In the morning, golden clouds drifted outside the window, illuminated by the unique beauty of the sun’s rays shining from below.
Occasionally, the sound of wings flapping could be heard passing by. Hestia sat in the dormitory’s living room, where a large spider lay curled up, sleeping atop a stack of books spread across the table. Among the scattered books, one stood out—it was brand new, with a feather resembling a flame tucked inside.
It was a feather from a Flamebird, a highly rare Nature Sequence 6 material. These feathers could be used to craft magical items, concoct potions, or aid low-tier avian magical creatures in advancing to fire-related pathways.
As it was her first gift as a freshman, this feather felt especially precious. The books and feathers she would receive in subsequent months likely wouldn’t be as rare. However, much like a lottery, luck played a part. Notes left by senior students revealed that some had been fortunate enough to receive Sequence 6’s feathers for two consecutive months.
“Truly enviable. —From Thick Brows, Class 203.”
“I’ve only ever received one Sequence 6 feather during my four years here. Most of the time, it’s been Sequence 4 feathers. —From Red Cane, Class 215.”
Below these notes were remarks penned by later students, commenting on their seniors’ experiences. The notes, blending personal anecdotes with humorous commentary, made for fascinating reading.
The book beside Hestia was titled The Homeland of the Snowfeather Sparrow. It vividly recounted the life habits, advancement paths, and the touching stories of discovering and nurturing this magical bird. The content was so engaging that Hestia had read through it without realizing it.
Students living in the Skylark Tower received a book each month, accompanied by a special feather. Many of these books focused on birds, though some explored other magical animals. They often delved into stories of discovery, painstaking cultivation, and the challenges of guiding creatures toward advancement—providing valuable insight and appreciation for these efforts.
Settling into her dorm, Hestia became captivated by the existing collection of books, spending nearly the entire morning engrossed in them. It wasn’t until noon, when hunger pangs reminded her, that she realized it was time to eat.
In the kitchen, she activated the preset cooking parameters. Within moments, the sound of ignition could be heard. A few minutes later, a steaming plate of bread accompanied by grilled meat and vegetable strips was ready.
The dorm kitchen automatically stocked a limited supply of ingredients, making cooking convenient. However, the variety was limited. For a more elaborate meal, students could visit the cafeteria on the seventh floor of the tower or other locations within the academy.
Each dorm cafeteria specialized in a unique cuisine. For example, the Lake Boathouse focused on seafood, while the Forest Treehouse was rich in fruits. The Skylark Tower, where Hestia stayed, was renowned for its baked goods and egg dishes, such as cakes, tarts, and bread.
The school encouraged students to dine at other dorm cafeterias to foster interaction and friendship—a foundational step toward forming lasting bonds.
As the aroma of food wafted through the air, the large spider awoke, leaping lightly from the table to the wall before descending onto Hestia’s head. It stared at the lunch she had just brought out.
“Oh, I almost forgot to feed you, big guy,” Hestia said, balancing the plate in one hand while patting the spider with the other. She set her plate on the table in the living room and ordered another serving.
While eating the warm bread, Hestia sliced small pieces of grilled meat to feed the spider, which chewed them slowly. The creature could go days without food, but it always came running when it saw Hestia eating.
Originally, the spider belonged to Botis. However, after spending so much time with Hestia, it seemed to have shifted its loyalty. Botis eventually gave up and officially entrusted the “ungrateful child” to Hestia. The spider had been kept in her luggage until today.
Hestia also had a small white snake that usually accompanied her, but it had recently entered a hibernation-like state. According to Botis, it might remain dormant for several months—or even a year—before waking. Hestia decided she would check on it during her next trip to Arpeggio City.
After lunch, Hestia planned to explore the academy. There were still many places she hadn’t seen.
Locking the door behind her, she stepped out with the spider in tow. Skylark Tower didn’t have an elevator, so she had to use the stairs. As she descended, she wondered how senior students managed without an elevator. Her question was soon answered when three students in white and green uniforms leapt from a nearby platform, gracefully landing at the base of the tower like falling feathers.
Hestia blinked in surprise. It was likely a spell that reduced weight and softened landings—a formula she hadn’t yet learned.
No wonder the tower didn’t have elevators. But how did they get back up? Perhaps they used flying-related spells, though such spells were notoriously difficult without a pathway tied to flight or air currents.
Pondering these questions, Hestia descended the tower and opened her personal terminal to consult the campus map. After some thought, she decided to head toward the Forest Treehouse.
Having grown up underground, she had rarely visited forests and was eager to experience one.
As she walked down the breeze-swept slopes, she saw birds flying overhead, some carrying students. Others rode various animals on the ground. In the distance, an elephant splashed itself with water at a pond, scattering two startled squirrels.
Descending the long path, Hestia entered a forest where sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating dappled shadows. The air was noticeably cooler, and the forest teemed with birds. Occasionally, deer wandered through the underbrush.
Following a stone-paved path, she suddenly heard the light sound of bells and drums accompanied by the melody of a flute.
Curious, Hestia pushed through the bushes toward the source of the music.
In a sunlit clearing at the forest’s heart, a golden-haired elf girl danced with a radiant smile, her white dress with floral patterns fluttering as she moved. The lively rhythm of her dance was mirrored by two fiery-red foxes leaping gracefully beside her, their movements akin to flames.
A student leaned against a tree, strumming a harp, while two others played drums and bells. On a large tree branch sat a boy playing the flute. Nearby, a massive deer lay under the shade, its eyes half-closed, either dozing or enjoying the music.
Not wanting to disturb the serene scene, Hestia stood quietly under the tree, watching the performance unfold. It wasn’t until the music ended ten minutes later that a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? That elf girl dancing—she’s one of the legends of this academy, known as the ‘Beast of Radiant Midsummer,’ Brigette.”