Chapter 158: Here to stay

Chapter 158: Here to Stay

POV: Astrid Vale

Aldric called another assembly that afternoon, and the announcement he delivered carried more permanence than I’d expected. "The students who transferred to Moonshade following the earlier academy crisis," he said, "will remain here permanently. Their records, coursework, and housing arrangements are being fully integrated into our system, effective immediately."

A cheer went up from one section of the crowd, mostly the transfer students themselves and their newly formed friend groups. From another section, a wave of muttering suggested considerably less enthusiasm.

"This is just going to keep happening," a boy near me muttered to his friend. "Moonshade’s supposed to be a Lycan academy."

"It still is," his friend replied, though he sounded uncertain about the point he was making.

I noticed the divide as we filed out of the assembly hall, some students already chatting excitedly about upcoming shared classes, others clustering together with expressions that ranged from resigned to openly annoyed. Nobody seemed inclined toward actual conflict, just an undercurrent of awkward teasing and occasional complaints muttered under breath, but the split was noticeable regardless.

Eliza found me shortly after, practically buzzing with excitement about the expanded curriculum. "They’re offering advanced spellwork next semester," she said. "Actual advanced techniques, not just fundamentals. I’ve been reading ahead already."

"Of course you have," I said, smiling.

"I also want to look into some of the magical signatures we encountered around the Elaris portal," she added, more thoughtfully now. "There’s residual energy there that I’ve never seen documented anywhere. It could be significant."

"Eliza," I said. "We promised ourselves we wouldn’t turn every school assignment into another dangerous expedition."

"This isn’t dangerous. It’s academic curiosity."

"That’s exactly how the last dangerous expedition started."

She laughed, conceding the point, though I suspected the idea wasn’t going to disappear entirely from her mind anytime soon.

Criston passed us in the hallway, his expression more composed than it had been during our earlier classes together. A student I didn’t recognize stopped him, asking casually, "Can you read my mind right now? I want to know what it feels like."

"No," Criston said, without hesitation.

"Why not?"

"Because you haven’t actually given me permission to do it properly, and reading someone’s thoughts without genuine consent isn’t something I’m willing to do casually." His tone stayed calm throughout, firm rather than defensive, and the student shrugged, apparently satisfied enough by the honesty of the answer.

I caught his eye afterward, and he offered a small, tired smile. "It’s getting easier," he said, apparently reading my expression rather than my thoughts. "The filtering, I mean. I’m learning to choose what I let in."

"That’s good," I said.

"It’s exhausting," he admitted, "but good."

Estelle passed us near the courtyard, helping another student practice an illusion exercise, her patience evident as she guided them through adjusting some subtle detail in the projection they were attempting to create. She noticed me watching and offered a small wave, entirely comfortable in her surroundings, nothing forced or performed about her ease here.

"She actually belongs here," I said quietly to Ivy, watching the exchange.

"She always has," Ivy said. "Longer than most of us realize, probably."

I nodded, something settling into a more comfortable acceptance of Estelle’s presence even as the memory of that illusion still lingered somewhere beneath the surface of my trust.

Josh found us not long after, watching Eliza practice a small spell nearby with obvious interest. "Everyone’s finding their place except me," he said, half joking.

He paused for a second, glancing at the training grounds visible through the window, where a handful of students practiced Wolf Racing drills in the distance.

"I keep thinking maybe I’m just supposed to be ordinary," he added, quieter now, the joke softening into something more honest. "Maybe that’s fine. Not everyone needs some big dramatic ability." He shrugged like the thought didn’t bother him, though the way his eyes lingered on the training grounds told a slightly different story.

"Eliza’s got magic. Criston’s got mind-reading. You’ve got a mysterious wolf with excellent taste in mates."

"Sapphire doesn’t have opinions about my mates," I said.

"She absolutely does, you told me yourself."

I laughed despite myself, and someone nearby, overhearing part of the conversation, asked, "When’s your ability supposed to show up, Josh?"

He laughed it off easily. "No idea," he said. "Guess I’m just built different."

The laugh landed convincingly enough that most people around us moved on without a second thought, but I caught something underneath it, a flicker of genuine frustration he was working hard to bury beneath the easy humor.

"You don’t need to have discovered it yet," I told him quietly, once the others had drifted away. "It doesn’t make you any less important to all of this."

He glanced at me, something grateful flashing across his expression before he covered it with another joke. "Careful, Astrid. Sincerity isn’t your usual brand."

"I contain multitudes," I said, stealing Xander’s line shamelessly.

"That’s definitely his phrase."

"He won’t mind."

We continued walking, and Reed and Xander eventually caught up with us near the dining hall, the four of us falling into step together as we made our way toward lunch. The hall itself looked noticeably different from what I remembered before everything happened, tables mixed freely now, former Blackthorn and Moonshade students sitting together comparing schedules, laughing over shared complaints about difficult assignments, planning study groups that crossed every boundary that had once separated them so clearly.

"It’s strange," I said, taking it all in. "How normal this already feels."

"Give it another month," Xander said. "Nobody’s going to remember there was ever a separation."

I watched a Lycan student animatedly explaining something to a witch beside him, both of them laughing over whatever joke had passed between them, and understood, watching the scene unfold naturally in front of me, that Xander was probably right.

Moonshade wasn’t simply returning to whatever version of itself had existed before my kidnapping, before Elaris, before any of this had happened. It wasn’t returning to normal at all.

It was becoming something entirely new, something neither Moonshade nor Blackthorn had ever been on their own, built from pieces of both institutions merging into a whole that felt, despite the lingering awkwardness and occasional complaints, genuinely promising.

I found myself looking forward to seeing exactly what that would become.