By the time I finally reached the door to Room 201, the dormitory halls had long since fallen silent. It had to be deep into the night. Only the dim light of the courtyard lamps filtered through the narrow windows, casting long, uneven shadows across the walls.
The academy felt completely different when no one was speaking. During the day, the halls were full of students, staff, and people who knew exactly where they belonged. Now there was nothing but silence, my footsteps, and the distant hum of something that might have been ventilation. Or a magical device. At this school, I still couldn’t tell the difference.
I placed my hand on the handle. The old wooden door opened with a drawn-out creak that echoed through the empty hallway far louder than it should have. For a moment, I remained standing on the threshold.
The room was small and rectangular. A low bed with clean sheets stood against the back wall. Beside it were a plain wardrobe and a table with two chairs. There wasn’t a second bed. It was probably folded up somewhere in storage, waiting until my roommate actually arrived. A thin black screen hung on the wall opposite the bed. A television.
I slowly closed the door behind me and looked over the room again. It wasn’t large. It wasn’t particularly well furnished either. But it was clean and dry, and there was no mold anywhere. The window wasn’t broken. The lock on the door looked functional, and the bed didn’t collapse when I pressed down on it. It really wasn’t bad at all.
“Definitely better than before,” I muttered.
I set my backpack on the floor, but my gaze drifted back to the television. I’d never owned one. In the business, it was mostly the older people who talked about things like that. People who had survived long enough to have a room of their own, a steady income, and time to watch something that had nothing to do with them. There weren’t many of those. Most people around me were worried about whether they’d have enough food the following week, not what was on television that evening.
I stepped closer and briefly examined the smooth black screen. I couldn’t see a button. No cable. Nothing at all to suggest how it turned on. I decided to leave that problem for later. I’d dealt with enough unfamiliar things today already.
According to academy rules, students were supposed to live in pairs. Room 201 wasn’t meant to be mine alone. I had originally been assigned Student Ninety-Nine. During room assignments, we had both been called almost last. In my case, it was because of my low rank. I didn’t know his reason.
Before we ever met, however, one of the staff informed me that a health condition would prevent him from starting with the others. He was supposed to arrive later. No one told me when.
“Lucky me.”
With exaggerated relief, I wiped an imaginary bead of sweat from my forehead. It wasn’t that I hated other people. I just wasn’t used to sharing space with anyone.
Back at my old home, I’d had a corner of my own. Small, cold, and separated from the rest of the room by only a thin wall, but it had been mine. No one came in unless they needed something. It wasn’t unusual for me to go several days without saying a word. Sometimes an entire week passed before anyone had a conversation with me that lasted more than a few sentences.
Maybe that was why silence had never felt uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. In silence, you could hear when someone was approaching. You heard doors. Footsteps. Breathing. Silence was safe. Most of the time, at least.
I knelt beside my backpack and undid the buckles on the side. My sword lay beneath several pieces of clothing. I lifted it out with both hands.
The scabbard was worn and cracked in several places. The leather strap had long since lost its original color, and the metal fittings were covered in small scratches. The blade itself wasn’t in much better condition. The edge had several tiny nicks. The guard was scratched, and the leather wrapping around the grip had started to loosen.
At the academy, a weapon like this would probably be considered garbage. I placed it on the table more carefully than anything else. It was worth more than everything in this room. Not because of the materials. Not because of the craftsmanship. It was the only thing I had left from my old life.
For a while, I simply stood there and looked at it. At the academy, an ordinary sword was almost a rarity. Most students relied on magic, reinforced weapons, or heavy equipment that turned them into moving fortresses. There weren’t many pure swordsmen left.
That didn’t mean swords were weak. People simply tended to choose their path based on the ability they were born with. Everyone had one Basic Ability. It wasn’t anything capable of destroying a building or changing the course of a war. Usually, it was nothing more than a natural talent strengthened enough to quietly push a person in a certain direction.
A cook might have a keener sense of taste. A craftsman, steadier hands. A healer, the ability to sense the flow of mana through another person’s body. Most people eventually understood what their ability was suited for. Then they built their entire life around it.
Mine was called Swift Step. There was nothing impressive about it. It let me move my feet faster, change direction more sharply, and accelerate better from a standstill. Almost worthless to a mage. For someone fighting with a sword only a few steps from his opponent, it was exactly what he needed.
It didn’t make my strikes stronger. It didn’t stop a blade. It didn’t heal injuries. It only helped me be in the right place at the right moment. In the business, that was often enough.
You didn’t survive long there if you fought in a way that didn’t suit you. It didn’t matter what looked best or what other people considered powerful. What mattered was what worked.
I ran my fingers over the loosened wrapping on the grip. I should replace it. And sharpen the blade, check the guard, and repair the strap on the scabbard. The academy probably had a workshop where they could do all of that in a few minutes. Even so, I had no intention of handing my sword to the first person who offered to help. Some habits changed more slowly than others.
I lifted the weapon from the table and placed it beside the bed, where I could reach it with my right hand. Only then did I sit down. The mattress gave slightly beneath me. It was softer than I’d expected.
The room remained silent. No footsteps beyond the door. No voices. No one trying to find out what I kept in my backpack. Just me, the empty second chair, and the sword within reach.
I looked around again. That morning, I hadn’t known whether I would spend the night in a cell, a hospital, or somewhere deep underground. Now I had a room of my own at one of the best academies in the country. It wasn’t freedom. Not entirely. They had still brought me here in a way that hadn’t left me much choice. There were still plenty of people who would have preferred to lock me in a laboratory and find out exactly what had happened to me.
But for tonight, I had a closed door. A bed. And a moment of peace.
My gaze returned to the sword.
“We’re starting over,” I muttered.
The words sounded strange in the empty room. Almost like a promise.
I lay down, but left one arm hanging beside the bed, only a few inches from the grip. Old habits. I closed my eyes.
This time, hopefully, in the right place.