By the time we reached the classroom door, Mannik Talvan slowed and turned to me, looking like he’d just remembered something important.

  “Right,” he said. “Since this is your first lesson with Professor Weil, here’s some friendly advice. Sit at the back. Don’t ask questions. If you don’t understand something, ask the older students later. Professor Weil doesn’t like newcomers.”

  He paused.

  “Or girls.”

  “Noted,” I nodded, a faint sense of dread settling in.

  “And she especially dislikes pretty ones,” he added casually.

  …Was that a compliment? Unexpected, but I wasn’t complaining.

  “So,” I asked cautiously, “what kind of person is Professor Weil, exactly?”

  Mannik smirked, clearly choosing his words with care.

  “Well. She lives and breathes curses. There’s nothing she enjoys more than testing the most elaborate ones… in practice. And students who get in her way tend to be put back in their place.”

  He tilted his head.

  “Professionally.”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered. “A misanthropic curse-obsessed witch. A walking horror story.”

  Mannik patted my shoulder, barely suppressing a smile.

  “Just don’t say that out loud. Calling a mage a witch or a warlock is deeply offensive. Best advice? Don’t draw attention to yourself. And if you say something wrong — apologise immediately.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I slipped into the back row and settled behind a truly enormous tome titled Attack and Defence: Fundamentals of Curses. I briefly considered using it as a shield. If not against curses, then at least against staring. The title didn’t inspire confidence, but here we were.

  At the lectern stood Anastasia Weil. She wore a velvet dress as dark as her disposition and had the expression of someone personally appointed to oversee our suffering.

  “Now,” she began, scanning the room like a disappointed executioner, “we move on to second-tier defensive wards.”

  Her gaze suggested none of us would survive five minutes, but she’d do her best with what she’d been given. The air in the classroom thickened with every word, like black fog curling around the symbols on the board. She spoke of curses with the same calm one might use to explain porridge recipes.

  “Curse defence is your final line of survival,” Weil continued, smiling in a way that suggested she was restraining herself from demonstrating this personally. “Fail your defence — you lose. Interrupt a spell — you lose. Show mercy — you lose. Now. Who can tell me the difference between spells and curses?”

  A boy in the front row nearly vibrated with enthusiasm.

  “The effects of spells can be reversed with counter-spells or healing potions if there’s physical damage,” he rattled off. “Curses, however, can only be undone by completely lifting the curse itself.”

  Weil nodded, utterly unimpressed.

  “Sit down,” she said. “And understand this: my subject is not merely academic. It is survival. The most important course in the Academy.”

  Someone near me went visibly pale. I rolled my eyes internally. Every professor thought their subject was the meaning of life.

  “Miss Orlova,” Weil said suddenly, her gaze narrowing like a predator’s. “Let’s see if you’re capable of basic curse defence. Do you believe you can manage?”

  “I’m not ready,” I replied calmly, leaning back. “I arrived two days ago.”

  A thin, irritated smile appeared on Weil’s lips.

  “Not an excuse. In the Academy, everyone is equal. To the board.”