The classroom buzzed like a hive full of bees. Desks scraped. Voices lifted and folded over one another in waves. Sunlight filtered through the newly-polished glass windows, and there, sitting in solitude at the corner, was Clara Nightingale.
A shaft of light from the window fell across her hair, catching the strands of night-blue. She tapped her pen once, her violet eyes narrowing slightly, slow-lidded, dreamy eyes that made her look like she was always drifting somewhere between sleep and waking. With a quiet sigh, she leaned back into the light.
Her makeup was minimal, just enough blush to warm her pale cheeks, and just enough gloss to make her lips glisten like morning dew. Her small face tilted to the side as she reread what she had written, a faint frown pulling gently at the corner of her mouth.
When the room around her seems to move busily, she just sat there, quietly.
She didn't need to move to be noticed. She never did. Her fingers absently traced the edge of her notebook, eyes glazed yet aware.
She turned her head towards the crowd-- girls and boys alike flocked to Melissa for autographs and pictures, fluttering around her like moths to a flame.
"They don't even know what kind of monster she is."
Melissa soaked in the attention, glowing, her smile gleaming like a sharp object. And her sapphire-colored eyes, kept flicking back to Clara. Always to Clara.
"Still playing the quiet game, Clara?"
Behind Melissa's smile was a burning sneer. She loathed how Clara never chased attention-- how it seemed to gravitate to her naturally. And worst of all, how Clara pretended not to notice.
Melissa clenched her jaw as another boy glanced toward her.
Occasionally, boys braved Clara's stillness, walking up with false confidence and soft grins.
"Can I have your num--"
"No."
How quiet power could be.
She didn't look up. She didn't need to. Their silence afterward was enough. Her answers were never cruel, just cold. Not out of disdain, but necessity. A necessity to keep someone from invading her privacy. She never wanted anyone's company, nor attention. She only wanted solitude.
Then the room changed. She heard it in the sudden hush. All of her classmates hurriedly positioned themselves in their seats.
Heels clicked across the ceramic floors. A woman walked in, poised. Short bob, sharp glasses. She set her white folder on the desk calmly, brushing a hand along the cloth of her beige-colored blouse as she did subtly, emphasizing the curves of her figure and the gentle rise of her bosom beneath. Tucked into a black, knee-length skirt that hugged her hips, the outfit was standard for an office worker.
She turned toward the class, offering a rehearsed smile. Even with the dark circles beneath her eyes effortlessly concealed with a swipe of light makeup, it couldn't dim the way she stood out among them.
The boys' necks craned at her by instinct.
"Viventia et Pax, Lady Antonina!"
Clara, too, whispered the salute under her breath.
"Viventia et Pax, students," Antonina replied, her voice tired, low, and sultry. "To those of you who are new to this class--" She paused, a sigh and a glance toward the ogling boys "Boys, eyes up here."
The girls cast sneering glances at the boys seated ahead of them.
"For those unfamiliar with me, I am Antonina Sycheva. I'll be serving as your head instructor and I will be overseeing the General Education. But since it's your first day,"
Her tone softened as she tilted her head slightly, "and Lord Giuseppe hasn't shown up yet..." A visible sigh of relief escaped her before she turned back to face the class.
"Let's keep it simple for today. We'll just go through introductions, and then I'll dismiss you so you can get ready for your physical training session this afternoon. So who wants to introduce--"
"Me, Milady!" Melissa, of course, leapt at the chance. "I am Melissa Yvette von Blutreichter, heiress to the house of Blutreichter. It's an honor to be with you all in this class!" she sang, the class clapping before Antonina even responded.
Always first. Always loud. She needs the world to hear her before it sees her.
Clara barely looked up.
Melissa bowed with grace, formality, "I look forward to seeing which of us will graduate at the top." Her sapphire gaze cut toward Clara, face cut with a smile. A challenge.
"The Blutreichters, of course! Some of the most well-placed alliances in our generation bear your family's seal, Lady Melissa. It's a pleasure to have you in this class. I expect surprises from you!"
Melissa offered a graceful nod, her chin slightly raised.
Clara, turned to her notes once again. But her fingers had stilled.
Antonina caught her in her gaze
"Milady at the back," she called.
Clara froze.
The moment cracked open like a spotlight.
She rose to her feet, hands tucked into her pockets, trembling slightly.
"I... I-I am Clara Nightingale... nice to meet everyone."
A wave moved through the class. Not laughter. Not judgment. But curiosity. There was something arresting in her quiet. In the gentleness that made her more mysterious to everyone's eyes, excluding Melissa whose face is frowning.
"Clara Nightingale…" Antonina's voice softened. "You're Lady Fiona's daughter?"
"Yes, Milady..."
"It seems you've truly inherited her... gentleness. Your mother and I graduated from this very institute. She was an exceptional student, and I can see traces of her in you,"
Clara fell silent. Her mind felt hazy, her ears filled with the low hum of whispers from the students ahead of her.
"Don't disappoint me," Antonina said, smiling.
Her chest tightened.
"I'll try not to", she thought.
Melissa smirked to herself.
Then suddenly, they were interrupted when the doors at the back of the class opened.
A tall boy, nearly a hundred and eighty centimeters, stood, his hands almost reaching the ceiling. His long hair, neatly tied into a bun, framed a pale face that seemed to be carved from porcelain. Beside him, a girl with curls like soft springs, her face radiant with a quiet and bubbly kind of beauty. Gentleness incarnate. A disarming bloom.
"Sorry we're late... those paparazzi were all over us," the boy said with a smile, scratching his head as he stepped in, nearly brushing the top of the doorway.
The Janson twins. Rain and River Janson. Even the students, and Antonina herself, knew who they were right away. Their presence was naturally grand, without even trying.
The Janson family was a big name in Sulliva. Their wealth came from years of success in banking, putting them at the center of the kingdom's economy. Their bank was one of the biggest in the country, rivaling even SMITH's own Credit Regulations and Integrity Banking Division (CRIB). Right now, they were helping fund the Monarchy and its strongest allies.
"Lord and Lady Janson, oh my, what a surprise! Welcome, welcome! Please, have a seat! Thank you for choosing Sulliva Academy!" Antonina said, a big smile lighting up her face.
A wave of admiration rippled through the classroom. Clara's instinct wasn't attraction, and Melissa's smile faltered for just a second.
Their family rivals Melissa's. If I align with them, I may balance the scale. But only if I don't end up their pawn instead. Clara thought.
Then came the hearsay. She caught murmurs.
The twins had a past. Ten students, three faculty members on a different school, and a reputation soaked in blood.
River's eyes flicked gently towards Clara, though laced with gentleness, but powerful like a snake.
"Careful with that look, Clara..." Clara silently murmured to herself, then let out a quiet sigh and turned her attention back to her notes.
The twins took their seats with no further need for grandeur. Their presence lingered in the silence they left behind.
"Now, back to the introductions at hand--"
Once again, Antonina was interrupted by a loud, muffled voice echoing from the hallway outside.
"BROTHER! IT SAYS LEFT, BUT I DID GO LEFT--WELL, MY LEFT--WHICH IS THE SAME LEFT FOR YOU IF WE'RE MIRRORING--UHHH!"
Chairs squeaked. Heads turned.
A moment later, the door swung open with a flair and Liberty burst into the classroom like a storm wrapped in sunshine. Her uniform was slightly askew, and a few strands of her twin-tail hair bounced out of rhythm as she strode in, unbothered and laughing.
"VIVENTIA ET PAX!" she chirped with a salute that was too high and too wide.
The class went silent for a moment then burst into half-stifled laughter. Even Antonina blinked.
Clara's pen paused mid-stroke. She looked up and saw him. The boy with the bloodshot eyes from the procession earlier. Her gaze fixed on him. He turned his head, meeting her stare.
"The boy from earlier... now that I see him up close, his gaze like what I have seen before... this one doesn't hold arrogance or any hidden motive. And yet… why does it feel so unsettling?"
For a brief moment, their eyes locked before Antonina interrupted.
Antonina cleared her throat. "And you are?"
"Liberty Ramsay of the Ramsay Household! Sorry we got lost. You really need better signage. Or less hallways. Or maybe... oh! Here comes my brother."
Lincoln walked past her. He paused at the threshold, then bowed slightly.
"My apologies for the delay," he said, voice calm and deep. "I am Lincoln, this is my sister, Liberty. We are from the Ramsay Household. I trust we're not too late."
Gasps and murmurs stirred from the back of the classroom.
"Are they foreigners? They look different... but gorgeous nonetheless!"
"They speak our tongue fluently!"
"No, that's them. The Ramsay twins at the processional!"
"Don't be ridiculous! Lady Ramsay didn't have an heir!"
"Maybe they're bastards."
Antonina spoke again, her voice firmer now. "The Ramsay household has remained… elusive in its public dealings. Subtlety has always been your strength."
Then her tone shifted, warmer and more welcoming.
"So, Lady Ramsay has finally chosen her heirs-- and twins, no less! Welcome, both of you! Please, make yourselves at home here!"
The twins replied with a small nod before heading to their seats. Lincoln sat next to his sister, just behind Clara.
Clara turned away quickly. She kept her face still, but her heart was drumming in her chest.
"They're Aunt Lindy's? But she's never had children. So then… what are they?"
Melissa leaned back, arms crossed, watching the siblings with a sharpened edge to her smile. Her eyes lingered on Lincoln a moment too long, a hint of fluster painted her face.
"My, I do like the mystery in this one. Especially that, Lincoln. A little getting-to-know-you wouldn't hurt later…"
She ran her tongue lightly over her lips, her smile curling with quiet amusement.
Nearby, just a few classrooms down from where Lincoln and Liberty were, was the clinic. The adjacent corridor was calm and still, except for the gentle sound of footsteps.
Keevah, the brusque girl from earlier, leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tight over her broad chest, muscles tense beneath her rough academy jacket. Her black hair fell in messy side bangs, half-shadowing her sharp eyes.
Across from her stood Selene, perfectly poised, still, and calm, her silver-blonde hair falling in soft waves down her back.
"I don't believe you understand how boundary accords function," Selene said coolly,
Keevah barked a laugh. "Boundary accords? Xenoforms below, this is a hallway, Selene."
Selene turned her pale eyes to Keevah's. "And yet you saw fit to intercept our initiates right here. Twice. Once during curfew yesterday, once under truce conditions."
"Intercepted? Oh, you mean warned them. They were loitering in our wing, ice-cold princess. I assumed they were lost or stupid. But it turns out, they were both."
Selene's fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
"If your gang--"
"My cohort," Keevah cut in. "...wishes to contest patrol zones, then you may file a challenge before the Student Council. Otherwise, stay on your side of the infirmary line."
Keevah stepped forward. Selene didn't flinch.
"You love rules so much," Keevah said, voice low. "Bet you even recite the conduct codes before bed. Is that what gets you off? Knowing you're a perfect little heir to a nasty blood-drinking bloodline, trying to scoop up what's left of your dignity from that Althann bastard?"
Selene blinked once, slow and deliberate. "No. But it will be what gets me that something you low-life mongrels will never secure."
Keevah grinned wide. She took another step forward, now fully in Selene's space.
"You're brave today, Silver-tongue. For someone who is in punching distance."
"I always am. You're simply too loud and brash to notice anything subtle."
That did it.
Keevah's hand twitched, knuckles flexing. Her eyes narrowed into flint. Then suddenly...
"Ladies, is there a reason it smells like something's about to explode outside the clinic?"
The infirmary door slowly creaked open behind them. Anneliese von Bentheim, the girl with the pink-feathered hair from earlier, stepped out.
Keevah stepped back from Selene with a low snort, "Just a friendly chat, Annie. Catching up on some gossips."
"Gossip doesn't usually involve fists," Anneliese replied lightly, eyes flicking from Keevah to Selene. "And certainly not within hearing of sickbeds."
Selene bowed her head, "Apologies, Milady. I was simply clarifying boundaries."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sure you were."
Keevah gave her a sideways look, amused and annoyed.
"So, what's the diagnosis in there? I told them not to go overboard, but they really knocked them out. Still, it can't be worse than last time!"
"I'd tell you," Anneliese replied, "but I assume you'll be reading your own incident report once Magister Lottie drops it on your desk." Keevah grinned, saying nothing.
She paused.
"I suggest both of you find better places to hang out. The academy doesn't need another hallway incident filed."
Selene nodded once. Keevah gave a lazy two-finger salute. And then Anneliese was gone.
"Tell your cohort to stay off Clinic Row, Keevah. I won't warn again."
"What'll you do? Report me? Or something nastier?"
"Try me." Selene warned.
She then turned and walked. Keevah watched her go, the smirk still there, now washed with keen.
The corridor fell quiet again. Just below them, Anneliese's footsteps echoed as she descends the stairwell. Her hand slipped into her pocket, pulling her phone. She held it closer to her eye, and a quick scan of her iris turned on the Student Council's system.
She walked as she read, her eyes flicking through lines of data, scanning the full student records, reports, and incident files.
But then, she stopped.
There it was.
336 Lincoln Ramsay. Class A, Section Four
337 Liberty Ramsay. Class A, Section Four
Sponsor: Lady Lindy Ramsay – Matriarch, House Ramsay.
She turned the screen dark and slid her phone back to her pocket. For a moment she simply stood.
"Class A, Section Four." Her smile deepened,
"Why don't I give them a proper visit this afternoon?"
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN