Auburn Academy

#3

EMMA

They always said the rooms at Auburn adjusted to you—shifted with your mood, your soul. My mother used to tell me stories of how her own room bloomed with color when she was happy, how the ceilings glittered with soft light when she dreamed too big. She said the walls whispered comfort when she cried.

So, when I first stepped into mine, I waited.

I waited for the walls to shimmer or the light to soften. For the furniture to twist itself into something me. But nothing happened. It was just… a room. A well-furnished wooden box. Too polished, too plain. Everything smooth, oak-colored, and distant. Like I was standing in someone else’s space, like the room was holding its breath and pretending not to see me.

No flickering lanterns. No bursts of color. No echoes of my soul.

Just silence. Just wood.

Except for one thing.

The side table by my bed—originally carved, detailed and warm—turned pitch black. Burnt. Charred like it had been touched by fire or grief. I remember reaching out to touch it the first night and pulling my fingers back from the lingering heat. Like it had felt something even if the rest of the room refused to.

It never changed back.

Everything else stayed the same, frozen in place. But that side table stood there like a scar—quiet, cracked, and slightly smoking, like it knew the truth I wasn’t ready to say aloud:

That maybe this school wasn't meant for me.

That maybe rooms didn’t shift for Emotion Fairies anymore.

That maybe I was too broken, or maybe just too alone.

---

I woke up before the sun. Not because of a dream or a noise, just... excitement. It was my first real day at Auburn Academy.

The room was still cold, still too wooden, still not mine—but I didn’t let it get to me this morning. I climbed out of bed, stepped over the same patch of creaky floorboard near the foot of my bed, and avoided glancing at the charred side table. That was the only part of this room that ever acknowledged I existed. The rest? Still pretending.

I slipped on my uniform carefully, smoothing the pleats of my auburn skirt and buttoning the white-colored shirt all the way up. The Umbra Vault crest shimmered faintly on the left side—stitched into the fabric like a badge of belonging. It still didn’t feel like I belonged here, but wearing it helped.

Over that, I pulled on my Auburn vest, soft and snug. I studied myself in the mirror for a second. Not to admire, just... to remind myself that I was here. This was real.

By the time I reached Fairy History, the sun had fully risen, casting gold rays through the stained-glass windows of the corridor. The classroom was on the fifth floor of the Luminara Sanctum—a tower so high it always felt like it scraped the sky. When I stepped inside, I paused for a moment.

The room was unlike anything I’d imagined.

Books floated in slow circles across the domed ceiling, glowing faintly as if dreaming. The walls were lined with shelves that shifted every few minutes, rearranging themselves based on what Professor Ashvurn felt like teaching that day. Instead of chairs, we sat on broad, polished tree stumps that had been grown right out of the floor, each carved with different fairy runes. Vines curled down from the rafters and lit up softly when someone spoke, as though they were listening too.

I found an empty stump near the middle and sat down—just before someone slid into the seat beside me.

“Hey,” a voice said lightly. I turned.

“Name?”

“Tee-jay”

“Yours?”

“Emma”

He grinned. His hair was a little messy, and there was a leaf stuck in it, like he’d run through a forest to get here.

“Hi,” I said, smiling a little. I wasn’t expecting to, but it happened anyway.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“Terrified,” I admitted. Then quickly added, “But mostly excited.”

He laughed. “Same. Except mine’s like 80% nervous, 20% hoping I don’t fall asleep mid-lecture.”

I laughed too, surprising myself again. His energy was… easy. Not overwhelming. Just enough to make the silence less heavy.

Before I could reply, Professor Ashvurn floated into the room—literally. His feet never touched the ground, his cloak trailing behind him like wisps of mist. He clapped his hands once, and the floating books dropped gently back onto the shelves.

“Good morning, young sparks of history,” he said with a flourish. “Today, we begin not with what was, but with what will be.”

A few people exchanged confused glances.

“As you know, Founders’ Day is approaching. A day to remember our origins—and a day to learn from them. This year, each of you will complete a project on one of the Four Founders of Auburn Academy. In groups of four.”

Groans. Some cheers. One audible “ugh.”

“To ensure pure, unbiased groupings… you will pick a number.” He waved his hand, and tiny glowing orbs appeared, each one hovering with a number inside. “Whichever number you get—find your matches.”

Tee-jay and I looked at each other. “Want to go together?” he offered.

“Sure,” I said.

I reached out and plucked a glowing orb from the air. Number 7. He grabbed his—same number.

“Well, at least we’re not stuck with strangers,” he joked.

A moment later, two more students walked over holding sevens in their hands. One of them I recognized instantly: Carter, we hadn't formally introduced ourselves to each other but everyone knew who he was, the perfect Auburn gentleman who always looked like he belonged in a brochure. His uniform was spotless, his posture regal. The brother of Calvin Benson. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

The other was a girl with cool blue eyes and dark hair that fell in loose curls over her shoulders. She looked like she didn’t want to be here—but her fingers fiddled with the hem of her skirt in a way that reminded me she did care. Lavender.

Tee-jay raised an eyebrow at me as we all gathered into our group.

“Well,” he said, grinning wide, “this is going to be interesting.”

THEODORE

I was late.

In my defense, it was the first day of actual classes, and I did set my alarm—just not loud enough to wake a fairy, apparently. I grabbed a half-toasted piece of bread from the dining hall on my way out and stuffed it into my mouth like a criminal fleeing the scene. The halls of Auburn were already echoing with the sound of students getting to class on time, and here I was—flying solo and five minutes behind schedule.

Literally flying.

Well, half-flying, half-tripping over my own feet as I tried to zip through the courtyard shortcut that led to the Luminara Sanctum. Just as I turned the corner, something fast—no, someone fast—came barreling toward me on a swirling air ball.

“HEY—!”

CRASH.

I went down hard, my back slamming into the roots of one of those magical overgrown tree columns, and something sharp jabbed into my side. My bag flipped open and scattered a few pencils, a squished snack bar, and—seriously?—a sock I forgot to pack away.

“Watch where you’re flying, man!” I snapped, sitting up and brushing leaves out of my hair.

The other guy groaned as he untangled himself from the awkward pile we’d created. Then I realized who it was.

Carter.

Of course. Auburn’s Golden Boy. Mr. Perfect Posture. Somehow, he was late too. His expression was a mix of frustration and mild horror—as if bumping into me had personally offended his ancestors.

“I was watching,” he said, standing up and smoothing his blazer like we hadn’t just crash-landed in a tree. “You just happened to be in the way.”

“‘In the way’? Bro, you almost air bended me into another dimension!”

He didn’t even flinch. “Maybe you should leave earlier next time.”

I scowled, not bothering to hide it. I stood up, wiped some dirt off my Auburn trousers, and straightened my white shirt and blazer. The leaf stuck in my curls was probably still there, but I was too annoyed to care.

“Great start to the year,” I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

Carter was already jogging toward the Sanctum again, his air ball whooshing quietly beneath his feet like he was still trying to win a race no one else signed up for.

I shook my head and sighed.

“Drama queen,” I whispered, then paused. “Actually, double drama queen. That’s rich coming from me.”

I cracked a grin and took off after him, hoping the professor wouldn’t mark me late on the first real day.

---

I finally made it to the fifth floor, out of breath and slightly winded from dodging Prefects and apologizing to a floating chandelier I may or may not have killed during the sprint.

I stopped just outside the door of Fairy History, ran a hand through my hair—yep, still leafy—and took a breath.

Showtime.

I pushed the door open.

Professor Ashvurn didn’t stop mid-sentence (thank the skies), but a few heads turned. Late arrivals were practically tradition for me at this point, and I played it the only way I knew how—confidently pretending it was all part of the plan.

The room was wild—books floating, vines glowing, tree-stump seats instead of chairs. My kind of weird. I scanned for a spot… and froze.

There she was.

The mystery girl I’d noticed during orientation. The one with the quiet sadness in her eyes and that calm stillness that somehow made her stand out more than any glittering spell or bright flame ever could.

She looked soft, but not weak. Like the kind of person who carried things in silence.

And for some reason… I wanted to know what.

Without thinking twice, I made my way over and slid onto the stump beside her like I’d been doing it for years.

“Hey,” I said, low and easy.

She turned to me. Her eyes were a shade I couldn’t name—something between dusk and silver—and she gave a small smile. Not wide. But real.

“Hi,” she said.

One word, and it felt like someone cracked open a window in my chest.

Okay, maybe today wasn’t going to suck after all.