life.

  "Fey! Fey, are you awake?" Kaela's voice comes through the door, bright and enthusiastic and entirely too energetic for whatever ungodly hour this is. "Is anyone dead. . . or tied up?" Lyra adds, her tone wry. Kaela cuts back in before I can respond. "Come on! We're going to be late for breakfast! Well, not late late, but late enough that all the good food will be gone, and you haven't tried the good food yet, and I really think you should try it before you're stuck with the mediocre stuff, because the mediocre food is really mediocre, trust me on this!"

  "Kaela," Lyra's quieter voice cuts through, somehow more commanding. "Breathe."

  "I am breathing! I'm breathing and talking. I'm very talented."

  I open the door to find them both standing in the corridor. Kaela practically vibrates with excitement, her smile so wide it looks like it might hurt. Lyra stands beside her, calm and composed, her eyes taking in my appearance with a glance.

  "You're up!" Kaela says brightly. "And dressed. That's good, I was worried we'd have to drag you out of bed. Lyra said that would be rude, but I figured you probably wouldn't mind. We're friends now, right?"

  I stand there, a little shocked at the outburst of pure joy radiating from her. She reminds me of a golden retriever. A very enthusiastic golden retriever.

  "Kaela," Lyra says again, her voice patient but firm. "Let her wake up first."

  "I am awake," I say, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. This feels like it might still be a dream. A weird dream where someone has decided we're best friends before I've even had coffee. Do they have coffee here? God, I hope they have coffee.

  "Great. Then let's go." Kaela grabs my hand and starts pulling me down the corridor. "The cafeteria's huge. And the food is actually pretty good, which is surprising for academy food." She says, her tail wagging with enthusiasm.

  Mira emerges from our room, closing the door behind her with deliberate precision. She falls into step beside us, her expression neutral but her eyes still watchful. I can feel her attention on me like a physical weight. Her gaze made me shiver. Maybe she had some kind of eyesight based power? Could that be why I had that nightmare?

  "Did you sleep well, Fey?" Kaela asks, still holding my hand as we navigate the corridor. "The beds here are pretty comfortable. I mean, they're not the most comfortable ever, but they're definitely not the worst. Once I had to sleep on a bed that was basically just a rock with a blanket on it. That was not a good night."

  "I slept fine," I lie, very aware of Mira's presence behind me.

  "Good. You need to be well-rested for today. We have magic theory with Professor Willas, and he's really intense. But also really good at explaining things. I think you'll like him. Well, maybe not like him, but respect him."

  "Kaela," Lyra says, and there's a note of warning in her voice now.

  "Right. Sorry. I'm talking too much. I do that when I'm excited." She squeezes my hand. "We're glad you're here. Even though you tried to bite Mira."

  "Is that so?" I ask, glancing at Lyra.

  Lyra's mouth twitches in what might be amusement. "Apparently."

  The cafeteria is already crowded when we arrive, the morning rush in full swing.

  The space is easily three times the size of any dining hall I remember from Earth. The ceiling arches high overhead, supported by thick stone columns carved with intricate runes that gave the dining hall the impression of a forgotten temple. The columns march down the length of the room in two rows, dividing the space into sections without walls, creating the illusion of separate areas while maintaining the vast openness.

  The noise hits me. Hundreds of conversations overlap, creating a wall of sound that makes my ears ring. Utensils clatter against plates, chairs scrape against stone, laughter erupts from one corner while someone shouts across the room. The acoustics amplify everything, bouncing sound off the high ceiling and stone walls until it becomes a roar.

  And the people. So many people. Students crowd around long wooden tables that stretch the length of the room, sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning across to talk, gesturing with food-laden utensils. They move between tables in streams, carrying trays, finding friends, creating currents of motion that my eyes struggle to track.

  We join the serving line, taking metal trays from a stack near the door. The students in front of us turn, their eyes landing on me with open curiosity.

  "What are you?" one of them asks, a girl with silver hair that moves like water. Her tone isn't hostile, just blunt. "You don't look like anything I've seen before?" Her tail thumped against the serving table with interest.

  "Human," I say, keeping my voice level.

  "From where?" her companion asks, a boy with scales along his jawline. "You're not from the northern provinces?"

  "Earth."

  They exchange glances. The girl's nose wrinkles slightly. "Never heard of it. Is that in the Darklands?"

  "Different world entirely . . . apparently," Kaela interjects suddenly, and cheerfully.

  "Oh." The boy looks me up and down, his expression somewhere between curious and dismissive. "That's why you look so strange."

  "Thanks," I say dryly. "I'll add it to my list of compliments."

  They turn back to the food line, already losing interest. Apparently interdimensional travelers aren't that exciting when breakfast is on the line.

  The first dish looks like it might have been porridge in a past life, before it decided to become sentient. It's pale and thick, with a surface that ripples when the server stirs it. Steam rises from it in lazy spirals, carrying a smell that's sweet and savory simultaneously, with an underlying earthiness that makes my stomach growl despite my apprehension.

  "That's morning grain," Kaela says, leaning close enough that I smell the soap she used this morning. "It's really good. Very filling. You should try it."

  "It's moving," I say, watching the surface ripple and shift.

  "That's just the heat. Probably." Kaela takes a generous portion, unbothered by the sentient porridge situation. "Trust me. I wouldn't steer you wrong. Well, not on purpose."

  The next dish is worse. Or better. I genuinely can't decide.

  It's a collection of spherical things about the size of plums with blue skin floating in a thick green liquid. They glisten wetly, and when the server picks one up with tongs, it leaves a trail of the green fluid that might be juice or might be something I don't want to think about too hard.

  "Branchberries," Kaela announces. "They taste really sweet. You have to try one, or two, possibly three." She says, putting three on my tray without even waiting for my input. "They're really good."

  Lyra takes three branchberries as well, without hesitation, her movements efficient and unbothered. I watch her do it, trying to gauge whether this is normal or some kind of elaborate hazing ritual for the new interdimensional traveler girl.

  The eggs are next, scrambled into something that looks like it's actively trying to escape. The texture looks wrong, too fluffy and too dense at the same time, like a mix between a hardboiled and scrambled egg. The color is a dark grey that shouldn't exist in food, the same color as a wet stone.

  "Cave bird eggs," Lyra says, her voice quiet and measured, pointing with one finger. "Spicy."

  "Very spicy," Kaela adds. "I cried the first time I ate them. But in a good way."

  "Hard pass," I say.

  "Your loss." Kaela takes two portions, apparently undeterred by the memory of crying over breakfast. "More for me."

  The last dish is the only one that looks remotely familiar. Bread. Dark, dense bread that smells like it was baked this morning, with a crust that looks properly crispy and an interior that promises to be soft and warm. I take three pieces and consider it a victory.

  "You should really try the eggs," Kaela says, eyeing my tray with concern. "Are you sure you don't want any?"

  "Positive," I say firmly.

  "But they're so good!"

  "There's so many reasons why I wouldn't" I say "The color for example?" I interrupt. "The texture? The fact that they look like they're plotting my demise?"

  "Let her eat what she wants," Lyra says, already moving toward the tables.

  "I'm just trying to help," Kaela protests, following. "That's what friends do. Friends don't let friends miss out on cave bird eggs."

  "Pretty sure friends also don't let friends eat things that might be sentient," I say.

  "They're not sentient. Probably."

  We navigate through the maze of tables and bodies, Kaela leading the way with the confidence of someone who's done this a thousand times. She weaves between clusters of students without breaking stride, her tail swishing behind her as she goes. I follow less gracefully, my tray wobbling as I dodge elbows.

  We find a table near the edge of the room, away from the densest clusters of students. The relative quiet is a relief, though "quiet" is generous for a space filled with hundreds of people. The noise is still a constant roar, but at least here it's not directly in my ears.

  Kaela slides onto the bench first, patting the space beside her with enthusiasm. I sit, and she immediately scoots closer until our shoulders touch. The contact is warm and grounding, a physical reminder that I'm not alone in this overwhelming space.

  Lyra takes the seat on my other side, leaving a respectful few inches of space between us. She sets her tray down with precise movements, everything aligned and orderly.

  Mira sits across from me.

  Of course she does.

  Her tray is perfectly arranged, each dish in its designated spot, nothing touching. Her posture is rigid, shoulders back, spine straight like she's sitting for a portrait. And her eyes are on me, that same unnerving intensity from this morning, watching me like I'm a specimen under glass.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I meet her gaze for a moment, then deliberately look away. I'm not playing this game.

  "Okay," Kaela says brightly, apparently oblivious to the tension. "Now you have to try the morning grain. Just one bite. If you hate it, you can stick to bread and we'll never mention it again."

  "I'm going to stick to bread anyway," I say, picking up a piece and tearing off a corner.

  "But you have to try it first," Kaela insists, nudging the bowl closer. "Please? For me? For friendship?"

  I look at the bowl. The surface ripples gently, steam rising in lazy spirals. It still looks like it might achieve consciousness at any moment.

  "This is peer pressure," Lyra says, her tone completely deadpan.

  Kaela gasps. "It is not!"

  "We're literally pressuring her to eat something she doesn't want to eat," Lyra continues, taking a bite of her own morning grain without looking up. "That's the definition."

  "It's friendly peer pressure," Kaela protests. "Supportive peer pressure. The good kind."

  "That's still peer pressure," I say.

  "The best kind of peer pressure," Kaela insists, nudging the bowl of morning grain closer to me. "Come on. One tiny bite. For friendship."

  I give in, close my eyes, and take a small bite of the moving alien oatmeal.

  The texture hits first, smooth and creamy, coating my tongue in a way that should be unpleasant but somehow isn't. Then the taste follows, and I have to pause because it's... good? It's sweet but not cloying, with an underlying earthiness that grounds it. There's a hint of something nutty, and maybe a touch of cinnamon, or whatever this world's equivalent is. It's warm and comforting and completely unexpected.

  I take another bite. Then another.

  "See?" Kaela says triumphantly, her grin so wide I'm worried her face might split. "I told you! I told you it was good! I'm always right about food!"

  "It's still moving," I say around a mouthful.

  "But it tastes good!"

  "These things don't have to be mutually exclusive." Lyra says.

  Lyra makes a sound that might be amusement. She's already halfway through her own portion, eating with the methodical efficiency of someone who has better things to do than contemplate the existential horror of sentient porridge.

  I move on to the branchberries next, because apparently I've decided to live dangerously. I pick one up with my fingers, and it's cool and slick against my skin. The surface gives slightly under pressure, like a water balloon filled with something that definitely isn't water.

  "Just bite it," Kaela says, leaning even closer. "Just bite and experience!"

  I bite it.

  The skin breaks with a soft pop, and juice floods my mouth. It's sweet, yes, but also tart, with a complexity that makes my Earth-trained palate sit up and pay attention. There's a floral note, something like lavender or rose, and underneath that, a deep berry flavor that's almost familiar but not quite. The flesh is soft and yielding, dissolving on my tongue in a way that's both pleasant and slightly unsettling.

  "Oh," I say.

  "Right?" Kaela practically vibrates with excitement. "I eat them all the time! Well, when they're available..."

  I eat two more in quick succession, then force myself to slow down. The bread can wait. This is worth savoring, even if the texture makes my brain do uncomfortable things.

  We eat in relative silence for a few minutes, or at least as much silence as is possible with Kaela beside me. She keeps up a running commentary on everything, the food, the other students, the weather, the quality of the morning grain compared to yesterday's. And repeatedly, the fact that we're friends now.

  I watch the other students without trying to look like I'm watching. The social dynamics play out in real time, visible in the way people sit and talk and move. There are clear hierarchies here, groups that cluster together, individuals who sit alone. It's not so different from Earth, really. People are people.

  Mira hasn't said a word since we sat down. She eats with mechanical precision, her eyes flicking between me and the rest of the cafeteria like she's cataloging threats. Every time I glance at her, she's already looking at me, her expression unreadable.

  It's deeply unnerving.

  Kaela pauses mid-sentence, something about the bread being better when it's fresh from the ovens, and I realize I've been staring at my plate without really seeing it. Missing things. Missing home.

  "So what's Earth like?" Lyra asks, her voice quiet but clear.

  The question catches me off guard. I look up to find her watching me, her dark eyes steady and curious, maintaining that careful distance like she's interested but doesn't want to get too close.

  "Earth?" I repeat, buying time.

  "Yes."

  I set down my spoon, considering how to answer. "Different. Very different." I pause, trying to find words that will make sense. "We had technology instead of magic. Machines that did things. Electricity. Computers. Devices that could store information, let you talk to people on the other side of the world, show you pictures and videos."

  "That sounds amazing!" Kaela says, her eyes wide. "Like... magic, but not magic? How does that even work?"

  "Science," I say, though the explanation feels inadequate. "Physics and engineering and a lot of things I don't understand." I pick at my food, remembering my phone, my laptop, the internet. "It was normal for us. Just like mana is normal for you."

  Kaela opens her mouth to ask another question, but Lyra speaks first, her tone shifting to something more pointed. "I can't imagine living without mana." Kaela says, taking a big bite of her eggs. "It must have been hard without magic."

  The question makes my chest tighten. I hadn't planned on getting into this, but I suppose it was inevitable. "Well, we didn't have magic . . . but some people had powers." I take a breath. "It was random, you'd turn twenty-one and either you'd manifest an ability or you wouldn't. About one in three hundred people got powers."

  "What kind of powers?" Kaela asks, leaning forward.

  "All kinds. Fire manipulation, super strength, flight, telekinesis. Some people could turn invisible, some could control metal, some could heal injuries." I pause, remembering the testing day, the gym, the villain attack.

  "That sounds like magic," Lyra says, her tone thoughtful.

  "I guess?" I think back to the attacker throwing fireballs. "No one used runes or symbols or anything. The powers just... came from inside you. You thought about what you wanted to do, and if you had the right ability, it happened."

  "So it's like magic," Kaela says, her eyes bright with understanding. "Except instead of drawing mana from the environment and shaping it with runes, the power is already inside you?"

  "How does it even get there?" Mira says, taking a bite of her eggs and leaning forward onto the table. "It makes no sense to have unlimited powers like that."

  "I guess that's one way to look at it." I hadn't thought about it like that before, but it makes sense. "Though here, anyone can learn to use mana if they study hard enough, right? On Earth, you either had powers or you didn't. No amount of training could give you abilities if you weren't born with the potential."

  "Do you miss it?" Lyra asks quietly, breaking the silence. "Earth?"

  The question catches me off guard. I set down my spoon, the weight of it suddenly too much. "I miss the sounds," I admit, my voice softer than I intend. "The way the city sounded at night. Cars passing, people talking, the hum of electricity in the walls. The smell of coffee from the shop on the corner. The way the bus smelled like diesel and rain."

  "That sounds... specific," Kaela says, her expression somewhere between sympathetic and confused.

  "I was blind for twenty-one years. You notice things." I pick at the edge of my tray. "But mostly I miss my friend. Eve. She was. . .is. . ." My voice catches, and I have to clear my throat. "She was the only person who ever really saw me, even when I couldn't see myself. She'd narrate things for me, not because she had to, but because she wanted to share the world with me."

  "I'm sure she's worried about you."

  "Yeah." I blink hard, willing myself not to cry in the middle of the cafeteria. "I just wish I could tell her I'm okay. That I'm alive. That I haven't been, I don't know, eaten by a dragon or something."

  "What's a dragon?" Kaela says earnestly.

  "A giant flying beast." I say, hoping not to confuse them.

  "Flying?" Kaela says, thinking.

  Before she could respond Lyra clears her throat. "We should go," Lyra says, glancing toward the windows. "Class starts soon."

  I nod, grateful for the shift in focus. We stand, collect our trays, and join the line of students depositing dishes at the collection window.

  I can fall apart later. Right now, I have classes to attend and a world to figure out.

  The corridors are already filling with students moving between classes. The academy is a maze of identical stone passages, and I try to memorize landmarks, but it's slow going. Everything looks the same, and my brain is still struggling to process visual information efficiently.

  The classroom walls are covered in papers depicting various runes in stages of development. Some look half-finished, incomplete lines and partial curves. Others look fully formed, every line precise and connected. Professor Willas, or who I assumed to be him, is already there, standing at the front of the room. He's younger than I expected, but what did I know about how things aged here. "Sit," he says. Not unkindly, but not warmly either. Just a statement of fact, delivered in a voice that expects to be obeyed.

  We sit. I end up between Kaela and Lyra, with Mira directly across from me. She looks at me with cold assessment, her lip curling slightly like she's found something distasteful. Then she deliberately shifts her chair back a few inches, putting more distance between us.

  Professor Willas waits until everyone is settled. Then he begins without preamble.

  "Today we continue our study of basic runic structures," he says, turning to the chalkboard. "Runes are the language of mana. They are not merely symbols, they are instructions, commands, requests. When properly formed and activated, they allow us to shape reality according to our intentions."

  He draws a symbol on the board, his hand moving with confident precision. Curved lines intersect with straight ones, forming a pattern that's both geometric and organic.

  "This is a basic Ignis rune," he says, stepping back. "Watch."

  He places his hand against the chalk drawing, and I can vaguely see something in the air moving towards the rune. It looked as if the air suddenly gained texture and volume, thickening and being pulled into the rune. The air around the rune darkens, shadows deepening as, what I assumed to be mana, is pulled from the environment toward the rune. The rune begins to glow, and then a small orb of warm orange light appears in the air in front of the rune, casting dancing shadows across the classroom. The rune continues to glow brightly, holding its shape, the mana it captured now transformed into steady illumination.

  "The mana responds to intent," he says. "To will. To the shape of the rune and the desire of the caster." He looks around the room. "Now, you'll practice. Miss Mira, would you demonstrate?"

  Mira stands and moves to the front with practiced confidence. She draws a symbol on the board, places her hand on it, and mana flows, this was bigger than the first rune. I felt a weight shift in the room. It was if the room became lighter, similar to what I felt when I first woke up in the nurses office. It was as if I had just stepped out of a pool without realizing it.

  In my distraction I missed Mira causing a small flame appear in the air before the rune, dancing and flickering.

  "Excellent," Professor Willas says. "Miss Lyra, please instruct Miss Fey in the fundamental forms. The rest of you, continue your practice."

  Lyra settles beside me with chalk and a small slate. "We'll start simple," she says quietly, drawing the Ignis rune. "Copy it."

  I take the chalk and try. My lines are shaky and uneven, but Lyra nods. "Close enough. Now place your hand on the rune and it should activate."

  I place my hand on the rune. Nothing happens.

  "Are you touching it?" Lyra says patiently.

  "I did exactly what you told me." I say, getting frustrated. I try again. Still nothing. Around me, other students succeed, lights flicker into existence, flames dance, water droplets form in midair. But my rune stays dark and inert. I try a third time, concentrating with everything I have. The rune remains stubbornly lifeless.

  Professor Willas appears at my shoulder. "Difficulty?"

  "It's not working," I say, frustration bleeding into my voice.

  "Show me."

  I place my hand on the rune and concentrate. Nothing. The room brims with minor miracles, and I can't manage even a single glowing line. Professor Willas watches me try twice more, his expression thoughtful. "Have you ever worked with runes before? Any training at all?"

  "No," I say, pulling my hand back. "Nothing like this existed on Earth. We didn't have mana or runes or any of this."

  "You said you came through a portal, right?" Lyra speaks up from beside me, her voice quiet but clear. "Did the portal have runes?"

  The memory hits me. The swirling chaos of light and energy. The symbols carved into its edges, glowing and pulsing.

  "Yes," I say slowly. "The portal had runes. All around the edges."

  Professor Willas holds out a slate and chalk. "A . . . Portal? Can you remember any of the runes?"

  "Some of them. Maybe." I pull the slate toward me, my hand already reaching for the chalk. "Can I?"

  "Please."

  I pick up the chalk and start drawing. The symbols come back in fragments, more complex than the basic runes, more angular.

  I draw one of them, the one I remember most clearly.

  Professor Willas leans in, studying it for a long moment. His expression shifts from curiosity to confusion. "I don't recognize this," he says finally. He shakes his head. "I've never seen this exact form."

  "So you don't know what it means?"

  "Not from this alone." He straightens, his tone becoming more practical. "But the library holds extensive collections on runes." He taps the slate. "You should try your luck there."

  "Right," I say, keeping my voice level. "The library. Thanks."

  Professor Willas nods. "The beauty of runes is that you can make anything you imagine with the right combination and mana. That means there's often a lot of things humble professors such as myself don't understand. . . Who knows, your arrival here might have been just what we needed to invent a new method of transportation. That certainly would increase our funding."

  "But I want to. . ." I start to say.

  I'm interupted as a bell rings somewhere deep in the academy, the sound resonating through the stone walls like a low, sustained note. Around the room, students immediately begin gathering their things, the scrape of chairs and rustle of papers filling the space.

  I stand. Professor Willas clears his throat. "Good luck with your research." He says as Lyra grabs my arm.

  "Come on," Lyra says, moving toward the door, pulling me. Kaela follows, throwing an encouraging smile over her shoulder.

  The corridor outside is cooler than the classroom, the stone walls radiating a chill that seeps through my uniform. Students stream past in both directions, their voices echoing off the high ceiling, creating a constant murmur of sound that makes my ears ring. I press closer to the wall, letting the crowd flow around me.

  "That was surprising" Kaela says, falling into step beside me. "I really thought Professor Willas would know. He knows everything about runes."

  "Apparently not everything," I say.

  "The library will have it," she continues, undeterred by my tone. "The library has everything. Well, almost everything. There was this one time I was looking for a book about cloud formations and they didn't have it, but that's probably not relevant right now."

  We're halfway down the corridor when I hear it.

  Music. Faint but unmistakable, drifting through the stone passages. A melody I know, a song from Earth, something with a beat and synthesized notes that don't exist in this world. The sound is tinny, compressed.

  I stop walking.

  "Fey?" Lyra asks.

  Then I see him. A boy, walking toward us with his head down. He's holding something small and rectangular, earbuds trailing from it. An iPod. A fucking iPod.

  "That," I say, pointing with a shaking hand. "He has. . .!

  The boy looks up, sees me pointing, sees my face. His eyes go wide. The music cuts off.

  "Stop!" I call out. "Wait! I need to see that!"

  He runs.

  Of course he runs.

  Thus began The Quest for the iPod, which will probably go down in academy history as either the most desperate or most ridiculous chase scene ever witnessed within these hallowed stone walls. Possibly both.

  I take off after him, my boots slapping against stone. The world immediately becomes a nightmare of motion and light. My new eyes can't process speed like this, everything blurs into streaks of color and shadow, mana flowing through the walls like luminous veins that smear across my vision.

  "Fey!" Kaela shouts behind me. "What are we doing?"

  "Chasing!" I yell back. "Obviously!"

  The boy glances over his shoulder and makes a sharp decision. He grabs a supply cart parked against the wall and shoves it directly into my path.

  I dodge. Barely clear it. My shin clips the edge and pain shoots up my leg.

  "Why are we chasing him?" Lyra calls out, her voice steady even while running.

  "He has something from Earth!" I shout back, breathless.

  We burst into a wider corridor packed with students changing classes. The boy weaves through the crowd like he's done this before, using bodies as shields.

  "Excuse me! Sorry! Emergency! Coming through!" I say, trying to squeeze through.

  The boy reaches a junction and yanks down a decorative banner. The heavy fabric falls directly in my path like a theater curtain of inconvenience.

  I hit it at full speed, get tangled in expensive embroidered fabric, and nearly go down. My hands claw at cloth, my feet stumble, and for one horrible moment I'm blind again, wrapped in darkness with no idea which way is up.

  Then Kaela grabs the banner and rips it away. "Go!"

  I go.

  Ahead, the boy reaches a storage area. Shelves line the walls, packed with supplies. He doesn't hesitate. He starts grabbing things and throwing them behind him.

  A box of chalk explodes against the wall beside my head. White dust fills the air.

  A bottle of ink shatters on the floor.

  "This is vandalism!" I cough through chalk dust.

  "Says the girl chasing me through the halls!" He grabs a whole shelf and pulls. The entire thing tips, contents cascading down in an avalanche of academic supplies.

  He rounds the corner and Lyra is there, arms crossed, expression carved from ice.

  He tries to dodge left.

  Kaela appears, blocking that route, grinning like this is the most fun she's had all week.

  He spins, looking for escape. Mira steps out of a side passage, her hand resting on her sword hilt. She looks at him with such withering disdain that he actually flinches.

  "You're done," she says flatly.

  And I arrive, bent over, wheezing, probably about to die from cardiopulmonary failure but victorious nonetheless.

  The boy's back hits the wall. He's trapped, cornered by four girls who just chased him through half the academy. His chest heaves, his face is flushed, and the iPod is still clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

  "Okay," he says, hands up in surrender. "Okay, I'm not. . . I didn't. . ."

  "Closet," Lyra says, pointing to a door in the shadows. "Now."

  The boy looks at the door, then at us, then at the door again. He deflates completely, all the fight going out of him. "Fine."

  Kaela guides him to the door with a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

  It's a small storage closet, cramped and smelling of soap and old stone. We crowd in, me, Lyra, Kaela, and the boy. Mira stays in the doorway, her expression suggesting she'd rather be literally anywhere else but she's going to see this through out of sheer stubborn principle.

  Lyra closes the door. Darkness, then soft illumination blooms from a rune on the wall, casting everything in warm orange.

  I'm still trying to catch my breath. My hands are scraped, my shin is throbbing, and I'm pretty sure I pulled something in my shoulder. But I'm here. We're here. And he has answers.

  "Why did you run!?" I ask, stepping closer, my voice rising in between haggard breaths.

  The boy's eyes dart between us, calculating. "I don't have to tell you anything."

  The sound of steel scraping against leather cuts him off. Mira draws her sword with deliberate slowness, the blade singing as it leaves the scabbard. The mana catches the edge, making it gleam orange and sharp. She doesn't point it at him. She doesn't have to. She just holds it, examining the blade with casual interest, like she's considering whether it needs sharpening.

  The boy's face goes pale. His grip on the iPod tightens, knuckles white.

  "I snuck out alright! I used a blocking rune to hide from the tracker. If anyone finds out I left without permission, I'm. . ." His voice cracks. "I'll be expelled."

  "We don't care that you snuck out," Lyra says flatly.

  "We just want to know where you got that." I ask, pointing at the iPod still clutched in his hand.

  "I bought it," he says quickly, the words tumbling out. "I bought it from a merchant. At the market in town."

  "Which merchant?" Lyra asks.

  "I don't . . . I don't remember the name," he stammers, eyes still fixed on Mira's sword. "Just some old guy with a stall. He had other stuff too, weird things from different places."

  I step forward, hand outstretched. "Give it to me."

  He hesitates for only a second before pressing the iPod into my palm. His hand is shaking.

  The device is cool and familiar against my skin. I turn it over, seeing the dark screen, the click wheel, the scratches on the back that could be from Earth or from here. The weight of it is exactly right, exactly how I remember.

  "The market," I say, looking up at Lyra. "We need to get to the market."

  Lyra nods once, decisive. "Then that's where we go."

  Mira sheathes her sword with another scrape of steel, the sound final. She looks at me with that same cold assessment, but something in her expression has shifted. Maybe acknowledgement.

  "Looks like we're going shopping." I say, pocketing the iPod.