Three days ago, I was arguing with a squirrel over a half-eaten berry. Now I’m standing in a room that smells like sandalwood, silk, and centuries of elven condescension.

  Elyndor’s estate—if you could call a pace carved from silverwood “just” an estate—was less a house and more a decration of power. Arched ceilings, living branches woven into architecture, lightstones humming like they knew they were better than you. The air was clean, unnaturally so. It smelled wrong—like somewhere people bathed twice a day and judged you for doing less.

  I hated it immediately.

  Luna stood beside me, her silver fur gleaming under the enchanted skylight. She didn’t sit, didn’t rex. Just stood sentinel, her blue eyes scanning everything as if she expected the walls to come alive and try to bite me.

  Wouldn’t have been surprised, honestly.

  Elyndor entered the guest room I’d been granted like a man who still thought he was doing me a favor.

  “It’s yours for the next few days,” he said, voice smooth, like he'd practiced it in the mirror. “Then you’ll be headed to the Human Kingdom for your enrollment.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Great. Nothing says ‘welcome to the family’ like being shoved across a border for an education I didn’t ask for.”

  He didn't flinch. Bastard was consistent, I’d give him that.

  He sat in a vine-woven chair that somehow looked more expensive than anything I'd ever touched. “You’re going to the Academy of Ethera. It’s the most prestigious institution for elemental magic in the human kingdom. They’ve made a peace offering—inviting all noble houses to send a few of their own to attend. It's supposed to foster unity. A three-year program. Politics disguised as education.”

  I stared at him. “Sounds thrilling. And the part where I get caught in crossfire when their unity colpses?”

  He steepled his fingers. “That’s the risk. One we’d prefer not to take… with any of our actual heirs.”

  Ah. There it was.

  “So,” I said, voice ft. “I’m the expendable option.”

  He had the audacity to nod. “Yes. But you’ll be registered as a member of House William, with full rights. A surname, a stipend, future property, and servants upon your return. Should you survive.”

  I blinked. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I not go? Getting a name in exchange for being a sacrificial mb? Generous.”

  Elyndor gave a small smile. “We are not cruel, Cain. We acknowledge your blood. This is our way of offering you a future while also honoring tradition.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “Tradition. The thing that got my mother a grave under a tree while you polished your legacy.”

  He stood. “You leave in three days. We'll have your uniform and materials prepared. A carriage will take you to the border, then you’ll be escorted by a neutral envoy to the academy gates.”

  With a stiff nod, he left.

  The silence that followed was immediate and judgmental.

  I dropped onto the bed—which, to its credit, was disgustingly soft—and stared at the carved ceiling above me.

  “So,” I muttered, eyes half-lidded, “sacrificial mb with new threads. What do you think, Luna? Should I be fttered?”

  She was by the window, blue eyes watching the courtyard like a sniper on duty. “They are using you. That much is clear.”

  “Well, that’s comforting. Please, go on.”

  “But,” she continued, “this is still your chance. You’ve survived in the forest, Cain. You’ve endured rot and starvation and silence. Now it’s time to grow beyond it.”

  “Not sure sarcasm and rabbit stew skills are transferable to mage school.”

  “You will learn.”

  “Do I look like someone who can cast spells? I don’t even know how magic works, Luna. They’ll eat me alive. Politely, with utensils.”

  She turned to me finally, and her voice dropped an octave—still calm, but ced with something colder. Older.

  “You already wield magic, Cain. You just haven’t realized it.”

  I sat up. “...Come again?”

  She stepped closer. Her fur shimmered faintly, the wind brushing through the room as if obeying her. “We are bonded. Spirit and mortal. Wind and will. You made a contract with me, years ago.”

  My jaw dropped slightly. “When?!”

  “The moment you gave me my name,” she said.

  I blinked. “That counts as a contract?!”

  “In my world, names carry weight. To name something is to bind it. You gave me identity. I gave you protection. I’ve been yours ever since.”

  I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling again, this time with existential dread. “So I accidentally entered a magical contract by being emotionally vulnerable. That checks out.”

  She moved beside the bed, quiet as fog. “You are my chosen. My strength will flow through you, should you train. As you grow stronger, so will I.”

  I gnced at her. “Wait—are you saying I’m a magical battery for a pissed-off wind deity in fur form?”

  She growled lowly. “No. I am saying you are my mage. And I will teach you. Wind is speed. Precision. Fury without form. It suits your sharp tongue and reckless heart.”

  I exhaled slowly, the reality settling like dust in my lungs.

  Magic school. Assassination risk. An ancient wind spirit as a teacher-ssh-guardian. A family that just remembered I exist—because I’m disposable.

  This was going to be fun.

  “Alright, Luna,” I said, forcing a smirk. “Lesson one better involve how to not get exploded by someone’s fireball. And maybe how to summon gusts for dramatic entrances.”

  Her blue eyes glinted. “You’ll learn the gusts after you stop tripping over roots.”

  “Rude.”

  She curled beside the bed like a storm preparing to nap.

  I closed my eyes.

  Three days until everything changed.

  Again.