RISE OF THE SWARM

The door clicked shut behind him, shutting out the office and the angry face of Deputy Headmistress Morwenna. The air in the hallway was cooler, it smelt of old stone, wax polish and a faint tang of magic, like the air after a storm. It was a relief but not much. Liam's heart was still beating too fast, like a drum that wouldnt stop, and her words kept running round his head. Commoner. Peasant. Mud.

Elara, the older student who had been told to guide him, gave him a quick look. Her face didnt show much, not friendly, not unfriendly. It was like she had learned how to hide what she felt. Her grey robes were simple, but clean, and there was a silver pin at her collar, shaped like a quill and book.

"This way, registrar," she said, her voice quiet. Not mean, not kind. Just business. She didnt smile. She didnt sneer.

Liam followed her. The halls twisted and turned, and soon the fancy part of the palace was gone. These halls were strict, serious, and full of the weight of learning. The walls had paintings of old men and women in academic robes, their faces stern. Their eyes seemed to follow him. Between them, glass cases held strange things. Scales that looked like frozen fire, tiny machines that spun planets around suns he didnt know, and swords that glowed like they had their own life. The stone floor changed into wood, polished so much it echoed with every step.

Other students walked past them. They wore robes of colors, dark blue, forest green, bright red, gold. They walked like they owned the place. Their hair was neat, their hands soft, their voices smooth and calm. They talked about spells and history, their laughter light and easy. To Liam it all sounded like a language he didnt know.

And they saw him. He felt their eyes, saw how they looked at his plain tunic, sleeves too short, hands rough from work. Some looked curious, others amused, others just full of scorn. A boy with pale blond hair in a crimson robe smirked and whispered something to his friend, nodding toward Liam. Heat burned in Liam's face. He stared at Elara's back, wishing he could shrink smaller.

The registrar's office was messy, a small room with piles of parchment everywhere. An old man sat behind the desk, glasses perched on his nose. His nameplate read "Magister Hull." His voice was dry like leaves.

"Late entry, mid-term? Very irregular," he muttered.

"Headmaster's order. Priority," Elara said quickly, her voice sharp enough to close the argument.

Hull sighed like the world was against him. He pulled open drawers, dragging out forms. He asked question after question. Name? Liam of Oakhaven. Hull's eyebrows rose. Place of birth? Oakhaven. Parentage? When Liam faltered, Elara cut in with "Next question please."

Then came the worst. Hull pushed a cloudy crystal ball toward him. "Mana core assessment," he said. "Put your hand on the aether-quartz."

Liam obeyed. The sphere stayed dark. Hull frowned, tapped it. "Push. Focus, boy."

Liam tried. He thought of the wild burst of energy at the village gate, the Empress's seal that felt like a band across his soul. He pushed harder. Still nothing. The ball stayed dead.

"Null," Hull said coldly, scratching the word down. "Utterly null. Most irregular." His eyes narrowed, like Liam was a puzzle that annoyed him.

At last Hull stamped a brass token and shoved it over. It was heavy and warm in Liam's palm. "Your room key and token. Do not lose it. First-year boys' tower. Room 7. West wing." His voice suggested that the West wing was not a good place.

Elara led him again. The academy was huge, like a city. Bridges, courtyards, gardens with glowing lanterns that lit up as night fell. The sky was purple, and the lamps burned with the soft light of trapped will-o-wisps.

They reached the first-year tower. The common room was round, wood and leather chairs, a fire so big you could stand in it. And full of boys. Around two dozen of them. All conversation stopped when Liam entered.

One boy stood out. Tall, broad, moving with authority. His robe was rich, and a silver ring glinted on his hand. His eyes ran over Liam with cold disdain before turning to Elara.

"Elara," he said smoothly. "Slumming it? And who is this? The new stable hand?"

The others chuckled. Liam gripped the brass token in his pocket.

"This is Liam, Alistair," Elara answered. She kept her voice neutral but Liam saw the tension in her shoulders. "Room 7."

A ripple went through the crowd. Alistair's eyebrows lifted in mock shock. "Room 7, How… quaint." He stepped closer, eyes sharp. "I am Alistair of House Ravenhold. And you are…?"

"Liam," Liam croaked, forcing the word out.

"Just Liam?" Alistair sneered. "No house, no land? How unusual." He turned to the room. "Gentlemen, it seems standards are falling. Welcome Just Liam, from the pigsty."

The laughter this time was crueler. Liam burned with shame and anger. He spotted the blond boy again, leaning lazy against the fireplace, smirking.

Elara's tone cut sharp. "Enough, Alistair. He needs to settle. Liam, come."

The boys jeered as Liam followed her up the spiral stairs. Someone whispered, "Does he even know which fork to use for muck?" Another answered, "He eats with his hands."

Room 7 was a display of wealth, it looked straight out of a fairy tale. Large King sized bed in the middle, with a giant white drapping blanket. On the side a giant row of empty wardrobes towered over Liam. His mind wondered back to the village, his room had been tiny, usually he slpet on hay and covered himself with a thin blanket. Never had he seen such a bed.

"It's small i know, but your currently the weakest person in the entire academy, so you get the worst room. Get stronger somehow and your quarters improve accordingly." She said

"You'll get robes and books tomorrow," Elara said, standing in the doorway. Her mask slipped for a second, and Liam saw sympathy. "Ignore Alistair. His family owns mines, he thinks that makes him king. Keep your head down. Work hard. It wont be easy."

Then she left.

Silence pressed on Liam.

He thought of the feast, the Empress's soft questions about herbs, the glowing berries, sweet like moonlight. He thought of the terrible surge of magic at the gate, the calm Merlin had given him.

He opened his hand, looked at the brass token. Just metal, with a stamp. His ticket into a world that didnt want him.

Laughter drifted from the outside. It seemed the common room was a buzz of activity, he felt like going outside and try to socialize but the logical part of his mind refused such an idea.

He felt like a stain on clean paper, a weed in a perfect garden, a lamb surrounded by wolves.

He lay back, staring at the cracked ceiling. The Emperor's words whispered inside him. Learn control. Learn purpose. The world cannot wait.

Outside, the academy went on, big and bright and uncaring. Liam of Oakhaven, the null, the outsider, had to find a way to survive. His first day was done. The real test was only starting.

But sleep didnt come. His body was tired, but his mind kept running. He heard every sound, every footstep on the stairs, every burst of laughter below. The walls felt to large, the ceiling too bright. He turned over on the soft mattress, staring at the window. The sky outside was darker now, full of stars, though the lanterns in the courtyard drowned some of them.

The thought made him curl his hand tighter around the brass token. It felt heavier now, like a chain.

From below came more noise, the boys were playing some game, cards maybe, and cheering. He caught Alistair's laugh, loud and sure of itself. The sound dug into Liam's chest.

He sat up, swung his feet to the cold floor. He looked at the desk. Empty. Tomorrow it would be full of books he couldnt read, symbols he couldnt understand. He imagined himself sitting there, while the others snickered at his mistakes.

A wave of anger rushed through him. He wasnt stupid. He had learned herbs and healing from his mother, he had worked hard all his life. Just because he didnt know their ways didnt mean he couldnt learn. He would learn. Somehow.

But another voice whispered back, what if you can't. What if the Empress made a mistake. What if you are just a null, a nothing.

He pressed his palm to his chest where the Empress's seal lay hidden, cool and steady. That at least was real. That meant something.

He lay back down, pulling the blanket over himself. The laughter still echoed, but he forced his eyes shut. Tomorrow would come, and he had to face it. The academy didnt want him. But he was here. He would not run.