First day of school

Lyra awoke to sunlight slanting across her bedroom, warm and blindingly ordinary, the hush of the early morning broken only by the soft humming of something electrical in the next room.

For a moment, she lay still, feeling the strange ache of muscles not quite adjusted to this softer, lower-gravity world.

There were no crystal domes above her, no celestial music pulsing through the walls—just the rustle of sheets and the muted song of city birds on the window ledge.

She stretched, letting the feeling of her own body ground her. The memory of yesterday's walk of Zoe's relentless energy and laughter, of the brief taste of belonging it offered drifted back to her.

She was not at home, but neither was she quite lost.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped from bed and crossed to the small, immaculate bathroom. She turned on the shower, testing the water until it ran hot, and stepped in, letting the jets beat against her back.

It was an oddly comforting ritual, this human practice of standing in running water—so different from the ceremonial pools of Celestia, so immediate and private.

Lyra closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth, allowing herself the smallest luxury of peace.

The water wound through her hair, heavy and silver-bright, running in rivulets down her shoulders.

She scrubbed away the remnants of yesterday—the sweat, the faint ache of tension, the invisible weight of her rivalry with Alayah.

For a few minutes, she allowed herself to exist outside expectation, outside legend. Just a girl in a strange place, with a thousand decisions yet to make.

When she emerged, skin pink and hair damp, she toweled off and moved to the wardrobe.

The uniform hung neatly from a hook: a crisp white shirt, newly ironed, and a pleated navy skirt that fell to just above her knees.

There was a jacket, too, but the morning was already warm, so she set it aside. She slid into the skirt and buttoned the shirt with methodical care, tucking it just so.

She brushed her hair out, letting it dry into gentle waves, and debated for a moment whether to braid it, before letting it fall loose.

She studied her reflection, adjusting the collar, smoothing an invisible wrinkle.

The effect was… sharp. Academic. Human. But somehow, she still looked otherworldly—a result, perhaps, of the silver hair and the slight luminescence of her skin, something no amount of blending in could quite erase.

Lyra glanced at her new phone awkward, cold, still mysterious. No messages. No reminders. She didn't need them.

Her memory was flawless, and she'd already memorized her timetable for the week. English studies, she thought, was an odd place to start, but a fitting one.

Her command of the language was nearly perfect; she'd studied English texts for years, used them as both weapon and shield in diplomacy and debate.

If anything, it would be a comfort—something she could truly master.

She gathered her bag, slipped in a notebook, a pen, her student ID,phone and with one last glance around the room, stepped out into the sunlit street.

She nearly walked straight into Zoe.

Her new friend was perched on the front steps, backpack at her feet, shoes untied, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that seemed more an act of rebellion than style.

She wore the same uniform—though her shirt was already untucked and her skirt slightly askew—and was halfway through a chocolate croissant.

Zoe spotted her and grinned. "There you are! I was about to come knock on your door and maybe climb in your window if you didn't answer. You take forever, you know that?"

Lyra blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "How did you even find my house?"

Zoe shrugged, a crumb tumbling from her lip.

"Oh, that's not important. I have my ways. Anyway, I figured you might need company for your first day. Or at least someone to point out the good coffee and the worst professors. Plus, I have a superpower for always knowing where people are. Don't worry, I only use it for good."

Lyra lifted an eyebrow, amused. "Superpower?"

"Absolutely," Zoe said with solemn gravity, then ruined it with a wink. "C'mon, mystery girl. We don't want to be late. Apparently, the English department is terrifying if you don't claim a seat in the first three rows."

Lyra fell into step beside her, half-smiling. "You know, some people might consider this stalking."

Zoe's laugh was loud and unashamed. "Yeah, but only if I was creepy. Am I creepy? Wait, don't answer that."

They set off down the street together, the early campus thrumming with the anxious energy of new beginnings.

Everywhere, students drifted between dorms and lecture halls—some already running, some strolling in pairs, most staring at their phones as if they held the secrets of the universe.

Lyra took it in with an outsider's gaze, cataloguing details: the way the light caught in the leaves, the sharp edge of nervous laughter, the faint, metallic scent of rain on the air.

She noticed, too, the way people glanced at them at her in particular then looked quickly away, as if surprised to see her in the mundane flow of morning.

Zoe, as ever, was immune to awkwardness. She waved to everyone. "Morning! Nice shoes! Love your jacket!" A cluster of girls stopped to giggle and whisper as they passed, casting sidelong looks at Lyra.

"See?" Zoe whispered theatrically. "Instant popularity. Stick with me, and by next week you'll be famous. Or infamous. Honestly, it's about fifty-fifty with me."

Lyra rolled her eyes, though she found herself enjoying the company more than she'd expected. "How many friends do you have?"

"Oh, only about six. And my grandmother. She's the best at English, by the way. Used to write angry letters to the newspaper every week until they blocked her email."

Lyra tried not to smile, failed, and shook her head instead. The campus spread before them, familiar now after yesterday's wanderings: paths winding beneath tall sycamores, the glassy reflection of the science center, the chaotic sprawl of the student union.

The English building stood apart—tall, brick, with wide steps already crowded with students.

"Here we are!" Zoe declared, as if she had led a month-long expedition through the wilds.

"Department of English Studies, a.k.a. the kingdom of red pens and caffeine. There are, like, three hundred people in our year, so get ready for chaos."

Lyra felt the energy of the crowd as soon as they reached the steps—waves of chatter, nervous glances, a dozen languages swirling together in a single, impatient current.

She felt the old, familiar prickling of anticipation, as if about to step into a duel. But there was no danger here. Just curiosity, nerves, and the shared uncertainty of the first day.

Zoe bounded ahead, weaving through clusters of students with surprising agility. Lyra followed, a little more cautious, but not quite lost.

They made their way to the double doors, pushed inside, and entered a lobby that thrummed with the sound of three hundred voices.

Notices covered every wall—room assignments, club posters, announcements for book clubs and film nights. A tall woman in a cardigan stood on a chair, trying to organize the milling crowd.

Zoe glanced back at Lyra, her grin infectious. "Ready? First day of the rest of your life and all that?"

Lyra took a breath, letting the noise, the light, the unfamiliar excitement of it all fill her. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and nodded.

"Ready."