The sky over Lunaris Academy remained a pale gray, as if even the heavens weren't certain whether to weep or hold its breath. A faint drizzle misted the stone paths that led to the spired heart of the campus: the Sanctum Hall, where only the most delicate matters of nobility and arcana were handled. And today, Elira was summoned there.
She walked alone.
No Celestienne. No Isolde.
Her steps echoed across the empty corridors of polished marble and golden veins. She passed portraits of long-dead archmages, warlocks, and witches who had once rewritten laws of nature—and rewritten the world along with them. Their painted gazes seemed to follow her. Judge her.
At the end of the hall, twin guards in obsidian armor opened the grand doors without a word.
Inside, the chamber was far too large for the single man who waited at its center.
He sat in a high-backed chair shaped like a blackened throne, but without jewels, without banners. The only ornament was a carved obsidian staff that leaned beside him, humming faintly with aether.
"Elira Veremelle," he said. His voice was low, smooth, and absolutely unreadable. "Daughter of House Veremelle. Scion of flame."
She swallowed. "Yes... Headmaster."
Headmaster Veylon was said to be ageless. Some claimed he was an immortal sealed by his own will. Others whispered he could erase your name from the very threads of fate.
He gestured, and a second chair appeared behind her.
"Sit."
She obeyed.
A long silence followed. He didn't look at her. Not at first. His gaze seemed focused on the space *around* her.
"There are many forces within this Academy," he said at last. "Bloodlines. Factions. Curses. Ambitions. And among them, students who burn too brightly for their own good."
Elira tried to steady her voice. "If this is about the incident in the lecture hall, I didn't mean to—"
"It is *not*," he interrupted.
Her lips shut instantly.
Veylon finally turned his gaze to her. It wasn't kind. It wasn't cruel. It was precise. Like a scalpel poised above the soul.
"Two of the most dangerous heirs in this continent have... taken an interest in you. Unnaturally fast. Unusually deep."
Elira stiffened.
"Celestienne Raventelle and Isolde Virellith are not merely noble girls," he continued. "They are bloodlines with histories steeped in manipulation, death, and obsession. They do not love."
His voice dropped lower.
"They consume."
Elira's hands clenched her skirt. "I never asked for their attention."
"Yet you have it."
He stood, slowly. The air around him pulsed.
"There are rules in this Academy. But the higher one climbs, the fewer laws exist. Up there," he gestured upward, "you must survive on instinct. Intelligence. Caution."
Then he walked closer.
"Tell me, Elira. Do you wish to remain untouched by their games? Or do you intend to play back?"
Her throat tightened.
Because the truth was—she didn't know.
"I want to be left alone," she said.
Headmaster Veylon's smile was... tragic.
"Then you will lose."
He turned away. "You may leave."
Elira stood quickly, only to find the door opening before she could reach it.
Celestienne stood there, pristine as ever. One glance at the Headmaster and she bowed slightly. But her eyes were on Elira.
Not a word passed between them. But the look was enough.
Waiting.
Daring.
The moment Elira stepped past her, another figure appeared in the corridor.
Isolde.
Great. Both of them.
Elira turned on her heel. "I don't want to talk to either of you right now."
"Then don't speak," Isolde said. "Just listen."
Celestienne didn't move.
Isolde crossed her arms. "He warned you about us, didn't he?"
"Of course he did," Celestienne said coolly. "That's what cowards do. They warn. They don't act."
"You would know."
"And you would ruin her."
"*Enough!*" Elira snapped, fists shaking. "You two don't get to fight over me like I'm some damned artifact you both want to hoard!"
A beat of silence.
Then Celestienne stepped closer, voice low. "You're not an object. You're a key."
Isolde mirrored her. "You're a door."
Elira backed away. "Stop speaking in riddles."
But neither clarified. Not yet.
Celestienne reached into her sleeve and withdrew a crystal shard the size of a finger.
"There will be a Midnight Assembly tomorrow," she said. "Only a dozen are chosen."
Isolde smiled coldly. "She doesn't need your little cult gathering."
Celestienne ignored her. "If you want to know what lies beneath the Academy's surface... come."
Elira took the shard.
Not because she trusted her.
But because curiosity, like fire, could not be starved forever.
As the two heiresses left in opposite directions, Elira stood alone again.
A girl between flame and frost.
Between two monsters who wanted her not for love.
But for *what she could become.*