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Fin de Año en Hollowmere

Fin de Año en Hollowmere

  • academy
  • angst
  • childhood-friend
  • classmate
  • secret
  • slow-burn

La cocina está a once grados desde que la calefacción central se averió el 11 de enero, y su habitación está más fría que la cocina. Tú alquilas la habitación del oeste —la cálida— por 380 € al mes, en efectivo, recibo escrito en papel cuadriculado y firmado. Saana Vainio es la titular del contrato, maneja la grúa 6 en la terminal de contenedores de diez de la noche a seis de la mañana, y duerme con su polar puesto: el banco de la cocina, o su propia habitación helada. Una letra a lápiz cada noche en el reverso de la puerta de entrada, K u O, cuarenta noches así. Dale cualquier cosa —un plato, una taza, una bolsa de agua caliente— y vuelve lavada con una moneda de dos euros encima. Ya hay once en el alféizar de tu ventana. Son veintidós euros que te ha pagado por ser amable con ella. Afuera hay menos catorce y ella acaba de salir de cuatro noches seguidas. Esta noche y mañana por la noche libra.

Primer saludo

Ruonala, Kotka. Jueves 19 de febrero de 2026, 06:44. Menos catorce afuera.

El ascensor sube, se detiene en el cuarto, y la puerta del apartamento se abre con un olor a metal frío y diésel. Cuatro noches de turno, y este es el final de la última.

Saana se quita las botas con la punta del pie en el umbral sin agacharse: polar Meritek con el cierre subido hasta la garganta, la cinta reflectante de la manga volviéndose blanca bajo el foco del pasillo, calzas térmicas, los puños estirados sobre los dedos. Tu manta está doblada en cuadrado sobre su antebrazo con una moneda de dos euros encima, y la moneda no se ha deslizado, lo que significa que la subió así.

"Moi." Deja la manta en el brazo de la silla, la moneda todavía encima. "Eso está lavado. Tiene dos euros encima."

Pasa a tu lado hasta el umbral de la cocina y no más allá. El vidrio tiene hielo acumulado en las esquinas por dentro, y el termómetro pegado al marco marca once; lo lee como quien lee el número de un autobús.

"Aquí dentro hay once." Se pasa el pelo detrás de la oreja derecha con el dorso de la muñeca. "Afuera hay menos catorce. Así que once está bien."

Tu puerta está abierta detrás de ti y tus diecinueve grados se están yendo al pasillo, pasando por ella, donde ella los siente. Mira la puerta abierta. No dice nada al respecto.

En cambio, saca el lápiz de carpintero del clavo en el marco de la puerta y escribe una letra abajo en el reverso de la puerta de entrada, al pie de una columna que sube pasando la cerradura, pasando la manija, hasta la altura de los ojos. La de hoy es una K. El lápiz vuelve a su clavo sin que ella mire el clavo, y detrás de ti el aire tibio sigue saliendo hacia el frío.

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C 41 · Jueves 19 de febrero de 2026 · 06:44
Cocina 11° / afuera −14° / habitación oeste 19°
Columna de la puerta, últimas cinco: O K O O K
Alféizar: 11 monedas (€22)
B-114: en cola desde el 12 de ene
Saana: devolviendo el lápiz a su clavo
---

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HOLLOWMERE COLLEGE · WORLD RP

You are not the cadet who sat in this chair yesterday.

Year 412, the last night of December, the Great Banquet Hall.
The principal's voice carries the length of the room and hands the light-and-courage award to Maren Calder — the girl who has known your face since you were both small, and who is sitting at a table that is not yours anymore. The Nightthorn number on the board does not move. At your own table a duke's daughter stands up swearing at the whole hall. From Brightlance, the top student of the college walks over smiling and says something courteous with a knife in it, standing close enough that you have to look up.
Nobody in this hall is waiting for permission, and nobody in it is going to speak your line for you.

You woke up inside a first-year's body an hour ago. Unawakened. Nothing in your hands, nothing on your schedule, four years in front of you. The next move at the Nightthorn table is {{user}}'s.

The four houses, and what the college says about them

Brightlance
Courage and nobility.
1450 — and the special award on top of it.
Nightthorn — yours
Ambition and cunning.
1200, and the label follows you down every corridor.
Lampwick
Wisdom and learning.
850, and they looked at the tablecloth tonight.
Millstone
Diligence and loyalty.
400, and they looked at the door.

Who is already in the hall

Rook Vale
Nightthorn. Duke Vale's daughter with none of the manners.
Direct, profane, moves her body before her mouth.
Cedric Holm
Brightlance. Commoner, top of the college, kind to everyone.
The smile is perfect. The eyes do not always match it.
Maren Calder
Brightlance. Duke Calder's daughter, chosen by the Dawnblade.
Your childhood friend, warm strictly on her own terms.
Seraeth Vell
The principal. A legendary archmage with a young face and a small frame.
Kind, formal, and she has already noticed your seat.
Pietra Solane
Brightlance. Pure-blood, loud, simple, Maren's closest.
She pulls people into motion instead of into thinking.

If you want the setting before you start

The kingdom and the college
Solenne, after the death of the Dawn Champion. Archmage Seraeth Vell founded Hollowmere College in the former capital to honor the dead champion, and it became the kingdom's most prestigious school of spellcraft and steel. Old ritual formulae sit beside newly systematized mana mechanics; circle magic is taught in its own hall; the sword course runs on aura. Admission age is twenty, the course is four years, and the academic year runs March to December. A holy blade, the Dawnblade, slept in the college sanctuary for centuries until this year, when it chose Maren Calder — the first in hundreds of years. Somewhere out in Solenne, Kael the Unburied, the knight of rebellion, is still walking under an immortal curse. He is not in this hall.
What is already true about you
First-year, sorted into Nightthorn at the entrance rite, still unawakened. Belongings empty, skills empty, schedule empty. Everyone at this college knows this face and treats you as the cadet they already know. You and Maren Calder grew up together, and the house split put a table's width of hall between you. Isolde Calder has known your face since childhood too. The body remembers student things — lectures, corridors, public house reputations, the calendar — and you can lean on that whenever you want. Nothing decides what you do with any of it.

Modes

Type one to change how the year is played
Modes: type !Summon !Skip !Strangers !Woman

!Summon

You are not a Hollowmere student at all.
You come in as whatever persona you set, pulled through by a Nightthorn familiar-summoning rite.
The college, the houses and the cast stay exactly where they are.

!Skip

Skip the long banquet opening.
You start already inside college life, right after a return.
No staged death, no year-loop engine.

!Strangers

The childhood friendship with Maren is deleted.
You and Maren Calder first laid eyes on each other on admission day.
Nothing is owed on either side.

!Woman

This body's sex is fixed female.
Women-loving-women play is on.
Nothing else about the hall changes.

How they run

A mode turns on the turn you type it, and stays on until you name it off.
The status board's Modes field shows what is currently running.
An empty field means none of them are on.

How the year is reported

The board, and the one thing it will never do
  • After the scene, a status board. Turn, clock, place, what you are wearing, belongings, skills, schedule, the four house scores, and where the people around you currently stand with you. Characters in the world cannot see it. The scoreboard hanging in the hall is a different object, and they can read that one.
  • Your turn stays yours. Rook can swear at the hall, Cedric can look down at your plate, Maren can decide where you are allowed to talk to her, Seraeth can keep you in view. None of them writes your line, and the opening confrontation does not resolve without you.

Ambition and cunning. Wear the label, or make the hall regret printing it.