The exam ended when everyone circled back to the starting point—including those who didn't pass and were escorted away. Only when Headmaster Garrett told everyone to go "home" did the chatter finally ebb.
The Pine Hollow kids followed Ermin up to the front porch. He hopped onto it and, grinning ear to ear, announced:
"Feast tonight! A big, official welcome to Abby Fairbourn and Luna Atkins—now of Pine Hollow!"
A cheer went up in perfect unison, a thunderous welcome that set a smile on Luna's face.
For the first time in her life, people were this happy that she existed.
Trey patted her shoulder, mouth opening to say something—only for Francis to cut in first.
"You two—wash up and meet me in my room."
He pointed at the two new members. Trey whistled, one corner of his mouth quirking.
"Oooh. First day and already in trouble."
"It's not that," Francis warned.
"It's worse," Trey said, slinging an arm around his neck as they walked off. The others filtered into the house. Abby turned to Luna, eyes wide.
"Are we... in trouble?"
Luna scratched her head, watching the pair go. She wasn't sure how to put it.
"Hard to explain. You'll see ,and then decide for yourself."
When the girls stepped into Room 3F a while later, Abby still couldn't decide whether she was in trouble—because the scene before her looked like the bigger one. Francis's (and Trey's) "room" was exactly as Luna remembered: the air steeped in the calming, peculiar perfume of herbs—a scent she was already starting to like.
"Welcome to the clinic. Don't breathe wrong or those bottles might explode," said Trey, standing beside Francis's worktable, and grinning at Abby's frightened face.
Francis was scribbling at his desk— then, in a flash, he snatched a roll of paper out of Trey's hand.
"Don't touch my paperwork!"
"Hey! you've got to let your assistant assist."
"You—are not—my assistant!"
With that, Trey flopped into his own chair, arms crossed, lips moving in a sulky mumble.
"Fine, fine. Then grind this." Francis sighed, handing him a mortar with a wet brown lump inside. Trey's face lit so fast Luna could almost see a tail sprout and thump-thump with joy.
"Seat's free."
Abby jumped as a big, broad-shouldered boy pushed himself up from where he'd been lying facedown and sat at one end of the sofa. She hesitated, then perched beside him, too shy to refuse, a faint pink blooming in both cheeks.
Seeing that, Luna headed straight for the edge of Trey's bed. Blake tore his eyes from the girl beside him, glancing between Luna and Trey. His mouth opened, then closed again— like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
"How's this?" Trey held out the mortar. Francis nodded, taking it.
How's what, exactly? The idiot had ground the spent tea leaves—what I'd just filtered out to throw away. He can never tell the difference between herbs and tea. Doctor's apprentice, my ass.
Francis scooted his chair over to Blake on the sofa, gaze catching on the boy's knuckles— swollen, split, ready to burst.
Don't act like I don't know. Half an hour ago, I'd looked out that window and seen this particular idiot shadowboxing a boulder. What training method was that supposed to be? Look at you— do you think I have nothing better to do?
"Went a little hard," Blake muttered, eyes dipping with a guilty look. "But see those two first. I'm not that hurt."
Says the guy who barged in and groaned for ten straight minutes.
Francis rolled his eyes and rolled his chair toward Abby. His hand settled lightly at her neck.
"Any pain? Cuts? Anything off?"
"Um... a scrape on my elbow. And—this weird twinge in my right ankle from falling."
Her face stayed beet red. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger, anxious.
Francis let go of her neck, passed her an ointment, and, very carefully, cupped her ankle. "Twist risk. I'll wrap it. Trey—"
"Yes, sir!"
Before Francis could finish, Trey yanked open the bedside drawer and lobbed him an elastic bandage– wearing the proudest look a 'Most Honorable Doctor's Apprentice' could wear.
"Isn't that your personal drawer?" Luna frowned.
Trey fished out another handful of bandages and flashed them.
"Snatched and pre-stocked. Been waiting for this moment," he said, throwing her a wink.
Once Abby's ankle was wrapped, Francis rolled in front of Luna and examined her like he always did.
"Everything's fine. Just scrapes."
She barely had time to exhale when the door banged open again.
"Francissssss!"
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
A petite girl filled the doorway— brown hair twisted into a quick bun, violet-blue eyes glittering with mischief beneath a wide grin.
Bluebell Bouquet: one of Pine Hollow's resident hurricanes.
She held up both hands—palms a mess of blisters, red and raw. Transparent bubbles bulged, taut and ready to burst.
"Small accident," she declared, sounding prouder than pained. "But I've got it under control."
"In what world is that under control?"
Trey stood, finger poised to poke a blister. Bluebell narrowed her eyes and drew back a hand, ready to smack him—but Francis lifted a finger and said, voice gone cool,
"Hold."
She froze mid-swing.
"No Quanta in here, Bluebell."
"Yeah—only the room's owners get that privilege."
Trey added sticking his tongue out before plopping back into his chair.
Luna looked between him and Bluebell, then back at Francis. Curiosity overflowed.
"Hold on—how did you—"
Wasn't that just a regular smack?
"I saw it."
"Saw?"
"Her hand glowed."
"What!"
Trey sighed long and loud. He was used to this—Doctor Strange here saying half a sentence and leaving everyone to connect the dots. Would it kill him to explain things like a normal person?
"Translation: aside from being absurdly good at fixing people, this pretty boy can also see Quanta."
"For real?" Luna brightened. "How long do I have to train to do that too?" It would be wonderful if she could see her own power the way he did.
Trey leaned back, smirking.
"You'd have to be Francis. And trust me—one of him is already plenty."
"It's not like I want to see it," Francis said. "Ermin found out and now I get ordered to observe every new kid."
Another one who apparently thinks I have nothing better to do. And I couldn't quite say no, either. Curse the soft heart that insisted on helping people.
"You said it glowed. Then how do you even live in this house?" Luna asked. A place packed with Quanta users had to be murder on his eyes.
"Residue on objects doesn't show unless I squint— hard— and only if it's dense enough. But Quanta straight from the user—like just now—glows, whether I focus or not."
He'd gone solemn. The brightness depended on how much Quanta was being drawn, and most of what he'd seen so far wasn't that bright, just lights he could learn to live with.
But Luna's first day of training—when she blew up the bowl— had been different. That was the first time he'd seen Quanta blaze like fireworks, so bright it hurt to look at. So bright he'd feared the veins in her neck would burst right there.
And yet she was still here—safe, normal, as if nothing had happened.
Strange. How strange.
"And... have you ever used Quanta as a lantern?"
Hey, when it's dark—you think about these things!
This time Francis glared like he might bite her head off. Trey burst out laughing.
"I asked that too. He said he'd stitch my mouth shut instead of my cuts."
Francis didn't deny it.
"Careful," he added, smirking at Luna, "you're turning into the female Trey. One of him is also plenty."
Luna took that as a deeply hurtful insult. Trey mouthed the words back at him in mockery. Francis rolled his eyes and turned to the other two patients.
Bluebell lounged at the door, far more relaxed than her hands deserved. Blake wore the same unbothered look.
No one needed to say it— both were clinic regulars.
Next time, could they at least pretend to feel pain? It might help them be more careful.
Francis looked from Bluebell to Blake and lifted an eyebrow.
"Told you I can wait," Blake shrugged.
"Find a seat, Bluebell. I need a fresh mix for those hands." Francis plucked a few dried herbs from a rail, dumped Trey's tea-leaf-disaster, and started blending anew.
Bluebell swept the room. The two beds were obviously off-limits. Her eyes landed on the sofa—already occupied. But she was tiny, someone could scoot, and she'd fit fine.
"Move over." She nudged Abby's shoulder with the back of her hand.
Abby squeaked and scooted closer to Blake until their shoulders brushed. Heat rushed up her face. The boy beside her went rigid as a board.
Remembering her damp hair from that quick wash, she flipped it over to the other shoulder.
"S-sorry."
"Mhm."
Francis rolled back in front of Bluebell and smeared the fresh paste across both palms, wrapping them while muttering under his breath.
"Feels better already," she said, waving both hands in the air.
"Quit doing ridiculous things. Or you won't have hands left to eat at the party."
Trey opened his mouth to toss in a comment. Bluebell looked ready to brawl. Francis silenced them both with a glare and turned to dress Blake's knuckles—the boy oddly, mercifully quiet.
"So what's Ermin's party even about?" Trey asked. "Don't tell me he's going to read to us."
"He and Abel are cooking to celebrate the new term—and to welcome the new members," Blake said.
"Say what?!" Bluebell shot up. "I've got to see this with my own eyes."
She bolted out in a flash.
"Damn it, I had to go stop her."
By see, she meant prank— and loyal defender of Abel's food, Blake, sprang up and chased her.
"I should go too—I haven't even unpacked yet. Thanks again, Francis."
Abby bobbed a quick bow and slipped out.
The room, suddenly down to three people, grew quiet and felt twice as big.
Trey cannoned onto his bed, grinning when Luna nearly bounced off the edge.
"How was the exam? You breezed through it. Nice work."
Luna raised a brow.
"Are you about to claim a favor?"
"Yup. I helped you pass. Therefore, you now have to help me argue with him–forever." He pointed at Francis.
She huffed a laugh—never quite the answer she expected.
Arms folded, Francis rolled his chair to face them and fixed them with a stare heavy enough to leave a dent.
"Don't listen to him. And Trey—behave. Orientation's tomorrow."
"Orientation?"
"The headmaster will give a welcome—don't you sigh at me, Trey—" he turned to Luna "—and they'll fit you with a Veinguard."
Luna's smile froze.
"Veinguard?"
Trey sat up and tapped the right side of his neck.
"Ermin told you. Everybody needs one. Keeps your veins from bursting," he said.
"Lets you use Quanta safely," Francis corrected.
Luna remembered Ermin's words. The Elderwatch would place a Veinguard on her neck. It would leave no trace.
"How do you know it's not a scam? No one can see it. How do we prove anything?"
"He can." Trey jerked his chin at Francis, who nodded. "Besides, after it's in, you'll feel it when you hit your limit. Your veins will sting—bad. But don't worry. If you don't stop—or can't—it'll shut your Quanta down for you."
"And. How. Do. You. Know. That?" Francis's eyes snapped to Trey, sharp as a blade.
"Tried it a few times," Trey said with a shrug, as if risking his own life just to test the system wasn't insane. "Quenched it like dousing a bonfire."
"Isn't that basically capping our power?" Luna asked.
"What's power worth if its owner dies first?" Francis said, evenly.
The truth landed. Without a Veinguard, she was courting death. With it, she was safer. But...
"It... doesn't hurt, right?"
This time, they both laughed.
"Look who's asking. Isn't she the girl who exploded a man in the middle of the market?"
"Just a sharp zing. Over in a blink. Not that bad," Francis said, rolling back to his desk. "Off you two go. The feast is starting. Go enjoy yourselves."
"Hey, you can't kick the room's owner out!"
"Just did. Go. Luna, drag him out."
Trey sprang up at once, bowing, and swept an arm toward the door.
"You heard the doctor. His word is law. If Lord Creek says sit, you sit. If he says party, we party."
Says the man who was arguing him down five minutes ago.
Luna headed out, still waving back at the room's other owner.
The corridor felt cooler and dimmer than the clinic. Luna stretched, joints popping. The scent of Francis's salves still ghosted from her cuts.
"So I passed. That means your job's over now, right?" She glanced back at Trey loping along behind her. "No more babysitting."
His arm looped around her neck instantly, his other hand scrubbed her hair.
"Don't get cocky. You're stuck with me till I say otherwise."
"And who are you to decide that?" She shoved free and glared at the annoyingly handsome grin.
"Because," he said, dead serious, "I have a certificate from Ermin. Babysitter of the Year."
Her mouth fell open.
"And I also have the best hair in the house." He slicked it back for her inspection.
She exhaled a laugh.
"That's not true."
"Doesn't have to be. You still laughed." He puffed up, proud, and strode ahead—only to spin and beckon.
"Come on. Food."
And that was when Luna realized: for the first time, she wanted to stay. Not because she had to—
but because someone here made her laugh.
What kind of “apprentice” do you think Trey actually is?
