CHAPTER 328: PRIVATE MENTORSHIP WING

They passed a quiet table near the edge of the plaza, where an older woman sat alone. Her layered robes caught the soft light like threads of starlight woven into cloth.

There was no banner above her booth, no pricing or advertisement—only the faint glow of three magical cords suspended above her open palms.

One shimmered red, another silver, the last a gentle white. They didn’t pulse or float in showy arcs, but hung with the kind of grace that made you pause without knowing why.

"Three cords," the woman said, her voice steady and low, almost like a continuation of a thought rather than the start of a conversation.

The three of them slowed, drawn without needing a reason.

She didn’t explain further. Didn’t ask for names or offer a reading. Instead, she simply gestured toward the threads—subtle, soft, and slow.

"They’re not tangled," she said. "But they’re still choosing how to wind. Balance matters more than you think."

Everly leaned in a little, as if about to speak, but the woman raised a single hand in quiet understanding.

Not a shush. Not refusal. Just peace. As if saying—what’s been said is already enough.

They moved on without breaking the silence, a gentle stillness following them like a breath that hadn’t quite finished leaving the chest.

Just past the plaza’s curve, Ethan paused beside a flower stand tucked away from the brighter corners.

There were no glowing signs, no crowd, just a weathered vendor leaning against the side post, nodding once without speaking, gesturing toward the array of strange blooms lined in soft crates of dark moss.

Each flower shimmered faintly, some drifting petals upward as though gravity worked in reverse.

"These flowers react to whoever holds them," Ethan said, stepping forward with a quiet curiosity that didn’t need to be explained. "The bloom changes shape based on your aura."

He reached forward and selected two, careful not to disturb the others. He handed the first to Everly.

As her fingers closed around the stem, the petals swirled into a gentle ember pattern—slow, warming, like the echo of fire resting in a hearth after midnight. It pulsed once, settled, and held.

Then he turned to Evelyn.

The second flower slipped into her hand with no resistance, and the moment her skin met its stem, it bloomed into a soft pale frost—shimmering light across its edges like snowflakes caught in moonlight.

It didn’t pulse. It just held its glow, quiet and still.

Neither twin said anything at first.

Evelyn’s fingers curled protectively around the stem, her gaze lingering not just on the petals, but on him.

"Thank you," she said, not softly, but sincerely.

Ethan only gave a small nod. He didn’t draw attention to it. That wasn’t the point.

They didn’t linger much longer after that. The mood had shifted again—not downward, not tired. Just slower. Like something finished had given them room to rest.

They crossed the final stretch of plaza in quiet, the distant hum of student life softening behind them as they reached the edge platform that served as a shuttle lift.

The glass rails shimmered faintly with mana, guiding each person toward the dorm levels above.

The three stepped aboard and, without needing to speak, found a long bench near the back—not hidden, but not in the open either.

As the lift rose, the city began to fall away beneath their feet—small golden lights drifting downward like pieces of memory letting go.

Above, the twin moons had drawn closer now, nearly aligned, casting pale silver across the transparent ceiling overhead.

Ethan leaned back slowly, adjusting his weight just enough before his arms settled around Evelyn and Everly.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not possessive. Just quiet warmth, placed there like it had belonged from the start.

Neither girl moved away.

The platform rose higher.

And with it, that small, unspoken feeling inside Ethan settled further—no longer a question, but something closer to confirmation.

If this was life at Astralis... maybe he’d already stopped looking for the next place.

—

The next morning arrived with no fanfare, just a calm, early light drifting through the tall windows of the east dorm wing.

The glass was angled just enough to catch the blue-white hue of the peaks beyond campus—those quiet ridgelines that seemed too far to touch, but close enough to guide.

The air here was light, almost unnaturally clean, as though the mana woven into the walls filtered even tension from the space.

They stepped out together, neither in a rush.

Evelyn moved with her usual calm, adjusting the strap on her wrist guard, a few loose strands of hair tucked behind her ear with habitual ease.

Everly, on the other hand, had one hand on her holo-band and the other looping her hair into a quick, elegant knot while humming something that didn’t belong to any song Ethan knew.

No one said much.

They didn’t need to.

They came to a halt at the base of the dorm stairwell, where three paths split off into different wings of the university.

Ethan looked at them, a small glance back and forth.

"Same time tonight?"

Everly gave a half-smile. "Unless assignments try to murder us first."

Evelyn nodded once, calm but firm. "We’ll find you if they do."

He leaned forward, kissed Everly on the cheek—simple, light, natural. Then, she turned and did the same for Evelyn, who returned a barely-there smile.

Her eyes followed his for an extra second before turning away, there was no tension. No drama.

It felt like they’d done this before—even if they hadn’t.

The twins walked together down the left path, fading into the rising flow of students going to the lecture halls.

Ethan turned the other direction, toward the east wing—private mentorship halls.

This part of the university wasn’t marked by grand architecture or high traffic. It wasn’t built to impress. It was quieter, more layered, more purposeful.

The corridors were broad and pale, not white but soft ivory, with directional glyphs drifting overhead that shifted shape as students passed beneath them.

His line was simple: gold, narrow, constant.

"Private Mentorship Wing," it said, until it finally split into a corridor of sun-drenched silence.

He walked the rest alone.

No hesitation.