Chapter Two – The Academy's Curtain Rises
The Count didn't look up from his wine glass when he said it.
"Your academy term begins again in three days. Be prepared."
His voice was cold marble. Final. Mallina—Ava now, she reminded herself—only nodded.
An academy… a new world. Maybe there… I'll find answers.
Three days passed in a blur of silk gowns, books she couldn't remember reading, and dreams she couldn't quite wake from. When the morning came, the Count didn't say goodbye. Clover helped her into the carriage, clutching a handkerchief like she was sending a lamb to war.
"Stay strong, my lady," she whispered.
The carriage ride was long. The world outside rolled by like painted scenes—flowers blooming, towns bustling, trees swaying like dancers. When they passed the gates of Astrelle Academy, Mallina pressed her fingers to the glass.
It looked like a palace. Marble towers stretched into the sky. Gardens bloomed like enchanted forests. Bells rang in the distance, soft and haunting.
This is where my new life starts, she thought.
She stepped out of the carriage. Her boots clicked on polished stone.
Gasps. Whispers.
"She's back…"
"That's Lady Ava, right? Count Elberan's daughter…"
"She missed all of last term."
"They say she's strange now… different."
Mallina kept her chin up. Let them whisper. Her heart was thudding like a war drum, but her face stayed calm.
Inside, the grand hall was filled with students dressed in jewel-toned uniforms. Banners with golden lions and moonlit roses fluttered above. Everyone gathered beneath the crystal chandelier as the principal walked onto the stage.
He tapped his cane twice.
"Welcome, students of Astrelle, to a new term of elegance, excellence, and expectation!"
The students clapped lightly.
"This year, we are honored with royal guests. First—His Highness, the Crown Prince of Aitheria, Mytho Rheimhart."
A boy stepped onto the stage.
He moved like mist—white hair, silver eyes, beautiful in a quiet, haunting way. His face was unreadable. Calm, but hollow.
That's him, Ava thought. That's the prince…
A strange ache rose in her chest, like recognition from a life not lived.
"And accompanying him," the principal continued, "is the son of Duke Aurelian—Fakir Aurelian, swordsman and royal companion."
A sharp contrast. This boy stormed onto the stage, posture stiff, eyes dark green and alert. His expression screamed "stay away."
Fakir, Ava breathed.
Her heart gave a beat she couldn't explain.
And for the briefest moment—his eyes flicked to the crowd.
Met hers.
Paused.
Then turned away.
He doesn't know me, she thought. No one does. Not anymore.
The hall clapped. The ceremony moved on.
But Ava stood still, feeling like she had just stepped onto a stage where she was expected to play a role she hadn't rehearsed.
And the story?
Was already being written.
Class 3A was filled with polished desks, high-arched windows, and air that smelled faintly of old books and noble perfume. The moment Ava stepped in, heads turned.
"Lady Ava…"
"Why is she in our class?"
"I thought she was too sick to study last term."
Ava ignored them, eyes scanning the rows like a ghost looking for a grave. Then—there.
Two seats.
Side by side.
One occupied by the prince, Mytho Rheimhart. The other, by Fakir Aurelian, arms crossed, expression hard as iron.
And next to them?
One empty desk.
Her name was written in golden ink on a card resting gently on its surface:
Lady Ava Elberan.
No… no, no, she panicked silently. Why next to them? Out of everyone?
She hesitated. Fakir's sharp green eyes met hers for a brief second. Like a sword unsheathing.
Mytho didn't even look up. He was gazing out the window, where sunlight haloed his white hair like some tragic fairytale prince.
Because he is, something whispered. You remember him, don't you?
Ava clenched her fists and walked over. She sat down quietly.
Fakir shifted slightly, subtly, like he was annoyed—but didn't speak. The tension crackled between them like a storm cloud caught between thunder and lightning.
The teacher walked in—a tall, thin woman with a quill behind her ear and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Welcome to Advanced Literature and Magical History," she said. "Please remember, nobility does not excuse ignorance. Only effort matters here."
She tapped her wand on the chalkboard. Notes began writing themselves in beautiful looping script.
Ava tried to focus, but…
Every few minutes, her eyes drifted to the side.
To Mytho's stillness. To the way Fakir scribbled down notes like the ink was made of fury.
They're just like in the story, she thought. But no one remembers. Not even them…
After class, the teacher called out, "Ava Elberan. Fakir Aurelian. You'll be paired for today's assignment."
Fakir turned to her slowly, one eyebrow raised.
"…Great," he muttered under his breath. "Just what I needed."
Well, screw you too, Ava thought, but gave him a calm, practiced smile.
"Pleasure working with you, Lord Aurelian."
He snorted.
Mytho didn't react. He rose quietly and left the room like a ghost fading from the pages.
And Ava?
She looked down at her hands, trembling slightly.
Why is the story starting again?
And why do I feel like this time… it won't end the same?