The afternoon sun slanted across the academy's ancient stone pathways as they wandered, their footsteps echoing softly against weathered cobblestones. A crisp breeze carried the scent of old parchnt from the library mingled with the faint tallic tang from the training grounds. Sylra guided them with practiced ease, her voice cutting through the distant clatter of wooden practice swords and murmured incantations from open classroom windows.
She showed them the important sites - the sprawling training grounds where dirt kicked up under combat boots, the first-year classrooms with their ink-stained desks and chalk-dusted air, the towering library with its scent of aged leather bindings. When they passed the headmaster's office, its dark oak door slightly ajar, they all instinctively slowed their steps, catching a whiff of sandalwood and pipe tobacco before moving quickly along.
The students' bedrooms (not the entry-level ones, Sylra pointed out with pride) held the comfortable clutter of lived-in spaces - the faint lavender of freshly laundered sheets drifting through open doorways, the warm glow of oil lamps flickering against the coming dusk.
As shadows lengthened across the courtyard, Towan turned to Sylra and Alira with a grin, his breath visible in the cooling evening air. "We'll see tomorrow!" His voice carried across the quieting grounds as he and Elliot headed toward the fading sounds of sparring from the training fields, their figures soon swallowed by the golden light streaming from its arched entrance.
The girls watched them go before turning toward their own rooms, where the promise of rest and the nervous excitent for tomorrow's exam hung thick in the twilight air.
As they wandered through the academy halls, surrounded by the quiet hum of students settling into their routines, Towan turned a corner—and promptly bumped into soone.
“Ah, sorry, I wasn’t lo—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes going wide. “Rellie?!”
The girl blinked up at him. Short, sharp-eyed, with her usual deadpan expression. “Hello, boss. Well… forr boss.”
Elliot raised a brow. “Wait, you know her?”
“Yeah, she worked at Herb’s tavern last year,” Towan said, still surprised. “I haven’t seen her since though. How have you been?”
“Alive. Studying a lot,” Rellie replied, brushing so hair from her face. “Herb said I had a knack for Essentia theory. Told I’d be better off here. Also said you’d be around.” She squinted up at Towan. “He was right. You’re just as easy to bump into as ever.”
Towan chuckled. “I’m glad you ca. I always knew you had a click for Essentia. You picked up flows and emotions faster than half the drunk rcs there.”
“That’s a low bar,” she muttered, but there was the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“He’s my brother, Elliot,” Towan said, gesturing beside him.
“Hello,” Elliot greeted, offering a hand.
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“I’m good,” Rellie replied, shaking it—right before Elliot could even open his mouth to ask anything.
Elliot blinked. “How did you—”
“Yeah, she does that too,” Towan cut in, amused. “Still haven’t figured out how.”
“It’s not hard,” Rellie said, eyes calmly flicking between them. “You tilt your head when you're about to speak. He looks confused when sothing isn't a surprise anymore. Pattern recognition.”
Elliot’s mouth opened, then closed. “...Fair.”
“We’re heading to the training grounds,” Towan said. “Wanna co with us?”
“Thank you, but no.” Rellie shifted her bag over her shoulder. “I’m revising for tomorrow.”
Then, with a slow, pointed glance at Towan, she added, “You should do the sa.”
Towan scratched the back of his neck. “I was going to—”
She raised a single eyebrow.
“Okay, planned to—”
The eyebrow didn’t budge.
“...Eventually.”
“Uh huh,” Rellie deadpanned, turning away.
“I will,” Towan groaned. “..later”
But she was already gone, vanishing into the flow of students like a ghost with howork.
Elliot nudged him. “She’s intense.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Towan muttered, then grinned. “But she’s cool. Let’s go.”
As Towan and Elliot passed near the entrance exam registration room, a sudden voice cracked through the hall like lightning in a chapel.
“YOU WITCH!”
Elliot jumped. “What the—?”
Towan stopped dead in his tracks. “...No.”
They turned the corner—and saw her.
Len Verestra.
Back straight. Braided hair gleaming with silver hawk pins. Her presence carved from generations of pressure and posture. Her sapphire eyes blazed with cold fury.
“What are you doing here, Vellmont?” Her voice was a sharpened fan made of ice and protocol.
Across from her lounged Sera Vellmont—arms crossed, one hip tilted lazily, jet-black hair falling just so. A smile played on her lips, and it wasn’t friendly. It was the kind of smile that left bruises on pride.
“What do you an?” she purred. “I’m here to learn. Just like everyone else.”
The lie practically bowed after she said it.
Len’s right hand twitched, subtle but telling. Just enough to betray that this wasn’t a surprise—it was a personal violation.
“She’s gonna snap,” Towan muttered under his breath.
“Who are they?” Elliot asked, low and wary.
“Len Verestra and Sera Vellmont,” Towan said. “Their hate is generational. Family feud, political drama, and probably three attempted poisonings I haven’t heard about yet.”
Elliot blinked. “And they’re both taking the entrance exam?”
“I guess fate hates us.”
Back at the epicenter, Len advanced a step—graceful, deadly. Her every movent scread decorum soaked in blade oil.
“Whatever stunt you’re planning, Vellmont, it won’t work. The Academy doesn’t tolerate infiltrators.”
Sera raised a single, perfectly grood eyebrow. Her silver eyes glinted like blades dipped in moonlight.
“Oh, but I do belong here, Len. Just like you. We both passed the requirents.” She tilted her head. “Unless you’re saying you needed help?”
SNAP.
A folding fan appeared in Len’s hand, opening with a crisp, surgical strike.
“So things never change,” she said coolly. “Still dressing chaos in ribbons and pretending it’s art.”
Sera’s smirk sharpened, just a little. “And you’re still confusing repression with elegance.”
The air between them throbbed. Runes etched into the basalt walls flickered faintly.
Just before Essentia sparked—salvation arrived.
A professor in rumpled robes stepped in, coffee in one hand, eternal regret in his eyes. “Ladies,” he drawled, like soone who’d had this dream before and died in it. “This is a line. For exams. Not murder.”
Sera bowed—elegant and poisonous. “Of course, Professor. Just catching up with an old friend.”
Len didn’t bow. She didn’t need to. Her silence had blade edges of its own.
They turned away in opposite directions—but the temperature in the hallway didn’t recover.
Elliot exhaled slowly. “...I hate noble girls.”
Towan arched an eyebrow. “Sylra’s a noble too, y’know?”
Elliot froze. “Oh no.”
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