The spring sun’ grace was shining on the plaza of Halonne's campus where an ocean of light blue, shining white, grassy green and glints of silver stood; many young men and women, clad in these colours, for that were the colours of Halonnes University. Row after row in front of the podium they stood, where the head Dean of education, His Spectability Franques-Fugeunt-Straton, Magus Praestabilis of the University, held his speech to the newly admitted students of this year. He was an old but still spritely man with a long white goatee reaching all the way to his chest and a shaved head and soft blue eyes that seemed to smile on all endeavours of young people. To his left was the central mass hall of the university, and in front of the large wooden gates stood the current students and alumni, locked tightly shoulder to shoulder to deny the new students any access to the building.

“...and as you stride into the future by the guidance of old wisdom, you will find and make things new to this world. As long as virtue and knowledge accompany your steps, you shall never stray from the right path!...”

It was important to remind the students of the prestigious roles they would have to fulfil from now on. The admission into Halonnes was a privilege in and of itself, but even fewer should be granted to graduate here as well.

“...Since we praise those who are willing to walk new paths, we cannot forget the students of our Tertium-courses,” the Dean turned to the block of students not wearing flowing robes like the others, but instead acutely cut jackets in blue and white, without any green or silver. “...which will see these students acquire a degree and their seal by the age most others would just begin their studies here. We honour you, brave youngsters, for you shall be forged in a new fire, whether you be made from noblest gold and silver, or sturdiest iron and bronze. Your talents and fervour shall be made into new tools previously unseen by our times.”

It were these words that Carryl felt most addressed by. May the old man talk about remaking her into something new, she wouldn’t forget the noble blood of house Dwyllaigh coursing through her veins.

“...it is with the greatest of honours that I personally oversee this project to bring the separation of old further down, as this year we again have more admittances from families of commoners than in any year before. This does not mean we shall forget the sacrifices of the powerful and the legendary of ages past, but that we empower them by carrying them to more and more people!”

He will do good in not forgetting what Carryl's family and bloodline have done for this university and this entire world, in fact. She had an ancestral right to be here, it was after all her family that was represented by one of the three open books that adorned the seal of Halonnes University. She grasped the amber amulet around her neck, that had to hint at her family’s crest, given the ban of any personal crests or insignias of nobility on campus grounds.

“...with these words, I release you young minds into these hallowed halls of learning. Welcome, new students of Halonnes. SCIENCIA MUNITA, MENTIS VIVUM!” the Dean threw his arms open and a cheer went up from the surrounding audience, as the other students opened their ranks and let the new members enter the great mass hall. A festivity began among them, but Carryl did not feel drawn into it. The young students of the Tertium-courses were quickly beset upon by older students trying to recruit them into various clubs, societies and other groups meant to prepare and privilege them for the future both on and beyond the campus. Carryl defended herself, turned away from the annoyances; she needed no such company, she instead pushed further to the edge of the hall filled with jubilation and talk. She wanted to get higher up, on the gallery overseeing the hall, and further on to a certain hallway, that she knew she had a birth right to.

She found on the walls there the portraits of the three grand families and their descendants that graduated from this hallowed institution. The walls were covered in hundreds of paintings, the oldest well over five hundred years old, but their paint were still vibrant, preserved by alchemist’s craft. One of the portraits depicted a young man with blue eyes and dense golden curls, just like Carryl's, and a harsh and pointed chin. Although her mother’s soft beauty was somewhat hiding it, Carryl had inherited that trait from her father. But then there was the deep, straight scar running from his left ear to his chin. She still remembered the many times she was told of how he had gotten the scar; the altercation between Maoldonaich of house Dwyllaigh and Benneit-Baltair of house Treiddearn.

Carryl wandered from painting to painting, they seemed to reach endlessly high up in an endless hallway. She inspected many, even those not of her line. Their sacrifice to found the university was as important as Carryl's family's, and so she should honour them too.

She could not hear the jubilations this far, but she did hear steps on the soft carpet coming down the hallway. Around the corner came someone who she had anticipated would drop by eventually. He wore the robes of a student of the university with the badge of a graduate emblazoned on the left chest. His head was adorned with the same golden curls as Carryl’s and their father’s. He had his staff with him and his gait was quick and directed, but slowed down when he saw Carryl.

“I knew I'd find you here, Carryl!” Roibert called out to her down the hallway.
“What? Are you the new Investigator Praefect?”
“No, I'm just a brother, worried his little sister is not finding any friends so far away from home.” He arrived by her and patted her head as a form of greeting.

“Stop doing that!” She slapped his hand away. “You’re messing up my hair!” she tried to bring her curls back into that intricate order no one else seemed to appreciate. “I don’t care for drinking and screaming and giggling together. Leave me be! I want to see my ancestors.”

“There’s more to school life than ancestors. I'd say this would actually be the best time to think about your future. You got three years ahead of you with the people back there.” With his thumb, he pointed over his shoulder. “Better to get to know them now or you’ll always be excluded.”

“I’ll consider your counsel, my wise social advisor.” She turned back to the portraits to make a point.

“Fine then, have it your way. Maybe I'll drop by the dorm at a later point. Have fun! The gruelling studies will begin soon.” With these words, he turned around and went back the way he came, only to stop again for a moment. Carryl couldn’t see it, she was busy inspecting finest craftsmanship, but she knew he threw another glance back. “Carryl?” His voice sounded careful and concerned.
“What is it, Rob?”
“Even the heroes in your books had friends to help them.”
“I know!”

He said nothing further and went down the hallway. Carryl stayed and looked at the hard and wise faces of noble men and the soft and beautiful expressions of noble women. The latter was not for her, she would smile not to entrance men, but to show her strength. She struck a pose and put on the smile of confidence she would be immortalised in, only checking whether someone could see her afterwards. But eventually all the faces of possibly long dead people became boring and she went back to the gallery.

As she approached the grand hall, she saw another student, leaning over the balustrade and looking down into the hall. She too wore the jacket of the Tertium-students, accompanied by a long pleated skirt in dark grey. Her dark-red hair were tied into a short braid; Carryl first thought her of darker skin tone, but a second look revealed the colouration to come from sheening fur, and her long pointed ears further proved that the girl was in fact crolachan; a really tall crolachan, as tall as Carryl herself! Carryl had seen many of her kind serving in her house's fleet, the Gimean Islands being the last place any crolachans of the western tribe remained in all of Ackarom, was she from there too?

The girl turned around to Carryl and waved with a pretended smile. Carryl waved back and greeted with a formality from the ancient tongue of the Gimean people.

“Beir bua!” Carryl put all her effort into sounding friendly, as her mother had taught her for all those occasions where she would have to represent her entire bloodline.

But the crolachan just made a confused face. Carryl turned away, feeling awkward, and went down the stairs and joined the other students for a soft drink and a bit of pointless chatter, but from time to time, she felt observed from above, only to see nothing when she threw a glance over her shoulder.