Our first year at the academy was a continuous battle against indifference and contempt. The whispers never truly stopped, but they grew quieter as our classmates became used to our presence. We were still outsiders, but at least we were no longer a novelty. I knew they saw us as charity cases, a brief, curious experiment from the lower floors that would eventually fail. That thought only hardened my resolve.
As the school year drew to a close, the academy held its annual Founders' Day Gala, a grand society ball on the 50th floor. Amelia had insisted we attend and had a beautiful gown made for each of us. Eliza's was a flowing emerald green, shimmering under the light, and mine was a deep, midnight blue, almost black, with intricate silver embroidery that felt heavy against my skin.
Eliza was ecstatic. She spent hours getting ready, her face alight with excitement. "Kira, look at this! I feel like a real princess!" she exclaimed, spinning in front of our mirror. She applied a touch of rouge to her cheeks, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Maybe tonight, people will actually talk to us, really talk to us."
I felt like a puppet wearing a fancy dress. My mind was still full of theorems and incantations, not waltzes and small talk. I felt ridiculous in the silk and lace, knowing that beneath the expensive fabric, I was still the same girl who had run barefoot through a rainstorm just a year ago. This finery felt like a costume, a mockery of the life I'd lost.
The ballroom was magnificent, a hall of floating, glowing lanterns that drifted like silent, captive stars. The walls shimmered with enchanted light, displaying illusions of ancient magical forests and soaring dragons. Live music, a symphony of strings and woodwinds, filled the air. Students, all in their finest attire, mingled with powerful magicians and city officials from the upper floors, their laughter light and effortless. Every face I saw was a reminder of the wealth and status that had so casually destroyed my family. This entire spectacle felt like a slap in the face. All these people lived in a perfect world, unaware or uncaring of the poverty and desperation just floors below them.
I stood by the buffet, nursing a glass of sparkling cider, my eyes scanning the crowd. I felt utterly disconnected from the gaiety around me. My focus remained sharp, even amidst the revelry. I was not here for pleasure; I was here to survive, to learn, and to prepare.
Eliza, on the other hand, was trying her best to fit in. She smiled at people, tried to strike up conversations, and laughed at jokes she likely didn't understand. But I could see the subtle way they avoided her gaze, the quick glances they gave her simple, albeit new, shoes, the way their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes. They humored her, but they never truly engaged.
"It's no use, Eliza," I murmured, watching a group of girls turn their backs on her after a brief exchange.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I just thought... maybe a new year, a new chance."
"They don't see us as new," I said, my voice low. "They see us as different. As beneath them."
Just then, Celeste, with her perfectly coiffed blond hair and a dress that seemed woven from moonlight, approached us, Marcus trailing behind her. Her smirk was sharper tonight.
"Well, well, if it isn't the charity cases," Celeste purred, her eyes raking over our dresses. "Trying to blend in? Don't tell me you actually think you belong here, dancing with us."
"We're here because we were invited, just like you," Eliza said, trying to stand tall, though her voice wavered.
Marcus chuckled. "Invited, or bought? I hear Amelia Sterling just loves a good pet project. Too bad even a pretty dress can't hide where you really come from."
My jaw tightened. I felt the familiar heat of anger rising, but I pushed it down. There was no point in a public confrontation. Not yet. I just stared at them, my gaze unwavering, letting the coldness in my eyes speak volumes.
Celeste seemed to visibly recoil under my stare. Her smirk faltered. "Don't stare at me like that, pauper. You'll dirty my gown." She pulled Marcus away, whispering something to him, and they quickly disappeared into the crowd.
It was then that I noticed a familiar face.
He was standing on a balcony overlooking the main dance floor, his arms crossed, a neutral expression on his face. He wore a stunning silver suit that seemed to catch the light. It was the magician from the stadium—the one who had caught my butterfly. He was a high-ranking student, judging by the way people respectfully gave him space and acknowledged him with hushed reverence. He was watching the crowd with an air of bored detachment, but then his eyes landed on me.
He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, a strange, calculating curiosity in his eyes. It was not the condescending look of a bully, but something different—something more intense, almost analytical. He saw me, truly saw me, and for a terrifying moment, I felt completely exposed, as if he could see the burning rage and the hidden purpose deep within me. I quickly looked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
As the music swelled and another year at the academy ended, I knew one thing: I was still an outcast, but my hands were no longer empty. My magic was slowly growing, a fire in my gut that would soon be too powerful to contain. The academy was a gilded cage, but it was also my training ground. I would use every lesson, every insult, every moment of this new life to forge myself into the weapon I needed to be.