Vonjo stepped out of the grand hallway with an air of practiced nonchalance, letting the heavy oak doors swing shut behind him.

The muffled chatter of the other faculty and the distant hum of the principal's voice faded, replaced by the softer, almost eerie quiet that lingered in the far reaches of the Academia.

The teacher's dormitories weren't directly connected to the main academic buildings—one had to cross a long stone passage, arching slightly downward as if leading into a more secluded part of the complex.

He strolled without hurry, his gait unhurried and almost lazy, hands slipping into the deep pockets of his long, loose overcoat.

His eyes half-lidded, Vonjo seemed the picture of a man who couldn't be bothered with urgency, but in reality, he was taking in every small detail around him with a predator's subtle awareness.

The flagstones beneath his boots were smooth from centuries of footsteps, yet here and there a faint crack or chip hinted at age that not even magic had fully concealed.

The air here was different—cooler, touched with the faint scent of old parchment, polished wood, and the distant ghost of incense burned in ceremonial rooms long ago.

On the left wall, narrow gothic windows filtered in the pale midday light, each casting long, colored streaks onto the corridor floor through their stained-glass depictions of long-dead scholars and warriors.

Some figures clutched tomes, others weapons, all etched in hues of sapphire, crimson, and gold.

Vonjo's gaze lingered on one panel where a robed figure with a hidden face held a lantern toward a darkness that seemed to stretch beyond the glass. He smirked faintly—Academia loved its metaphors.

He turned a corner, the shift in air pressure almost imperceptible, and found himself in a quieter hall lined with heavy wooden doors, each bearing an engraved brass plate.

They marked quarters reserved for senior staff—Professors of Arcane Theory, Instructors of Martial Discipline, and even the elusive Custodian of Forbidden Texts.

Most doors were closed, but now and then one stood ajar, revealing a cluttered study with stacks of manuscripts teetering like unstable towers, or the faint flicker of a rune-lamp casting shadows over maps and scrolls.

Vonjo's boots clicked lightly as he moved, his pace slowing when he noticed the subtle differences between each stretch of corridor.

Here, the stone was darker, as though the masons had drawn from a deeper quarry vein.

There, the lamps were different—intricate wrought-iron fixtures instead of the simpler brass ones in the main building.

The attention to detail in the architecture was almost obsessive, every corner holding some small flourish—carved floral patterns where wall met ceiling, tiny runic inlays at the base of columns, even the occasional gargoyle-like visage peeking from the ends of beams.

As he passed a small alcove, Vonjo stopped, pretending to adjust his coat sleeve. In reality, he was watching. Through the archway ahead, the corridor opened into a small courtyard garden, walled on all sides by the teachers' dormitory wings.

The garden was a surprising burst of life—dark green ivy curling up trellises, blossoms in pale blue and white scattered between trimmed hedges, and a small circular pond in the center, its water surface so still it mirrored the drifting clouds above.

A lone figure in long robes sat on a bench beside the pond, reading. Vonjo's eyes tracked them for a moment, noting the rhythm of their page turns, the faint shimmer of a magical ward hanging around the pond's perimeter. Without breaking stride, he walked past, giving no sign that he'd noticed anything unusual.

The hallway narrowed again, leading toward the western dormitory block. Here, the lighting dimmed slightly, and the faint sound of wind whispered through unseen cracks.

The walls bore paintings—portraits of stern-faced men and women, each framed in dark oak.

The brass nameplates beneath them bore titles like Dean of Transmutation, 3rd Era and Highmaster of Blades, 5th Era.

Some eyes seemed to follow him as he walked, though Vonjo knew better than to be unsettled by enchanted art.

Halfway down this hall, he stopped again—not because something looked suspicious, but because the atmosphere here was markedly different.

The air felt heavier, faintly metallic, like the scent before a thunderstorm. Somewhere far below, perhaps in the sealed cellars under the dormitory, there was a deep, rhythmic vibration—too steady for footsteps, too mechanical for natural phenomena.

Vonjo tilted his head slightly, listening, then dismissed it with a faint shake. The Academia had layers—many of which newcomers were better off not prying into.

He finally reached the wing where the teachers' sleeping quarters began in earnest.

Each room had a unique door—some plain, others inlaid with runes, one even shaped like a massive tome split down the middle, its "pages" carved into wood.

He passed them lazily, noting the faint undercurrent of magical wards humming in the wood and hinges. This was a place where even the simplest-looking door might hold a defensive enchantment strong enough to repel a charging beast.

Vonjo slowed when the corridor widened into a lounge-like space, furnished with overstuffed armchairs, a low fireplace where enchanted logs burned with slow, steady blue flames, and tables scattered with unwashed teacups and half-finished correspondence.

A faint haze of pipe smoke hung in the air, curling toward the rafters where tiny, winged constructs—half-bird, half-metal—fluttered lazily in the warm drafts.

A single large window overlooked the far side of the courtyard, giving him a view of the garden from the opposite angle.

The robed reader by the pond was still there, unmoving now, as if they'd slipped into a trance.

He walked past the lounge and deeper into the wing, noting the subtle temperature shifts and the faint humming of a protective field woven into the walls themselves.

The dormitory layout became a maze—short corridors breaking off into private rooms, others leading to communal bathing halls where the faint sound of water trickling echoed from within.

He glanced through an open arch and saw a bathhouse tiled in deep sapphire stone, steam curling from pools whose surfaces shimmered with faint magic to keep them perfectly warm.

The scent of minerals and faint herbs drifted from within, soothing yet oddly out of place in the otherwise formal, academic environment.

Vonjo took his time circling the perimeter of the dormitory complex, occasionally stepping into side halls just far enough to glance at what they contained—a small private library with worn leather armchairs and towering bookshelves; a narrow stairwell leading upward into what was probably the faculty observatory; a locked door humming faintly with containment wards strong enough to hold something dangerous.

His lazy stroll was an act, but it gave him a near-complete mental map of the area without anyone suspecting he was scouting.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour of wandering, he reached his own assigned quarters.

The door was plain, its wood polished to a dull sheen, with only a simple nameplate—no runes, no ornamentation.

He unlocked it with the iron key he'd been given earlier and pushed the door open slowly, letting his eyes sweep the room before stepping inside.

It was modest, as far as Academia quarters went—one bed with neatly folded sheets, a desk facing the window, and a tall bookshelf already stocked with basic reference texts.

A small wardrobe stood in the corner, its doors slightly ajar, revealing a few spare uniforms.

The faint scent of cedar drifted from the wood, likely a natural deterrent for pests.

Vonjo walked to the window and pushed it open, letting in the crisp air from outside. From here, he had a clear view over the western wall of the Academia grounds, where the tiled roofs of the outer buildings gave way to the distant sprawl of the city beyond.

Bells rang faintly in the distance, marking the hour, their sound blending with the low murmur of life outside the walls.

He leaned casually against the window frame, his gaze drifting over the horizon, but his mind was already processing the layout he'd memorized, the little irregularities he'd noticed, the faces and figures he'd passed.

Lazy though he appeared, Vonjo wasn't the type to waste a walk.

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