A steward showed me to a private room in one of the wings of the academy. It was a sparse room, with little adornment or comfort, and even the bed looked rigid and disagreeable. Still, I was here. I had made it. My talents will be put to use. I would not go back to live an ordinary life as a farmer.
The academy itself was as foreboding a place as you might imagine. Devoid of sunlight, cramped, it felt as if it was constantly bearing down upon you. The back of it opened onto the Valley of the Dark Lords, which, at the very least, was warm and full of sun, but full of its own dangers for any who ventured into it. But I always knew this path would not be easy. I had foreseen I would suffer, but also, that I would learn and grow. Hopefully, I would imbibe some measure of wisdom, though any wisdom would likely come from seeing past what my superiors in this place had thought.
I was not looking forward to the second year, when I would have to contend with the brothers of the man I played a part in killing. At least, I would have a year to grow stronger before having to face such enemies. But even that hope proved to be too much, for, shortly after leaving my luggage in my room, all the acolytes were shepherded into the central hall; and it was there that I saw Lashowe.
She smiled as our eyes locked and she made her way towards me. Though my insides were frozen with fear, I made my best attempt to appear unperturbed.
"Surprised to see me?"
"A little."
"That fake you handed me fooled no one," she said.
I nodded.
"Nevertheless, I'm here."
"Can I ask how you got in?"
She glanced at the overseer, the same bald man with the tattooed face who, on the past two days, stood in front of the academy gates - I had learned his name was Uthar Wynne - and who had just entered the hall.
"I had to do...things. Degrading things."
I said nothing.
"I will not forget this," she said coldly. "All the things I had to do because of you."
"I am not responsible…"
"It was you," she cut me off. "I know your type. You probably had the fake medallion in your pocket even as you convinced the rest of us of your little plan, didn't you?"
I nodded again.
"I know your type," she repeated, "you devious coward. And one day, my blade will find you." There seemed to be little I could say. Her true grievance was against a target she was powerless to harm; more than that, she would have to rely on the overseer's patronage during her time in the academy. But her anger needed an outlet and found one in me, someone she was more than capable of hurting. I searched my mind for what I could say to get through to her and came up empty. In any case, not expecting a response, she turned her back to me and made her way to the other end of the hall.