If Vick tried to conceal her astonishment at seeing my face, she really didn’t do very well at it. I’d followed the gnawing hubbub to the study hall, and her mouth contorted like she was trying to snare a consonant from the air the same way you went bobbing for apples. “Creakley…!” she croaked. Should’ve aimed for a vowel instead. “You’re late.”

  “I had more important things to do,” I said and felt like the kind of person they made statues of. “Is that a list? Take it I’m still on it.”

  She snatched at the coiled snake of parchment on the desk. “In the event you do pass today, it would be prudent hereafter to remember a punctual arrival is considered good manners in civilised circles. Wherever you come from, your people may do things differently, but in the cities we adhere to certain standards.” She whipped through the whirl of paper, steel eyes hunting. I let her sweat a minute.

  “Oakley,” I prompted and she scuttled down the list. “Remembering names is also good manners, I’ve heard.” She shot me a look, but I’d had several worse from far nicer people this week. “May I?”

  With a sharp scratch, she struck something on the parchment. “You may.”

  I beamed wide and thanked her graciously, then crossed the study hall foraging for any spare space. Crammed with first-years, a burble of noise simmering like a bubbling stew pot. Smelt about as ripe too. Most of the faces I’d never met before, and I’d only spoken to a handful of the ones I recognised. No seats, no seats… Some perched on tables, some reclined against bookshelves. One hovered shin-height above the ground – I swore we hadn’t been taught anything like that yet. No seats, no seats… Someone’s name was called and a chair scraped in front of me as a scrawny, shifting robe plucked itself up. I let them pass and they scuttled over to a side room. Spotted a couple of faces in that direction so I swung myself away. Diverted to a table in the back corner, snagged a book from the shelf, and ensconced myself in the only available chair I could find.

  Ah. How had I ended up at the exact same seat I’d taken beside Holly on that very first day I was here? Fate sure played games with those who thought they could run from it, and it was a damn good cards cheat. I hefted the book open, stared into the contents page, swearing that would be the only thing that spiralled as I settled in while more names were called. Waiting for my own.

  Robin believed I would pass this anyway… or was he just saying that? My roommates had expressed their faith in me too. Did I believe them? It came down to believing in them more than I believed in myself, and while the people around me – even the people around me at the table: a tall, scratchy, twitching, rattish figure; two girls who might even be twins checking each others notes and whispering conspiratorially; a large and bespectacled student gnawing the side of their thumb; a grey-flecked beard on a hunched guy who looked twice my age – while they all seemed to know what they were doing far more than I, I still couldn’t help but doubt. I glanced furtively at them, all nervous in their own way. Readying to find out if the risk of investing all the months, all the coin, all the exertion had been worth it. But risks were only any fun if you had a safety net to catch you.

  So what if I failed? I couldn’t let the war take me. Maybe Holly or Grove would know somewhere safe I could go, pick up a trade, keep my head down and hood up for a few years until it all blows over. I didn’t need to live well; I just needed to survive. What about Robin? I could hide out with him for a while. We could both hide together – in fact, strike the city entirely and go and find somewhere better for us to be. A beachside hut. A forest cabin. We could grow stuff together and make a perfect little life there and –

  I couldn’t. No more perfection. I couldn’t go the way of that [poor] woman up in the woods. I had to grow in a natural way and find the goodness in what I was. No, I would look at the circumstances in front of me, and pick what I believed would allow me to grow the most. To become the wonky mushroom I was always meant to be.

  I snorted loud and covered it into a cough. Everyone stared, but I was plenty used to that. In Dreadfall and the wider Forest we had our heroes, our goals, our icons. Growing up there, you always knew what you ought to become. None of this was remotely on the register. The regimented academia, the labyrinths of shelves, the independent focus and study, the lanterns drifting on no chain overhead. Much as I couldn’t stand her, Vick was right in a way: my people did do things differently. And it was no better or worse, just different. I had to find what in this world was better for me. And if I ever did, I had to cling onto it for dear life.

  Half the hall had left. The ones they’d expected to pass, I guessed. By now my table had only me and one of the twins. Who decided this order? Why? Alone, she looked like half of a pair of scissors. Sharp eyes flitted around. A name was called and she dragged her nails across the table. Not even a minute later, another name, and she bolted up so quick she almost forgot to grab her quill. Well. At least I had some room to stretch out a while.

  And it was a while indeed. I’d entirely given up on even pretending to read and as I watched the remaining numbers unevenly dwindle, some names appeared I actually knew. Stack was the first from my usual classes. If you’d believe it, his parents had called him Peregrine. No wonder he’d turned out like that. Next was Kaspar and I almost fell off the chair I’d been tipping back. Forgetting his existence had been a peaceful couple of hours. His exam took the longest I’d counted so far. Perhaps ten minutes until another name I vaguely recalled from conjury. I’d been so preoccupied with preparing for failure, I hadn’t even had chance to panic about what in the earth could actually be happening in there. Another written response like the enrollment form? Had they devised something somehow more sadistic and torturous?

  The world beyond the stained glass windows had dimmed to an apprehensive twilight. The light hadn’t quite gone, but you were just waiting for the inevitable to finally fade out. I knew the feeling well. Five of us left. Then four, quickly three. Realised I’d been chewing on the inside of my cheek when it started to taste bad, stopped myself, and my claws found something to pick at on my jaw. Stopped that too. Took my wrist in my other hand and levered it away just the way Omen had. Hoped somehow he knew how much of this was because of him. Not the direction, but the motivation. The way I’d mattered to someone so… so… so much like him. Even when I hadn’t believed in myself, I’d found the motivation to do it anyway, and I think a lot of that came from his belief in me.

  Two people left.

  Maybe we didn’t make ourselves, but either let or resisted ourselves being made by those around us. Finding parts of us in others. And if Robin was right, and fear was the biggest driver, then surely we grouped ourselves with those who made us feel safe. For better or for worse. What made you feel safe wasn’t always good for your growth, same as what made you feel fear isn’t always bad for you. I saw that in Omen. In Holly, in Robin, in Kaspar. And those who could manage their fears seemed to be growing a lot more, a lot better.

  Only me in the hall.

  And then it wasn’t.

  “I drew the short stick this semester,” soughed Professor Field as she loped over, an incongruous amount of vivacity zipping around her. “I suspect my remonstrations in the chancellors’ meeting chambers may be somewhat culpable.”

  Of all the surprises to throw at me. “So – so you want to say goodbye?”

  “No…” she queried. Was her perplexed tone genuine? “I wanted to say hello. To check in. Would make a change given your consistent absences. We haven’t talked in… weeks, I’d submit.” Best I could offer was a noncommittal shrug. “And you still seem to regard me with suspicion. Patently fascinating.”

  “I don’t think it’s personal, professor, if that helps you.”

  “It does not and I dare to suggest you know that, Oakley.” She leaned with purpose on the table. “I didn’t put myself through a decade of toil and study just to let good, promising students fall through cracks.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I folded my book and stood it upright. “That works out cos I’m not a good student. I’m absent, like you said yourself. I haven’t been able to make myself study for this barely at all. I’ve been through all seven of the hells in the past couple of months and revisited a couple on the way back round. Good students don’t live how I live.”

  “Then we can discuss that next semester. A friend of yours came to talk to me this morning and in the discussion, we aggregated that you won’t have had formal education before you enrolled here, correct?” I gave the slightest nod. “So there must be a veritable cornucopia of amelioration right away in terms of your scholarly lifestyle. Improving the efficacy of your wider life will allow you the time and mental space to commit better to what you intend.” She smiled in a way that made it all seem so easy, and to her, maybe it was. “I’d like to have that discussion next semester, if you’d be interested.”

  “If you can find wherever I’ve had to leave to.” I returned her smile flatly. “By this point I don’t even think I care if I’ll fail. I just need to get it done with.”

  “Yet I disagree,” she said. “On both points. From what I’ve seen, you care a hell of a lot about far too much and I think when you can harness that and get on top of it, you'll be something magnificent with it. And I think you’ll pass as well.”

  “Why? I don’t even know what it’s on.”

  “Me neither, and that’s precisely why.” She gave me a moment to baste in my ignorance and when she decided to return some dignity to me, she said, “You abhor the spotlight of recognition. Look at this.” She took the book and turned it the right way up. “Meltriak’s Melodious Minutiae and Miscellanea. On using the arcane to capture and record music. You didn’t expect this to be at all relevant to today’s tribulation, did you? No. You picked the first one from the shelf and used the act of it to try to blend in with everyone else. You care a lot, and if you really thought you’d fail, you’d be scrambling to remedy that.” The book dropped to the table with an empty thunk. “Being openly successful makes you targeted. I won’t deign to prying into your personal business, but know I understand. Or have you been so naive to assume you’re the first from the Forest I’ve taught and come to understand?”

  The question hung as limply as my head, and Field surveyed the room. Just us here. Don’t know what she was looking for. An excuse to leave, maybe. “There’s a rumour which flutters around that Foresters are more naturally in tune with the arcane due to what made them that way a hundred years past. You see evidence of it every so often, but those I’ve taught have always exemplified the brightest candle being the one that burns out the quickest. As do you, Oakley, but you have a distinctive determination. I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t need to. Just remember to nurture it, not to squeeze it dry. That’s the crux of the conversation I wanted with you next semester. Picking battles, spinning plates, howsoever you choose to phrase it. But that’s also why, when given my allotment of choices and names, I let you be the very last student in the cohort to take the exam. You’re the only one I could guarantee would pass.”

  “Stop saying that,” I grumbled.

  “Doesn’t make it any less true. When you can give up the unnecessary fights and focus on yourself, maybe you’ll start to see it more like I do.”

  The light from the windows had entirely choked out. The hall was too big for just us. Had no choice but to wait for my name. At least Field’s presence was a distraction. “Isn’t fighting less… weakness?”

  “Goodness, no. Knowing when to preserve yourself and recover so you can come back another day? Far stronger, if you ask me.” She sat on the edge of the table for a moment, then stood again. Found another table. “Ah. Here’s that oddly warm patch they all talk about.” Fell quiet. Set a couple of chairs more properly in their place. “...The plant you got for me was a nice gesture,” she said. “Did they tell you how to make it flower?”

  Had to stop myself from picking at my jaw again. “I heard it wouldn’t in this season.”

  “Really? Because I’ve been watering it a lot. I’ve never seen one of its kind before, and I’d love to see how it blooms.”

  “Don’t water it too much. The friend who suggested it told me that.”

  “But what if I really want to see what it can produce?”

  “As far as I’ve been told, you have to wait. Only the right amount of water each week. More won’t make it grow faster – that’ll only hurt it. The right amount for that plant individually will help it best and it’ll flower when the time is right. They said if you flood it out then it’ll get oversaturated, and then it could easily start rotting or even –” I bit my lip. “This isn’t about the plant, is it?”

  Didn’t need to see her face to hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Of course not,” she said. Tapped merrily on the back of a chair. “...Though this is becoming rather inane – I’m sure you should’ve been called by now.” Field set off to the corner where the names had come from, and after a moment she reappeared, a scroll of parchment trailing from her hand. “Seems the attendant’s left her post,” she said aloud.

  I snatched myself up and marched over, aiming for the door, fists clenched, sick of it all, looking to find the clerk to tell her what I really wanted to say and words really might not be enough – Field caught me by the shoulder. “Pick your battles,” the professor said. “She’s a barking dog. Don’t rise to it.”

  “How do you know about that? –”

  “After everything, do you still truly think so little of the care I invest in my students?” I let my head dip and shook it. “I’ve taught your friends. That... phenomenon, however you did it, do it again and you’ll be fine. Here: Oakley, Morrigan. Is that better?”

  I glanced to the side door. The entrance to the examination room. The portal to my fate. “Thanks,” I said. “No. Genuinely, thank you, professor. You’ve seen things in me I didn’t see in myself. You stood up for me when I didn’t think it was worth it. If I pass, it’s because of you.”

  Her face warmed. “When I was your age, I was a councillor’s aide. I didn’t have the background to ever rise to the rank of councillor and I did know it. It took me ten slow, grey years to realise I didn’t want to be some lackey for a series of indifferent high-noses until I was slow and grey myself. I wanted to make a difference.” I nodded and thanked her again and shuffled towards the door – “Morrigan.” I turned. “I won’t offer you good luck. You don’t need it nor honestly do you ever seem to take it. Just trust yourself, believe in yourself, and don’t overwater yourself.”

  I put my hand on the door and it creaked open.

  *

  The exam room shocked a wave of vertigo through me. If I’d expected anything, it’d been something grand, magnificent, inspiring, imposing. At the very least a few people to adjudicate my efforts. What I got was little more than a marble-clad cubicle. One pillar per corner. One table before me. One card upon it. On the top side was only the word perform, nothing on the under side, and nothing more appeared when I flipped it back and even checked the edges – I didn’t know what kind of trickery this was. How were they even watching me?

  Perform.

  I found the buzzing in my ankles, my shins, my calves. Whatever other bits people had down there. I wasn’t smart at that and I was never meant to be good at this either, yet I’d met some people, some great people, who’d invested their time and trust and heart into me, and I wasn’t for letting them down without a fight. I’d had to fight so hard for this. A chance at safety, a chance at a fair life – why should anyone have to fight to have that? And now here I was, expected to perform for my unseen audience like a sideshow act, but of course they'd always looked at me like a sideshow act. Since I first stepped foot in a classroom. Well, I’d perform. They’d clap their hands, toss a coin, and send me on my way out into the snow.

  Field hadn’t. Even if the rest of the room did, Field had always treated me fair. Never singled out. She’d treated me like any other student. Maybe I’d lived for so long being treated so different, I’d balked at the sensation of being treated the same. She’d made a difference to my life. She really had.

  In a world of unfairness, Holly and Grove never gave me any of that. They gave me a home when I had none. Friends when I had none. Hope when I had none. When I fled, I fled to the dorm, and when I fled from it, it was always from it. I’d returned time and again. They’d had so much patience with me.

  For all his flaws, Kaspar had always seen greater things for me. Things it’d taken me time to understand I didn’t want for myself, and we’d argued and fought and made up over it, but the idea I could be something more than I was seemed so obvious to him, he hadn’t questioned whether I’d even accept it.

  At first, Robin looked up to me, I think. As we’d known each other more, despite how much he’d made of himself, he only ever looked across at me. When I crashed through rock bottom and found a whole new level of anguish to explore, he’d made me tea and looked at me equally. Familiarly. A familiarity I hardly hoped I’d find with anyone again.

  And Omen. For the companionship he’d shown me and all the ways he’d inspired me. I wished he could see how much I would make of it. Wished he could see how much of him I carried with me.

  I turned the card between my fingers. Perform. What was life if not a performance of who we try to be? And I knew what I was going to show them. The buzz within me grew, budded, blossomed, bloomed. For everyone who’d made me who I am, and for everyone who’d see what I could become. For myself. I held the memory at the forefront. The card jolted and twisted and sprouted in a hundred ways, becoming something more, something greater than the designers ever thought it capable.

  Because after everything, it was always going to come down to transmutation, wasn’t it?