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John and Fizz reached the Heart Magic Academy the way tired people always reach safe places: fast, quiet, and with the reflex to look over their shoulders even when the gates are friendly.
The academy's outer ward accepted their tokens without fuss. The air inside felt cleaner than the capital streets, like someone had rinsed the wind and hung it up to dry. Students drifted across the courtyards in neat streams.
A few glanced at John.
Fewer glanced at Fizz. Everyone glanced twice when they realized the orange fur ball had the confident posture of someone who had once lectured them about elemental magic and then called their concentration; 'a shy frog hiding in a bucket.'
Fizz floated at John's shoulder, chest puffed as if his fur contained an entire orchestra.
"I am recognized," he whispered. "It is hard being famous."
"It is hard being quiet next to you," John whispered back.
Fizz took that as praise and preened.
They went straight for the headmaster's tower.
