The way up is treacherous. Climbing any ladder, trying to reach the top takes tremendous effort, luck, and charisma. The higher you climb, the more they envy you and want to sink a claw into your back.

Unless, of course, your family is rich. Then you don't have to bother with such pedestrian problems. Or when the ladder is more on the literal side and is actually a staircase.

Still, by the time I reach the 8th floor, I feel like my lungs will run free through my mouth in a painful display of blood and gore. Who knows, they might cross the border and start a new life under new employment. Luckily, these timid airbags aren't ready for such a commitment yet, so I live to see another day. Yay!

Water drips from my fur as I reach the smooth blade of my key towards the lock. When metal kisses metal with a small clink, the blade shifts, revealing the wards, bites, and cuts. This neat little trick makes it much harder to copy the key.

I kick the door open, and my perfectly normal and reasonable dream of having a room just for myself shatters that instant. The stench of mana usage hangs over the place. So my roommate is a magus and they don't burn blood for fuel. Oh, and they are a lion.

The last one could surely be detected with a delicate enough nose, but I took a short cut and looked. They didn't notice the wet ferret yet; they were too busy tapping away on their crystal. If I weren't in such a sorry state, I'd prank them with an illusion. But now, I just drag my belongings inside and shut the door.

— Hey dude! — It takes about four steps to cover the short distance of the 'foyer' (a small corridor with three closets next to each other and a mysterious door on the other wall) and get into the room proper.

Two beds, one pristine and naked, the other messy and used; two small desks, similar to the bed situation, except the messy one has a lion sitting at it; a cool box and a small, empty area, furthest from the smoke detector, closest to the window. Typically, spaces like these are used to draw up summoning and ritual circles. Most modern dormitories have them; using a communal one is just… disgusting.

— oh hi, didn't expect uhm… anyone — the lion finally looks up from his crystal as I get close. A bunch of sparkly confetti falls and disappears when I extend a paw for him.

— Surprise! Name's Ignatius. Your new roommate.

His eyes light up for a moment at the name. His paw pads feel soft, and he keeps his claws retracted when we perform the quick greeting ritual.

— Levi. Well, Leviathan, but please don't call me that.

— In that case, Levi, address me as Noodle — I grin at him, happy to get this out of the way quickly.

— Noodle? — his expression is what I expected, a mix of confusion and curiosity. Most people react like that. It's like a donkey requesting to be called an ass, or a dog a bitch. People do that, but never in front of the species in question. A slur might be too strong of a word for it, but for sure a social taboo.

— yup. Before you ask, I decided to own up to the name. Plus, I hate Ignatius with a burning passion — I add with a chuckle, letting go of his paw. 

— okay, I'll try. So bad weather, huh?

— ugh, tell me about it! — I toss my drenched luggage next to the bed. It lands with an ugly PLOP sound. — Got a fur dryer I could borrow? Forgot to pack one.

He tilts his head curiously.

— I don't have one. I don't need one. — Your immaculate mane says otherwise, unless you are keeping up an illusion, even when no one is looking. In that case, I fear for my life. 

— Thought you were a magus, from the confetti n' all… —

Here we go… time for the weakest lie in my arsenal. I suppose if you establish yourself as a bad liar, no one will suspect you to be misleading when you actually try.

— I am a sorcerer, yes, I just never bothered learning elemental magic.

— never bothered with Elementalism?! Why? You are covered with fur. Your name literally has fire in it!

What he is suggesting is true. Elementalism has the most useful spells people can ask for in their everyday life. From basic survival to large scale agriculture, from personal hygiene to utilities, elemental magic has got you covered, as long as you have mana to spare. I, however, was born with a severed connection to such arts. Despite my bloodline's dozens of great elementalists, I cannot produce a spark, tame a gust of wind, ripple a calm cup of water, or extinguish a candle for the life of me.

— yeah so? We have technology for it; why would I waste mana on something a mashine can do instead?

— because it's faster and more convenient.

— … — stop echoing my thoughts. — Could you dry my towel, please? I'll make up for your mana.

I end up naked, wrapped in a warm towel, and buried under the coverless duvet to dry. My clothes and spare clothes hanging from a string I secured to the two furthest points of the room. Levi ended up drying a part of my belongings, mainly the crystal tech. The gods bless his soul. It's late; he was already tapped out. Plus, you wouldn't waste all your magic reserves on a stranger.

All in all, for the first time in a while, I drift to sleep with a positive outlook on life. Much easier when you have a roof above your head.