The lecture hall was a living hive three hundred students, a thousand shifting thoughts, and for once, Lyra felt herself slip into the rhythm of it.
The first nerves had faded. Professor Delaroche was a better speaker than most Celestian councilors—her words careful but never dull, her questions always sharp.
The opening lecture spiraled from Old English riddles to the secret history of banned books, and Lyra found herself genuinely fascinated. Language, after all, was a kind of magic. Every new text, every turn of phrase, was a lock waiting for a clever key.
Next to her, Zoe's concentration was a force of nature—powerful but erratic. She'd start scribbling notes in bursts, then gaze out the window, mesmerized by a passing bird or a particularly dramatic cloud.
Sometimes she'd nudge Lyra, whispering some snarky aside.
"You think that professor ever reads modern novels? Or does she sleep with a Shakespeare pillow?", then try to stifle her giggles.
Lyra responded with a sideways glance, part exasperation, part amusement, her own lips twitching despite herself.
When the hour neared its end, Professor Delaroche swept her gaze over the room.
"Before I let you all escape, a quick reminder: You are required to join a club this term. Clubs aren't just for socializing—your participation will be factored into your final grade, with a substantial coefficient. If you don't join, you'll receive a zero for that portion, which could pull down your entire average. So pick something that sparks your interest, not just your CV."
A hand shot up from the middle of the hall—a tall boy with spiky hair and an anxious look. "Is it… absolutely mandatory? What if we just want to focus on classes?"
Professor Delaroche's eyes twinkled behind her glasses.
"I assure you, university is not just about lectures and essays. Clubs build teamwork, leadership, and creativity. Besides, it's non-negotiable. Find something you like, or try something new, just be sure you've joined by Friday. This afternoon is free, so you can explore. I suggest you take advantage."
With that, the bell rang, a great shuffle erupted, and students flooded into the aisles. Zoe leapt up, gathering her things with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just been released from months of solitary confinement.
"Lyra, you realize what this means? We get to try clubs! Real clubs! What if there's a disney club? Or a time travelers' club? What if—wait, what are you thinking about joining?"
Lyra slipped her notebook into her bag, eyes still on the professor's notes. "I haven't decided yet. I might look at something… active."
As they made their way out, a blur of color blocked the exit students passing out glossy flyers, arms full of posters and clipboards.
Zoe took three before Lyra could even protest, and by the time they reached the hall's entrance, she was flipping through a miniature book's worth of options.
"Let's see: boxing, literature, chess, basketball, football, badminton, athletics, video games—oooh, manga lovers, I'd be good at that—research club, knitting club, fencing club—wait, fencing? Like, with swords?"
Lyra paused, her attention snagging. The word itself was an invitation. Swords, rules, and competition—she hadn't realized how much she missed the discipline, the split-second rush of battle.
Even in Celestia, swordplay was an art; here, among mortals, it might be a way to feel something familiar, a way to remind herself of her own strengths. She reached for the flyer, studying the photo of two students in full white gear, their foils crossing in a flash of silver.
Zoe grinned, eyes alight with mischief. "Let me guess—you want to check it out?"
Lyra nodded. "It's worth a look."
They navigated the campus, Zoe skipping ahead and announcing every club room they passed.
"Chess! That's probably where all the evil masterminds are. Video games—wait, no, that's the evil masterminds' lair. Knitting club! I'd stab myself with a needle in five minutes. Basketball—too much running. Ooo, the manga club has a life-size plushie! Wait, focus—fencing! This way!"
The fencing club's meeting space was tucked behind the gymnasium, in a high-ceilinged studio lined with mirrored walls.
Swords, masks, and white jackets hung from pegs. A few students were already inside, stretching, lacing up shoes, or chatting near the racks. The air smelled of resin and fresh sweat.
Lyra felt something shift in her chest. The echo of old memories—practice halls in Celestia, dawn duels in the gardens, her mother's proud lessons, the feel of a blade balancing perfectly in her hand. She crossed the threshold quietly, absorbing every detail.
Zoe wandered in after her, wide-eyed. "Wow. Real swords. Like, actual swords. And no one's bleeding! Yet!"
A tall girl with dark skin and her hair in tight braids stepped forward, a clipboard in hand. She wore the fencing uniform half-zipped, her stance easy but alert. She looked Lyra up and down, smiled, and offered a hand. "You new?"
Lyra shook it. "First year. English department."
"Perfect. I'm Claire, club president. Welcome to the Fencing Club. Ever fenced before?"
Lyra considered her answer, then smiled with careful modesty. "A bit."
Claire laughed. "That's what everyone says until they kick my ass. Want to try a bout? We have equipment for guests."
Lyra nodded, feeling an unfamiliar excitement flicker to life. "I'd love to."
Zoe punched the air. "Yes! Lyra, you have to show me all the moves! I mean—not that I want to fight you. Actually, can I just watch? I'll be your cheerleader-slash-camerawoman."
Lyra grinned, feeling more at home than she had since her arrival. This, at least, was a language she understood.
Claire gestured her over to the racks. "Come on. Let's get you suited up."