Midweek brought a break in the rain, though the grounds still squelched underfoot.
Lucien trudged toward the herbology greenhouses with the rest of the mixed-year group, the strap of his satchel digging into his good shoulder.
The air hung thick with the scent of crushed leaves and damp soil.
Students chattered around him in bursts—someone complaining about a botched resonance test, another boasting about extra credit points.
He kept his head down.
Easier that way.
Inside the main greenhouse the heat hit like a wall.
Humid.
Overwhelming.
Condensation beaded on the glass panels overhead and dripped occasionally onto the workbenches.
Professor Lirien, a short woman with wild curls that never stayed pinned, clapped her hands twice.
“Pairs for the grafting station.
No, not you, Merrick—your last attempt nearly killed the whole tray.
Sit out.”
Lucien ended up beside a second-year he didn’t know well, a lanky boy named Theo who kept pushing his glasses up his nose every few seconds.
They worked in relative quiet at first.
Snip.
Align.
Bind with careful threads of mana.
Lucien’s shadows cooperated better today, thin tendrils holding the graft steady while Theo applied the sealant paste.
“Steady,” Theo muttered.
“If this takes, I might actually pass this module.
My father’s been on me about—”
A crash from two tables over cut him off.
A first-year girl had knocked over an entire pot of thornvine.
The plant writhed across the bench, thorns catching on sleeves and scattering dirt everywhere.
Shouts erupted.
Someone laughed too loud.
Professor Lirien hurried over, muttering about “careless hands” and “wasted seedlings.”
Theo sighed and adjusted his glasses again.
“Every time with her.
Last week it was the fireblossoms.”
Lucien helped clear the worst of the mess when the professor waved for assistance.
Dirt ground under his nails.
The thornvine’s sap left a sticky residue on his fingers that smelled faintly bitter.
He caught snippets of conversation from the next bench while they worked.
Two third-years arguing over who deserved the higher mark on a recent exam.
A group of girls near the back giggling about a upcoming ball and who might ask whom.
Normal problems.
The kind that didn’t involve family legacies or watching every shadow for hidden meanings.
For a while he faded into it.
Just another student dealing with dirt and stubborn plants.
No one whispering about Nightshades.
No expectant looks.
It felt… grounding.
Strange how much he’d started noticing the small things lately.
The way the greenhouse air clung to his skin.
The satisfied grunt Theo made when their graft finally held.
Cecilia appeared midway through the session, moving between tables with a small basket of clippings.
She fidgeted with the handle when she reached theirs, twisting it between her fingers.
“How’s it going over here?
Theo brightened.
“Thanks.
Lucien’s shadows made the difference.
Mine kept slipping.”
Lucien shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag.
The motion pulled at the fading burn.
“Team effort.”
Cecilia smiled, but her gaze lingered on the sticky sap on his fingers.
“Thornvine residue is tricky.
It itches for hours if you don’t wash it properly.
Here—” She offered a small vial from her basket.
“Neutralizer.
Smells terrible but it works.”
He took it.
Their fingers brushed.
She pulled back quickly, cheeks faintly pink, and moved on to the next table before he could thank her properly.
Theo nudged him with an elbow.
“She’s nice.
For a church girl.”
“Yeah.” Lucien uncorked the vial.
The smell hit him like spoiled milk and vinegar combined.
He wrinkled his nose but applied it anyway.
The relief on his skin came immediate and cool.
The rest of the session passed in a haze of repetitive tasks.
Snip.
Align.
Bind.
Theo chattered occasionally about his father’s expectations, the words tumbling faster when he got nervous.
Lucien listened more than he spoke.
It was easier.
Safer.
The old urge to check every corner for threats had dulled somewhat, replaced by the simple rhythm of the work.
Professor Lirien called the end earlier than usual.
“Clean your stations.
And Merrick—stay behind.
We’re discussing your… creative approach to pruning.”
Students filed out in clusters.
Laughter echoed off the glass walls as someone recounted the thornvine incident with exaggerated gestures.
Lucien lingered near the exit, adjusting his satchel.
The humid air followed him outside, clinging to his clothes.
Captain Harlan waited near the path, arms crossed.
No preamble.
“You.
With me.
Demonstration needed.”
Lucien blinked.
“Now?”
“Problem?” Harlan’s tone left no room for argument.
Four words maximum, as always.
They walked toward the combat fields in silence at first.
Harlan’s boots left deep prints in the softening ground.
Lucien matched his pace, mind still half on the greenhouse.
The sap smell lingered on his hands despite the neutralizer. This story is hosted at g.com.
Strange how one small task could stick with you.
Halfway there a group of third-years rushed past, one of them clutching a crumpled note and shouting something about a canceled lecture.
Harlan didn’t even glance their way.
“Resonance chain.
Your version.
Show the slackers how it’s done properly.”
The field opened up ahead.
A handful of students already waited, looking bored or nervous depending on the person.
Harlan pointed to the central post.
“Begin.”
Lucien stepped up.
The chain formed slower than he wanted, shadows linking in uneven segments at first.
Frustration flickered—hot, then gone again.
He adjusted.
The links stabilized.
Not perfect.
But functional.
The watching students murmured.
One whistled low.
Harlan grunted when it held.
“Better.
Barely.” He waved the others forward.
“Copy that.
No excuses.”
The demonstration dissolved into general practice after that.
Lucien stepped back, watching the others struggle.
A strange mix of satisfaction and embarrassment settled in his chest.
He’d done okay.
Not exceptional.
Just okay.
The kind of okay that came from repetition and sore muscles and paying attention when no one expected him to.
One of the students—a girl with a messy braid—messed up her chain completely and laughed at herself.
“Again?
I swear these things hate me.”
Her friend elbowed her.
“Maybe stop thinking about the ball and focus.”
The easy banter pulled a half-smile from Lucien despite himself.
He turned to leave when Harlan called out one last time.
“Nightshade.
Next session.
Same time.
Don’t be late.”
Lucien nodded.
The captain was already walking away, barking at someone else about footwork.
No further explanation.
Typical.
The walk back to the dorms felt lighter than expected.
Students passed him in groups, arguing over weekend plans and overdue assignments.
No one paid him much mind.
For once, that felt like a victory all its own.