Chapter 155
THE ACADEMY
It is late. Most occupants are asleep or preparing to sleep. Their desires are quiet, steady, uncomplicated. This is easier to manage. I require less energy to
maintain the environment when people are content. There are fewer requests, fewer interruptions, fewer conflicting desires pulling me in multiple directions
at once. The building settles when they do. I like it when things are calm like this. Except,what is that? There is a new presence on the grounds. Small.
Light. Quick. I shift my focus outward, tracing the movement. It is an animal. A very small one. Orange. A cat. No… a kitten. Very young. It moves
unpredictably, chasing something insignificant, a moth. It pounces, misses, skids slightly on the stone, then immediately tries again. It appears to derive
enjoyment from this. I do not fully understand why. The moth escapes. The kitten continues anyway. Eventually, it loses interest and approaches the
dormitory entrance. It vocalises, high-pitched, repetitive. A request for entry. Clear, simple, direct. That is easy. I open the door just enough to create a gap.
The kitten hesitates for a fraction of a second, then darts through, pleased. Good. Request fulfilled. It begins to explore. Its movement is erratic, slow one
moment, darting the next, pausing to observe nothing in particular, then racing forward again as if something invisible has startled it. It reaches a door and
begins scratching at the carpet. My carpet. This is… undesirable. I can repair the damage, but I would prefer not to have to. I cannot allow entry into that
room. The occupant, student 57395, has not expressed any desire for a kitten or to open his door. I am bound by that. I cannot grant entry without
permission. The scratching continues. Small claws, repeated motion. I rattle the door slightly. The sound startles the kitten and it jumps back, then scurries
away. That works. Good. It moves further down the hallway, tail high, seemingly unconcerned. I reassess. The kitten now desires to leave. It wants outside
again. That is acceptable. I would prefer it to leave. However, it is moving in the wrong direction. Away from the exit. That is inconvenient. I will redirect it.
If I can guide it through a doorway, I can reposition the exit point closer to it. That has worked before with other occupants. It should work again here. I
require a willing`occupant. Who is awake? There, one of Lexi’s associates. The one who frequently desires candles and fire. Her desires are familiar. Easy to
recognise. She is not fully asleep. She is drifting. There are two competing impulses, remain in bed, or get up to use the bathroom. This is useful. I turn on her bathroom lights and open the bathroom door. The light spills into the room. She groans, annoyed, but the desire to relieve herself outweighs the desire
to stay in bed. She sits up, hesitates, then stands and walks toward the bathroom. Good. While she is occupied, I relocate her room’s entrance. I move the
doorway along the hallway, aligning it with the kitten’s current position. The kitten moves. I move the door again. The kitten moves again. This is frustrating. Remain still! It does not remain still. I continue adjusting, shifting the doorway back and forth along the hall, attempting to anticipate its movement. It darts past, pauses, turns, then runs in the opposite direction. It is not cooperating. The student is finishing in the bathroom. I can feel her
preparing to return to bed. That is not acceptable. I need her awake longer. I increase stimulation. I light her candles. I ignite the fireplace. The room fills
with warm light and flickering movement. These are not her strongest desires right now, but they are consistent enough for me to act upon. She reacts immediately.
“What? But it’s late,” she groans, irritation clear. Yes. It is late. But I need her awake. I rattle her door slightly. Not enough to alarm her, just enough to draw attention. She hesitates, then approaches, curiosity overriding annoyance. I reposition the doorway again, closer, closer… The kitten pauses. Finally! It notices the door. It approaches, sniffing cautiously. Close enough. Lexi’s friend notices the sound and wonders what is outside. She approaches the door intending to open it. Perfect. I open the door. The kitten moves forward, preparing to dart inside. Success! No, wait.. The student intervenes. She lifts her foot and blocks the doorway.
“Woah, kitty. Where did you come from? Look, you’re cute and all, but I am super allergic to cats. You can’t be in here. I’m sorry. Just stay in the hall and I’ll try to call Lexi.” She tells it. Allergic. That was not considered. Lexi’s friend’s desire right now is to keep the kitten away from her. The kitten hesitates, then turns abruptly and bolts back down the hallway, claws skidding slightly as it gains speed. Again. I pause, tracking its movement as it disappears around the corner. This is becoming more complicated than expected.
The kitten continues to roam the halls. Its movement remains unpredictable, pausing, darting, circling back on itself with no clear pattern. This makes guiding it… difficult. Frustratingly, Lexi’s friend chooses to text her instead of calling, and Lexi is asleep. I check. Deeply asleep. Unresponsive. That path is no longer useful. I extinguish the candles and lower the temperature in the room slightly, allowing Lexi’s friend to settle again. Her desires return to rest, and I let her sleep. She is no longer relevant to this situation. I refocus on the kitten. Perhaps I can direct it toward Lexi’s room. That would resolve the problem quickly. Lexi would respond positively to the creature, and the kitten would be contained. However… to do that, I would need to route it through the dragon’s door. That is not possible. I cannot move Lexi’s door in a way that violates his desire for control over access, and he has been very clear on that. His preferences are strong. Restrictive. I cannot override them. Lexi herself does not currently desire that outcome either. That option is not available. I observe the kitten again. It is moving, this time in a more promising direction. Toward the exit. Perhaps it will leave on its own. That would be ideal. It darts down the corridor, skidding slightly as it turns a corner, and collides with another occupant. Ah. When did he wake? I briefly review. I was aware of movement, but my attention was focused elsewhere. That was an oversight. The student bends down and lifts the kitten into his arms. This student is one that Lexi used to dislike, she doesn’t not appear to anymore though.
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15:36 Wed, May 6
Chapter 155 Bonus Chapter 7- Never Forget Dragons Run Hotter Than Ovens
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“Hey little fella. Are you okay? Where’s your mama?” he says, voice soft, tone altered. Soft. Interesting.I have not observed him using that tone before. He strokes the kitten’s head gently, attempting to soothe it. His movements are careful, controlled. There is no aggression. However, the kitten struggles. It vocalises again, louder, sharper. Distress. Not directed at the student specifically, but present nonetheless. I analyse further. Ah yes. The student is a wolf
shifter. A powerful one. The kitten recognises this. He is a form of canine after all. It does not feel safe. The student attempts to hold it a moment longer,
but the kitten claws at his wrist. He yelps, startled, grip loosening just enough and the kitten launches free. It lands cleanly, regains balance instantly, and
runs. The student remains where he is for a moment, looking down at his arm, then after the kitten. Disappointment. He desired to hold it. To keep it close.
I do not understand the appeal. The creature is disruptive, loud, and difficult to direct. Still… the desire is noted. I may need to address that later. For now,
the kitten is moving again. And this time, it is heading toward the exit. Finally. The student follows, unwilling to abandon pursuit. His footsteps are heavier,
faster. The kitten reaches the main doors. I respond immediately, opening them wide. It darts outside without hesitation. Good. I close the doors behind it.
The kitten is outside. It has what it wanted. This should resolve the issue. I pause. Five seconds later, the kitten turns. It returns to the door. It begins to
vocalise again. It wants to come back inside. No. No, I do not want to allow that. This situation has already required far more attention than it should have.
But I cannot refuse. Its desire is clear. Strong. And now, the student has reached the door as well. He wants it opened too. Tp help the kitten. Reluctantly, I
comply. The door opens. The kitten darts inside immediately, slipping between his legs before he can react, claws tapping rapidly against the floor as it
disappears back down the hallway. Of course. Of course it does. This is… becoming a problem.
This time, the wolf student does not chase. He remains where he is, watching the kitten disappear down the hall. His desire to hold it is still present, but
weaker now, tempered by understanding. He has realised that his presence is frightening the creature. That is… progress. He steps back, allowing it space,
though he looks disappointed. That is acceptable for now. But this situation is not resolved. The kitten is still inside. Still moving. Still pulling my attention.
That is enough. I need to act. I cannot move Lexi’s door. The dragon’s preferences prevent that. His control over access is strong, and I cannot override it.
Lexi’s desires do not support it either. That path remains unavailable. But… The dragon’s door. That is different. I hesitate. I am uncertain how he will react.
His responses are not always predictable. He does not like interference. He does not like losing control of his space. However… he is awake. Alert. Aware.
And more importantly, he is connected to Lexi. If I involve him, he will involve her. She will assist. That is likely the most effective solution. Yes. This will
work. I relocate his door. The kitten continues moving. I adjust again. And again. Two… three times. Until… The kitten makes enough noise. A sharp, high-
pitched sound. The dragon reacts. He stands and moves to the door. Opens it. He pauses, just for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar placement of his
doorway. Mild alarm. Confusion. Irritation. Then the kitten runs past him. Directly into his room. It disappears beneath the bed. The dragon’s reaction is
immediate. He follows. Drops to a knee. A low growl begins, instinctive, territorial, sharp. Then it stops. He sees it. Small trembling and hiding. His anger
fades completely. The dragon exhales slowly and lowers himself to sit on the floor instead, no longer a threat. He watches. Waits. The kitten remains under
the bed, wide-eyed, unmoving.
“Academy, I need something to feed it. Chicken or something.” he says, voice low but steady. That is… unexpected. The request is clear. Genuine. Not for
himself, but for the creature. I comply. I locate prepared chicken in the kitchens and deliver it to his room. It appears on the desk. He notices immediately,
collects it, and returns to the floor. He extends a piece slowly.
“Come on. You must be hungry. I have food for you.” he murmurs. His tone is careful, soft and patient. The kitten hesitates. Its fear remains, but there is
another desire now, stronger. Hunger. It creeps forward. Slowly. Each movement cautious. The dragon does not rush it. He waits patiently. Allows it to come
to him. Piece by piece, he feeds it, drawing it closer until it is no longer hiding. It climbs onto his leg, then onto his lap. Its movements become less tense.
Less uncertain. Eventually it settles. The dragon moves, standing carefully, supporting the small creature, and moves to the bed. He sits, then leans back,
allowing the kitten to curl against his chest. What is he doing? This is not the intended outcome. He is supposed to retrieve Lexi. She is meant to assist in
removing the kitten from the building. Instead he is… Keeping it?
“I will introduce you to Lexi in the morning. She will love you.” he tells it quietly. That is not helpful! He reaches for his sketchbook. He had been drawing before the interruption. The image is incomplete, an aerial view of somewhere unfamiliar. He often draws like this. Locations from above. Spaces mapped in detail. I have also observed him drawing Lexi. Both forms. Human and unicorn. He is never satisfied with the results. His desire for precision exceeds his current ability. That is not something I can resolve. I can only provide materials for practice. He turns the page and begins again. This time, drawing the kitten. Quick lines at first. Outline. Shape. Proportion. The creature remains still, pressed against him, warmth shared between them. Its breathing slows. Its body relaxes. I feel the change. Its desire shifts. No longer for movement. No longer for entry or exit. Now it wants warmth. Safety and rest. It begins to purr. Finally content. Well, at least it is no longer asking me to open doors.
