The walk back to the East Faculty Tower felt particularly grueling. Nikolai Reindhart dragged his boots across the flagstones, his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his fur-lined cloak, his mind replaying the confrontation with Dean Alistair.
I played right into his hands, Nikolai grumbled inwardly, staring at the worn leather of his boots with a deep sense of grievance. I volunteered to sponsor a student's practical trial. Instead of sleeping through the semester, I am now personally responsible for keeping a struggling frost mage from being cast out into the freezing wilderness. My retirement plan is officially a disaster.
He climbed the spiral staircase of the East Tower one agonizing step at a time, his breathing slightly heavier than usual. By the time he reached the fourth landing, he was ready to collapse straight through his office door and hibernate until the next fiscal year.
Yet, as he approached room four-hundred-and-twelve, he noticed something peculiar.
The heavy oak door wasn't shut tight. A thin sliver of warm, flickering light spilled out into the dark stone corridor, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic scratching sound—like a quill racing across cheap parchment at a frantic pace.
Nikolai paused, his hand hovering over the brass doorknob. He hadn't left a lamp burning, and he certainly hadn't invited anyone inside.
With a suspicious frown, Nikolai pushed the door open with two fingers and stepped across the threshold, his eyes scanning the dusty interior of his office.
Sitting in the sagging leather armchair behind his desk wasn't an uninvited researcher or an administrative bureaucrat. Instead, curled up in the corner of the seat with a heavy textbook balanced precariously on her knees, was a young girl with messy, ink-stained brown hair and wide, amber eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night of sleep in a fortnight.
Her name, according to the class registry he had skimmed earlier in the week, was Miriam. She belonged to the mental magic and soul-resonance department—a grueling, highly exhausting branch of arcane study that dealt with spiritual projection, telepathic communication, and the deep, fragile architecture of human consciousness.
As Nikolai entered, Miriam jumped violently, dropping her quill with a sharp clatter and scrambling to stand up, knocking over a small stack of notes in the process.
"P-Professor Reindhart!" Miriam stammered, her voice trembling as she bowed her head so low her forehead nearly touched the desk. "I am so sorry! I didn't mean to trespass! The door was unlocked, and I... I desperately needed a quiet place to study where the upper-class seniors wouldn't mock me!"
Nikolai stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at the scattered papers, the dark shadows under her amber eyes, and the way her shoulders were hunched defensively as if waiting for a blow.
In her past life or current one, she reminded him of every young soul he had ever seen crushed beneath the relentless machinery of an unforgiving society. Miriam wasn't a troublemaker or a grandmaster challenger. She was simply a kid drowning under the weight of an academic discipline that required her to touch the minds of others while her own mind was quietly falling apart.
Nikolai let out a long, weary sigh, letting his cynical facade melt away just enough to reveal the deep, stubborn well of sympathy hiding beneath his lazy exterior.
"Pick up your papers, Miriam," Nikolai said, his voice dropping its usual sluggish drawl into a tone of quiet, gentle reassurance. "And stop bowing. You'll give yourself a neck sprain."
Miriam blinked, her amber eyes widening in shock as she slowly straightened up. She began frantically gathering her scattered notes, her fingers shaking so badly she dropped a parchment twice.
Nikolai walked slowly around the desk, deliberately avoiding his favorite armchair so she wouldn't feel entirely chased away. Instead, he leaned his hip against the edge of a wooden chest, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You're in the mental magic department, aren't you?" Nikolai asked quietly, watching her nervously tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The discipline that requires you to project your consciousness into the spiritual plane, navigate the chaotic thoughts of your peers, and maintain absolute emotional equilibrium while doing so."
Miriam swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a miserable whisper. "Yes, Professor. But... I can't do it. Every time I try to project my soul-resonance during our practical sessions, the noise is too loud. The thoughts of the other students—their ambitions, their anxieties, their anger—flood into my mind all at once like a roaring waterfall. I lose control. I can't filter the voices out, and yesterday... yesterday I passed out right in the middle of the casting arena."
She pulled the sleeves of her oversized, ink-stained tunic down over her hands, staring miserably at the floorboards.
"The senior instructors said my mental constitution is too weak for advanced soul work," she murmured, a tear slipping down her cheek. "They said I should transfer to the housekeeping department before I permanently damage my own consciousness."
Nikolai felt a sharp, familiar ache pierce his chest. How many times in his past life had he heard people tell a struggling kid that they weren't cut out for the world, that they should just accept a lower station and stop trying? It was a lie told by people who lacked the imagination to understand different kinds of strength.
"They're fools, Miriam," Nikolai said firmly, his voice carrying an unexpected, resonant weight that made the girl look up in startled wonder.
"P-Fools?" she repeated softly.
"Absolute fools," Nikolai reiterated, uncrossing his arms and stepping a little closer. "Mental magic isn't about building a louder megaphone to shout your thoughts across the spiritual plane. And it certainly isn't about forcing your consciousness to endure the noise of a thousand other minds without flinching. That's a recipe for a fractured spirit."
Miriam wiped her cheek with her sleeve, her amber eyes locking onto him with a flicker of desperate hope. "Then... what is it about?"
Nikolai tapped his own temple lightly with one finger. "It's about learning how to close a door. When you walk into a crowded room, you don't listen to every single conversation simultaneously. You focus on the voice right in front of you, and you tune the rest of the world out into background static. You've been trying to carry the emotional weight of everyone around you because you don't yet know how to protect your own inner sanctuary."
As Nikolai spoke, a subtle, profound ripple of mental tranquility washed through the dusty office. The passive, overwhelming wisdom of his hidden traits bled into the air, wrapping around Miriam's frayed consciousness like a warm, soothing blanket.
For the first time in months, the deafening roar of ambient thoughts and anxieties inside Miriam's head quieted down. Her breathing slowed. The chaotic static that had plagued her soul cleared away, replaced by an absolute, serene stillness.
Miriam gasped softly, her eyes widening as she felt the tight knot in her chest dissolve completely. The difficult formulas and complex soul-resonance matrices that had baffled her for semesters suddenly snapped into place in her mind, clear and weightless.
"I... I can't hear them anymore," Miriam whispered, staring at Nikolai as if he were an apparition. "My mind... it's quiet."
Nikolai offered a faint, tired smile, turning back toward his desk to escape the intensity of her grateful gaze.
"That's how you do it," Nikolai drawled, his lazy persona returning as he picked up an old wooden ruler to fiddle with. "Now, take your notes, go back to your dormitory, and get a full eight hours of sleep. If any instructor tells you your constitution is too weak, tell them Professor Reindhart said they need to read a book on basic psychological boundaries."
Miriam clutched her leather-bound notebook tightly against her chest, bowing deeply—not out of fear this time, but out of profound, unwavering reverence.
"Thank you, Professor," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I won't let you down."
With a swift, light step, Miriam turned and hurried out of the office, closing the door softly behind her.
Nikolai let out a long, heavy groan, sinking backward until he finally collapsed into the sagging leather armchair. He rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a defeated sigh.
"Another one," he muttered to the empty room. "I'm turning into a regular sanctuary for troubled youths. If this keeps up, I'll never get to take a proper nap."
He closed his eyes, pulling his fur cloak around his shoulders as the evening shadows began to lengthen across the dusty floor. But just as he drifted toward the edge of sleep, a sharp, urgent knock hammered against the heavy oak door of his office, shattering the quiet.