Finn woke to sunlight streaming through stained glass, casting emerald and sapphire patterns across his bed. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, but the mattress beneath him was real and so much softer than his worn-out bed in Duncliffe. The air smelled of morning dew, old paper, and something wilder, like lightning before a storm. I'm really here.

  The will-o'-wisp that had accompanied him was gone. His roommate didn't seem to have arrived last night after all. Or maybe he was already up and had left. Finn sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, his mind racing with memories of yesterday, of the Witch's Henge, Morrigan, the mist that had carried him away from Duncliffe, Oisin, Honeyglow, Dinner with...

  A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. "Coming!" He rolled out of bed and had barely turned the knob as the door swung open and Sophie burst in, her dark hair still damp from showering.

  "Up, up, up, new Weaver!" she announced and tossed something onto his bed. "Found you some proper clothes. Can't have you walking around in those Duncliffe rags. You look like you crawled out of a bog."

  Finn glanced at the bundle. The clothes looked like something Link from Legend of Zelda would wear. A green tunic, brown trousers, a russet hooded cloak like the ones he'd seen other students wearing, and a pair of laceless smooth leather boots. "Thanks," he mumbled, still groggy. "What time is it?"

  "Nearly breakfast," Sophie replied, flopping onto the other bed. "You've got about twenty minutes before Maelor starts bellowing for stragglers, and trust me, you don't want that. He's twice the size of a normal man and three times as loud!"

  Finn nodded, clutching the new clothes. "Should I...?" he gestured awkwardly.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. "I'll wait outside. Hurry up, though! We've got Aether-weaving first, and Mistress áine doesn't tolerate tardiness. None of the Masters do."

  Once alone, Finn changed quickly. The tunic fit surprisingly well, the fabric softer than anything he'd ever worn. The cloak settled around his shoulders like it'd been tailored to his frame, its weight strangely comforting and much lighter than it looked. He fumbled with the bronze clasp, finally securing it at his collarbone. At last he slipped into the napped leather boots, surprised by how delicate the thick leather felt between his fingers. At first, it had seemed to be soft, offering little support around his ankles, and the boots themselves felt a little too large. But as soon as he had walked the first steps, they seemed to mold to his feet, feeling both snug and sturdy at the same time. On impulse, he grabbed the acorn from the oak back in Willow Lane from his desk and transferred it to his new tunic, the small weight a reminder of what awaited him if he failed whatever the Academy would ask of him. If this doesn't work, it's straight back to Duncliffe.

  Sophie was bouncing on her toes when he stepped into the hallway. "Much better," she said, appraising him. "Now you look like a proper Weaver. Come on, I'll show you around before breakfast." She led him through corridors that twisted like roots, past chambers where early risers practiced gestures that left trails of light in the air. The Academy seemed to be part building, part living organism; moss grew in patterns that looked too deliberate to be random, and vines curled around doorways, some flowers blooming as students passed.

  "The Academy wasn't built in a traditional sense, they say," Sophie explained, amused at his wonder. "It was grown. The first Druids sang to the stones and trees, and the Aether shaped them into walls and towers. Everything feels alive here...because most of it actually is."

  They arrived at a courtyard bathed in morning light. Four paths led in different directions, each marked by a standing stone carved with ogham script.

  "The four main paths of the Academy," Sophie said, gesturing to each in turn. "North leads to Dagda Hall - everyone just calls it the Grand Hall - and the kitchens. East to the training grounds, teaching rooms, and library. South to the dorms and west to the gardens, greenhouses, and the stadium." At the courtyard's center stood the ancient oak he'd seen from the hill. It was otherworldly. Its trunk was wider than a telephone booth, its bark a deep, dark ebony, smooth and gleaming as if it had been polished by countless years of wind and weather. Its enormous leaves, each as large as an oven mitt, shimmered in countless shades of green, from pale mint to deep forest emerald, and formed a canopy that seemed to shift and shimmer with every breath of wind.

  "The Croi Tree," Sophie said. "Oldest living thing in the Grove. Professor Hutchins says it remembers the time before humans, when the Tuatha walked the earth."

  Finn approached slowly, drawn by an inexplicable pull. As he neared the massive trunk, a warmth bloomed in his chest - the same sensation he'd felt at the Witch's Henge, but gentler, like a greeting. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing its cool, smooth bark.

  A jolt ran up his arm, and for a heartbeat, he thought he heard a voice - faint, speaking words he couldn't quite grasp. He held his breath, waiting for the voice to return, but the only sound he could make out was that of rustling leaves. Before Finn could say anything, a deep bell tolled somewhere above, its sound reverberating through stone and wood.

  "Breakfast!" Sophie grabbed his arm. "Come on, or we'll miss the good stuff!"

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  They joined a stream of students flowing toward the Grand Hall. In daylight, the cathedral-like space was even more impressive. Sunlight poured through high windows of stained glass, casting kaleidoscope patterns across the floor, and the vaulted ceiling seemed impossibly high.

  Long tables filled quickly, benches scraping as students took their places. The noise was overwhelming after Duncliffe's quiet - dozens of conversations mixing with laughter and the clatter of wooden plates and clay cups.

  Sophie tugged him forward. "Over here! I saved us spots."

  She led him to a table near the center where a boy his age was already seated, his head bent over an open book. He had straight black hair that fell across his forehead and, as he glanced up, Finn saw curious dark eyes behind round glasses.

  "Kai, this is Finn, the new Weaver, aaaand your roommate" Sophie announced, dropping onto the bench. "Finn, this is Kai. Your roommate. From Japan, talks to spirits, and is absolutely useless at combat Aether."

  "Thanks for that comprehensive introduction," Kai said dryly, his accent a precise Queen's English. He nodded to Finn. "Welcome to the Grove. Don't mind Sophie - she considers tact a waste of breath." I just got back this morning from Japan. Had a rather urgent family matter to attend to." Finn sat down, eyeing Kai cautiously, not sure if he had understood Sophie correctly. "You talk to spirits?"

  "Spirit-speaking," Kai corrected, closing his leather-bound book. "It's a form of weaving. I find it easier than most to communicate with elementals and nature spirits. They're... not always cooperative." Food was carried in by older students, warm bread, honey, fruits, and steaming porridge that smelled of cinnamon and apples. Finn stared as the older Weavers moved between the tables, serving the younger students with practiced ease.

  "Fifth and sixth years have kitchen duty," Sophie explained, spooning porridge into a wooden bowl. "It's a tradition. Serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner as a gesture of goodwill and gratitude toward the Academy. Giving back for what they've learned and showing that no one stands above another, no matter how advanced a weaver we've become."

  Finn nodded slowly and took a piece of bread. "Are there... different kinds of Weavers, then? You said Kai talks to spirits, and you mentioned combat Aether..."

  "I'd say that everyone has different affinities," Kai said, adjusting his glasses. "Some excel at elemental summoning, others at morphing or healing. Combat Aether, which Sophie is passable at, focuses on channeling Aether as a protective or offensive power."

  "I can make things explode," Sophie added cheerfully, her mouth full of porridge.

  "Very refined," Kai sighed. Finn couldn't help but smile. "What about me?" he asked. "How do I know what I'm good at?"

  "You don't. Yet." Kai replied. "Although whatever you made happen accidentally outside of training is probably a good indicator. In any case, first-years try everything. Your affinities will show with training." The hall fell silent as Oisin, the white-bearded man from last night, entered, followed by Morrigan and several other adults. They took their seats at the high table on the dais at the hall's end.

  "The Masters," Sophie whispered. "Oisin's the High Druid, head of the Academy. You've met Morrigan, the Warden. She teaches Elemental Summoning. The woman with silver hair is áine, Mistress of Aether-weaving - we have her first today. The huge man is Maelor, Master of Transformation and Spirit Morphing." Finn followed her gaze to a towering figure whose bulk strained his green tunic. His thick maroon beard was braided with wooden beads, and his bare arms were covered in spiraling tattoos. Even seated, he looked to be at least seven feet tall.

  "Is he...?" Finn began.

  "Human? Mostly. Probably," Kai answered. "There are rumors his grandmother was a Fathach - a forest giant - but it's impolite to ask. I don't think anyone ever has."

  Oisin stood, raising his hands for silence. "Weavers," he called, his voice filling the hall without seeming to rise. "The Aether stirs. Samhain Eve is just a few weeks away. I expect you to attend your lessons with special care, especially our first-years. The elementals grow restless at such times, and the Otherworld draws closer as the veil between worlds thins." A murmur ran through the students. Sophie's eyes brightened with excitement.

  "What's Samhain?" Finn whispered.

  "Celtic new year," Sophie replied. "Night when the dead walk and faeries cross freely into our world. There's a huge feast, with dancing and offerings to the spirits."

  "It's not without danger," Kai added. "Elemental barriers weaken. Things... slip through."

  Oisin continued, "We have a slight change in our morning schedule. First-years will gather with Mistress áine for Aether-weaving basics. Second-years to Master Maelor for spirit morphing. Third-years to the eastern grove with Morrigan for elemental theory. Fourth-years to the library with Professor Myrddin for rune studies and ogham history, and fifth-years with Professor Hutchins for Lusanology. Elixology lessons are canceled until further notice. Professor Morus has unfortunately not been able to return as planned from his recent travels, and we continue to look for an adequate replacement. In the meantime, this should give everyone ample opportunity to focus on your other studies." He paused, his eyes finding Finn across the crowded hall. "And to our newest Weaver: Welcome to your first day of training. May the Aether guide your hands."