The morning I left was strangely quiet.

  As if the forest, my parents, the house—everything around me—knew that my steps were moving several months ahead.

  I hugged my mother and father, checked the communication orbs, and boarded the carriage bound for the capital.

  When the city walls appeared in the distance, the orb in my palm glowed softly.

  First message — connection test

  “Zen, we’re testing. Tell us the time of sending and the time of receiving.”

  I glanced at the sundial in the square.

  “7 a.m.,” I replied into the orb. “I’m in the capital.”

  The answer came ten minutes later:

  “Your message arrived instantly.

  Ours reached you with a ten-minute delay.

  We’ll think about how to strengthen the mana flow.”

  I smiled, slipped the orb into my pocket, and went through registration to settle in.

  When I’d arranged my room and unpacked my things, the orb lit up again—this time with a warm, gentle glow.

  Second message — my parents

  “Did you arrive safely, Zen?

  We sent this message at 9:00.”

  I looked at the wall clock.

  “In the capital it’s 10:20,” I answered.

  “A delay of an hour and a half.

  I don’t have delays—I’m pouring in enough mana for instant delivery.”

  This time the reply came almost immediately:

  “Good, son.

  Write when you can.

  Your mother and I shouldn’t worry more than necessary.”

  The orb went dark.

  And only then did the silence of the room fully settle over me.

  I sat on the bed, elbows on my knees.

  Write more books for the elves?

  Refine the material on fire and air?

  Develop the physics topics further?

  Lay out the basic breathing rune?

  I looked at the quill and ink.

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

  “Later…” I exhaled. “I’ll start tomorrow.”

  For the first time in several days, I felt truly tired.

  And at that exact moment—

  I glanced out the window, and the city was coming alive.

  By noon, dozens of wagons were already rattling along the stone streets:

  swordsmen, mages, students from wealthy houses—noise, laughter, clamor—everything as usual before the start of a new season.

  And exactly at 13:00…

  A massive dark-blue carriage rolled down the street, adorned with golden lines and the symbols of Laureley.

  Fifteen knights surrounded it.

  The horses were white as snow.

  And, of course…

  Elinia.

  For a second, our eyes met.

  She noticed me looking.

  Raised an eyebrow.

  And I—instinctively—stepped back from the window.

  “…Damn.”

  There was no better word.

  Half an hour later, I was tired of unpacking, tired of thinking, tired of existing at all.

  I decided to go to bed early—tomorrow was the first day of classes.

  The room was quiet, the lamp extinguished, my thoughts drifting away…

  And then—

  BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG

  Someone was pounding on the door like they meant to break it down with their shoulder.

  Half-asleep, I muttered:

  “Coming… coming…”

  My head felt stuffed with cotton, my body wooden.

  I reached the door, turned the handle—

  AND THIS IS WHERE I WAS WOKEN UP. FOREVER.

  The door was nearly kicked in, and with it she burst into the room.

  Princess Elinia.

  And before I could say a single word—

  a sharp gust of wind slammed into my chest and pinned me to the wall.

  “HOW DAAAAAARE YOUUUUUUU?!” she practically growled.

  I blinked.

  “Uh… dare what, exactly?”

  She stepped closer, eyes blazing:

  “Not greeting me!”

  “You saw me! IN THE WINDOW! IN THE WINDOOOOW!!”

  “And you did nothing!”

  “Not a breath! Not a nod!”

  “Not even a stupid sunny smile!”

  I raised a hand slightly.

  “I was sleeping.”

  “AT TWO IN THE AFTERNOOOON?!” she shouted, as if I’d committed a felony.

  “Well… yes.”

  She stared at me like I’d insulted the entire royal bloodline.

  And then her gaze dropped sharply to my desk.

  To the communication orb.

  Elinia froze.

  Stepped closer.

  Leaned down.

  Turned the orb with her finger.

  Then spun back to me:

  “HELVARD.

  WHAT. IS. THIS?!”

  I frowned.

  “Uh… a glass thing?”

  “DON’T BE SMART!”

  “A sphere.”

  “HELVARD!”

  I realized that if I told the truth, she’d interrogate me for a day… or a month.

  So I answered briefly, honestly, and with deadly seriousness:

  “It’s… for communication.”

  Elinia narrowed her eyes like a cat before a leap.

  “Communication? With whom, exactly?”

  I quickly looked away.

  “Well… with the world.”

  “DON’T EVADE THE QUESTION!”

  I stood up, grabbed her by the shoulders (carefully, so she wouldn’t throw me again with wind), and said:

  “Elinia, it’s late.

  You have classes tomorrow.

  So do I.

  And if you don’t go to sleep now, you’ll faint from exhaustion again tomorrow—just like after my book on water.”

  She blushed.

  “THAT WAS… accidental.”

  “Yeah, yeah.

  Accidentally didn’t sleep for three nights in a row.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU—”

  “Sleep.”

  I opened the door.

  Elinia huffed angrily.

  “Helvard, you… you… you’re just…!!!”

  And she left.

  But just before the door closed, she suddenly stuck her head back in, squinted, and said:

  “I’ll still find out what that orb is.

  Don’t think I’ll forget.”

  I smiled tiredly.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.”

  She stomped loudly—and left.

  I closed the door.

  Sat on the bed.

  Exhaled.

  And said to the darkness:

  “…First day, you say? Yeah. Easy.”