The first step

Before the letter came, Anette’s world had been small enough to understand.

The orphanage stood at the far edge of town Alburg, where the road thinned into dirt and the houses grew scarce, as if even the village itself had decided not to come any closer. It was an old building—two stories of worn wood and stubborn endurance, with a roof that leaked in the winter and windows that rattled whenever the wind grew restless.

It was not a place people chose.

It was a place people ended up.

Anette had been there long enough that no one remembered when she arrived. Not even Mrs. Elric, who remembered everything else.

“There are records,” she had said once, frowning over a ledger that seemed older than the building itself. “But nothing that makes sense.”

Anette knew...she knew where she comes from but some questions didn’t need answers.

Life in the orphanage followed a rhythm that rarely changed.

Mornings began early, with the scrape of chairs and the quiet murmur of children half-awake. Chores were divided without argument—water to be carried, floors to be swept, meals to be prepared from whatever they had that day. The afternoons were quieter. Some children studied. Others wandered the nearby fields, chasing distractions in place of futures.

Anette preferred the quiet.

She spent most of her time by the window in the upstairs room, where the light lasted longest. Books, when she could find them. Silence, when she couldn’t.

And always—control.

Because things happened, sometimes.

Small things.

Unnoticeable, if you weren’t looking closely.

A candle flame bending toward her when she passed. A loose thread tightening on its own. Once, a glass slipping from someone’s hand and shattering before it touched the ground—as if something had intervened, just for a moment too late.

No one ever said anything directly.

But they noticed.

Children always did.

They kept their distance—not out of cruelty, but uncertainty. Anette didn’t blame them. She wasn’t sure she would have acted any differently.

Mrs. Elric, however, never treated her that way.

Perhaps that was why Anette stayed.

The letter arrived on a day so ordinary it almost felt deliberate.

No knock. No messenger.

It simply appeared—resting on the narrow windowsill beside Anette’s bed, catching the light as if it had been waiting there all along.

She noticed it immediately.

Thick parchment. Heavy. Sealed with gold.

Her name was written across the front in precise, deliberate script.

Anette.

Nothing more.

She stared at it for a long time before touching it.

When she finally did, something strange flickered beneath her skin—so faint she might have imagined it. A brief pulse of warmth, gone as quickly as it came.

The seal broke easily under her fingers.

She read it once.

Then again.

And a third time, slower.

Quintus Aurus Academy of Fine Arts and Wizardry.

The words felt distant... Unreal. Like they belonged to a different life entirely.

Mrs. Elric didn’t speak for a while after reading it herself.

“They don’t make mistakes like this,” she said eventually, more to herself than to Anette.

Anette said nothing.

Because deep down, she already knew—

this wasn’t a mistake.

Weeks passed quickly after that.

Too quickly.

Now, the room felt smaller than it ever had before.

Anette stood beside her bed, folding the last of her clothes with careful precision. There wasn’t much to take—just what she needed. What she could carry.

The letter lay at the top of her satchel.

She checked it again anyway.

“You’ll wear the ink off if you keep doing that.”

Mrs. Elric’s voice came from the doorway, steady but softer than usual.

Anette didn’t look up. “Then I’ll have memorized it.”

A pause.

“It’s just a school,” Mrs. Elric said.

This time, Anette did look at her.

“No,” she replied quietly. “It isn’t.”

Something in the room shifted then—unspoken, but understood.

Mrs. Elric stepped inside, adjusting the strap of Anette’s bag with practiced hands. “You don’t owe anyone anything there,” she said. “Not your past. Not your future.”

Anette nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Because she wasn’t going there to belong.

She was going because something had called her.

And she intended to find out why.

The other children had gathered outside by the time she stepped out.

They weren’t loud about it. No cheering, no farewells shouted across the yard. Just quiet watching, small clusters of curiosity and distance.

Anette felt their eyes on her as she crossed the worn path toward the road.

She didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Until a small voice broke through the silence.

“Are you coming back?”

She turned.

One of the youngest stood near the steps, looking up at her with something that wasn’t quite hope and not quite fear.

Anette hesitated.

“I don’t know,” she said.

It was the only answer that felt true.

The road stretched empty ahead of her.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then—

the air changed.

It folded inward with a sharp, unnatural crack, like something tearing just slightly out of place. Light warped. Space bent.

And then it appeared.

The Expressway bus

Long, gleaming, its surface etched with faintly glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. It stood where there had been nothing a second before, impossibly solid.

The door opened on its own.

No driver.

No voice.

Just an invitation.

Anette stepped forward, aware—suddenly—of how quiet everything had become behind her. The orphanage. The children. Mrs. Elric.

Watching.

Waiting.

For a brief second, something stirred beneath her skin again.

A glow.

Faint—but stronger than before.

She pulled her sleeve down quickly.

Not here.

Not now.

Without another word, she climbed aboard.

The inside of the bus much larger than expected.

Rows of seats stretched farther than the exterior could possibly allow, dimly lit by soft, floating orbs that hovered near the ceiling. A few other students were already seated—scattered, quiet, each keeping to themselves. Some glanced up as she entered, curiosity flickering briefly before they looked away again.

Anette walked past them, her steps measured, until she reached an empty double seater near the window. She placed her satchel beside her and sat down, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the seat as if grounding herself.

The door closed behind her with a soft, final sound.

And then—

movement.

The world outside blurred instantly, the road vanishing into streaks of color and light as the Magicbus surged forward, faster than anything she had ever known.

Anette sat still, eyes fixed on the shifting horizon, her reflection faint in the glass beside her.

For a moment, she thought she saw it again—

that flicker beneath her skin.

Waiting.

Watching.

She tried her best to control it..calm it down.

"Come on not here...not here.."

Anette sat near the window of the double seater, her satchel resting against her knees. Across the aisle, two students whispered quietly to each other, dressed in dark traveling cloaks embroidered with symbols she didn’t recognize. Farther ahead sat a boy reading a floating book, turning pages with absent flicks of his fingers.

No one seemed nervous.

Which only made her feel more out of place.

She glanced down at her reflection in the glass. Pale skin. Dark hair falling loose around her face. Tired eyes that looked older than they should have.

And beneath the sleeve covering her wrist—

warmth.

Faint.

Waiting.

Anette pulled her sleeve down further.

“First year?”

The voice startled her enough that she looked up immediately.

A woman stood near the front of the bus, balancing a tray of steaming cups in one hand as though the impossible speed around them meant nothing. She looked older—not elderly, but worn in the way travelers often were—and wore deep green robes lined with silver stitching.

Anette nodded cautiously.

“That obvious?”

The woman smiled slightly. “You have the look.”

“That sounds unfortunate.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “It usually is.”

She handed Anette a small cup filled with something warm and faintly glowing. The scent reminded her of cinnamon and smoke.

“It helps with the motion,” the woman explained.

Anette accepted it carefully. “Thank you.”

“You heading to Quintus Aurus alone?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then the woman tilted her head slightly, studying her more carefully than before. Not rudely. Just… curiously.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

Anette stiffened. “What is?”

But the woman only smiled again and moved on without answering.

Anette frowned into her drink.

People did that too often around her.

Hours seemed to pass strangely aboard the Magicbus.

At one point, rain lashed violently against the windows. Minutes later, the sky outside was clear and full of stars. Entire landscapes appeared and vanished before she could understand where they were.

Magic, she realized, was far larger than the tiny accidents she had spent years trying to hide.

The thought should have unsettled her.

Instead, it made something inside her ache.

Curiosity.

Fear.

Recognition.

She wasn’t sure which one was worse.

For a moment it seemed that the bus had stopped

It turned into darkness faster than thought itself, and the next it stood completely still before a massive iron gate wrapped in twisting black vines.

Anette blinked, momentarily disoriented.

Around her, students began gathering their belongings with surprising calm, as though this was expected. The doors creaked open slowly, releasing a sharp gust of cold air into the bus.

Outside was not the academy.

It was a forest.

A very large, very dark forest.

All the students got out of the bus one by one, all confused in unison.

A tall woman dressed in deep violet robes stood near the entrance gates, watching the students gather with unreadable eyes.

“Welcome,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the clearing.

“Beyond this forest lies Quintus Aurus Academy of Fine Arts and Wizardry and to get the Academy you have to cross through the Wryborne forest.”

A murmur spread through the students.

"Hope you guys are ready for the adventure".

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