The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

The carriage wheels slowed against the gravel road, then stopped with a faint jolt. A guard's voice carried through the window.

"We're here, my lord."

Vencian leaned back against the seat and gave a short nod. He adjusted the front of his coat with a smooth tug, let out a steady breath, and pushed the door open. Cold air brushed against his face, clean, and piercing from the residual winter, though the sun had warmed the day enough to keep it pleasant.

Exactly the kind of weather he preferred for his first step back into the academy.

The tall gates of Airantis Academy rose before him, guarded by armored guards who stiffened the moment his boots touched the stone. They shifted aside quickly, as if unsure whether to salute or stay neutral.

Their eyes flicked to him once, then away again, betraying a trace of unease they didn't manage to hide. He passed through without hesitating. His stride was steady, unhurried, and he did not glance at them for approval.

Beyond the gates, the courtyard bustled. Carriages arrived one after another, lining the inner lane. Students stepped down with travel bags, parents or escorts giving last instructions before leaving. The air was full of chatter, laughter, and the clatter of hooves. Yet as Vencian's carriage rolled through, the noise faltered.

The silver-winged moon of House Vicorra gleamed on its lacquered door, unmistakable even at a distance. Heads turned. Voices lowered. The lively noise thinned into a quieter buzz, replaced by sidelong glances and hushed words.

Some students whispered to one another, others followed him openly with their eyes. Vencian neither acknowledged nor slowed. His expression remained composed, his posture alone serving as the only answer to their curiosity.

Quenya drifted along at his side, unseen by the students who parted around him. Her small figure twirled lazily in the air. Her small voice stirred.

"You could wave, you know. Pretend you like being stared at." she said, her tone as dry as she could make it.

"And encourage them?" he muttered quietly, too low for the courtyard to hear.

"Would that be so bad? Better than looking carved from stone."

He ignored the remark, though his pace grew a fraction brisker toward the ledger tables ahead.

Two academy clerks waited there, quills hovering above open ledgers. Unlike the guards, their hesitation was clearer. One lowered his head halfway, then caught himself, pulling it up before it became a bow too deep.

His partner's hands twitched as if uncertain whether to fold them or reach for the quill. Vencian placed a sealed parchment before them. The wax bore the Vicorra crest they had already seen on the carriage.

"Your family crest, my lord?" one clerk asked after a pause.

"You can see it on the carriage," Vencian replied flatly.

"Still—procedure."

"Then make it quick."

The man's shoulders tensed. He glanced once at his colleague before dipping the quill and copying the name onto the ledger. The scratching of ink filled the short silence. Once done, he pushed the parchment back without error.

"That's all," Vencian said, turning away.

The clerks kept their heads lowered enough to seem respectful, though not so much that it looked excessive. Vencian left them behind without looking again.

Quenya's voice came back as he moved toward the academy's inner walk.

"You've said five words since the gate. Planning to keep it that way all day?"

"Would that bother you?"

"Only because you'll bore yourself first." Her tone stayed light, though her head peeked invisibly over his shoulder. "Imagine, Lord Vicorra actually being approachable."

He cut the thought short with his silence, moving through the archway into the main building. Wide corridors stretched out with polished floors reflecting the soft daylight. Students crowded them, carrying satchels and calling greetings across the hall. Vencian kept to his path without pause, passing the flow as if he had already walked these halls a hundred times.

Quenya floated above his shoulder, unseen by others, her small figure tilting sideways in mock inspection.

"Strange. With all this stone and polish, it feels more like a palace than a school."

He glanced at her faint shimmer. "Then you've never seen a palace."

"Are you saying you're an expert?"

"No. I'm saying this will do."

He didn't say further. The wide stairway hovered ahead, polished handrail curving upward. He climbed without slowing. Students parted automatically, some stepping back, others pretending to study their path to avoid direct contact.

At the top, he turned left toward a high-floor corridor.

"Where are we going?" Quenya asked, her voice carrying a playful lift.

"To show you something better than ledger tables."

Tall windows lined the wall, their panes opening onto a view of the city below. Beyond the rooftops, the Daraeth River cut through the land, its waters moving steadily under the winter light. Vencian halted, resting a hand on the cool stone ledge.

"Worth the walk," Quenya said. "If you ask me, this beats the mess downstairs."

Vencian leaned against the ledge. "You're easily impressed."

"Not really. I just know you like it too." She floated in front of his face, upside down, her white hair drifting loosely.

He set his hands behind his back and moved along the corridor, ending her chance to press further.

The echo of footsteps from behind interrupted the quiet. Two figures approached, their movements hesitant, voices low before they drew near.

Saely Fidril and Yanis Rusmar. Both wore the neat attire expected of noble students, though their steps carried none of the confidence others showed.

"Lord Vicorra," Saely began, her tone formal, almost hushed. "We… wish to extend our condolences. For your family's loss."

Yanis nodded quickly, her own voice following, careful and practiced. "It was a tragedy. If there is anything you require within the academy, please know we are available."

Their words came politely, yet they avoided looking too long into his eyes.

Vencian regarded them with a level expression. He remembered their faces—classmates from the same lectures.

He had considered long before arriving how he should carry himself here. A family marked by grief would be expected to change, and any shift in manner could be dismissed as the weight of loss. That gave him room to move. If his words felt too warm or too distant, others would explain it away for him.

It was the perfect cover, one he intended to use. With that thought settled, he spoke.

"Condolences accepted," he said, his tone even. He left a pause after, long enough to make clear he did not invite more.

Saely dipped her head once, a quick gesture of respect. Yanis hesitated, her lips parting as though she wanted to add something further. Her gaze lingered half a moment longer than necessary before she looked aside.

Quenya leaned near his ear. "They look like they want to flee. Maybe if you thanked them warmly, they'd faint."

Vencian ignored her again, shifting his stance slightly so the two students could pass by if they chose. Saely gave another short nod, urging Yanis to follow. They did not linger, their steps retreating quickly down the hall.

The corridor grew quiet again. Quenya crossed her small arms and tilted her head.

"You're a real joy to talk to, you know that?"

"Good."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Before she could continue, another voice carried across the corridor, firm enough to break the silence.

"Vencian."

He turned his head at once, his expression unchanged, though every line of his posture shifted toward alertness.

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Author's Note: I would love to hear your feedback on the story so far. Even if it's a complaint or criticism, please feel free to share your thoughts.