January 17th, 2012 — 3:12 PM
Asura Academy — The Gilded Crescent Restaurant
Perspective: Elfie
The restaurant was called The Gilded Crescent, and it was exactly the kind of place I never would have found on my own.
It was tucked into the eastern wing of the Academy's public district — one of those places that looked small from the outside and then opened up into something warm and impossible once you stepped through the door. Cream-colored walls lined with polished amber sconces. Round tables with deep mahogany chairs that had little velvet cushions on the seats. A display case near the back full of pastries I needed five more minutes to identify properly.
It smells like brown butter and citrus and something floral that I can't name.
It's the nicest place I've been in since the Capital.
Del had walked in like she owned it. Of course she had. She greeted the host by name — a tall elf man who nodded and led us immediately to a round table near the far window, the one with the best view of the lower garden and the soft afternoon light.
I sat down and tried not to look too obviously like someone who had never eaten here before.
Delyra Nysira sat right beside me, close enough that I could smell her perfume — something delicate, like gardenia. She was even prettier up close than she was from across the classroom. The afternoon light caught the deep auburn in her curled brunette hair and turned her violet eyes almost warm. Almost. Her posture was still perfectly straight, her hands folded on the table, her school jacket pressed and unwrinkled despite the chaos of the day.
She was the kind of girl who made other girls feel faintly underdressed just by existing.
I smoothed my hair very discreetly.
On my other side — well, on the other side of the table — three more girls had settled in.
---
The first one, sitting directly across from me, I noticed immediately.
She was not entirely human.
She had the most exquisite cat ears I had ever seen in my life, nestled right at the top of her head, soft grey and tufted at the tips, tilted just slightly to the right as if she was always half-listening to something just outside the conversation. A tail curled around the leg of her chair beneath the table. She had warm honey-brown eyes with just the faintest slit to the pupils, and her hair was silver-grey, cut short in the back but longer in the front, framing her face in a way that was somehow fashionable and effortless at the same time. She had a small, compact build and sat with her legs tucked up beneath her in the chair, which the velvet cushion was apparently designed for.
Her name, she announced, was Mira Ashveil, and she said it the way people say things they've had to say many times and have gotten tired of over-explaining.
She wore the academy uniform but had added to it: a small silver chain around her neck with a little cat charm that she spun in her fingers every so often, like a habit she didn't notice she had. Her whole presence was alert but lazy in that specifically feline way, like she was fully aware of everything around her and also deeply unbothered by most of it.
A Beastkin. An actual Beastkin.
I had read about them. I had read about them a lot, actually, because the orphanage had a book on Celestine's various races and I had read it approximately seven times, and there was a full illustrated chapter, but the illustrations had not — had really not — captured how the ears moved.
They moved. When I said her name back to her, the left one swiveled.
I needed to say something politely.
"Are those real?" I said.
Mira blinked at me with those honey-brown eyes.
"The ears," I clarified, and then immediately realized that was not better.
"I — sorry. I've just never. I mean, I've seen illustrations, but in the book the ears were — they were more like, um. Anyway. Hello."
Mira stared at me for a moment. Then she reached up, grabbed the left ear between two fingers, and tugged it slightly.
"Very real," she said pleasantly.
"Oh," I said.
That is what shame feels like. That specific sensation behind my neck.
"Do they… always do that? The swiveling?"
"Elfina," Del said beside me, very gently, in the tone of someone deciding not to be embarrassed on behalf of another person.
"She can ask," Mira said. She was smiling now, just slightly. "Yes. Always. I can't really control it. If you whisper my name from behind, they'll rotate before I register it consciously."
"That's fascinating," I said, with complete sincerity. "Does it ever give you a headache? The noise?"
"Sometimes."
"What does the Academy cafeteria sound like to you?"
"Exactly as awful as it does to you, probably just louder."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's fine. I've gotten used to it."
She said it the way people say they've gotten used to things they haven't fully gotten used to. I decided not to push. But I kept watching the ear.
The second girl, seated to Mira's left, had been watching my interrogation of Mira with the kind of open amusement that suggested she found this very funny and had no intention of hiding that.
Her name was Vivienne Hartwell. Human. Sixteen-ish, though she carried herself like she'd already decided what kind of woman she was going to be and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. Dark auburn hair, deep brown eyes, and the most expressive eyebrows I had ever encountered on a person — they moved independently of the rest of her face, like punctuation.
She dressed sharply. Her uniform was tailored, her collar perfectly pressed, and she had a small notebook already open on the table beside her food order, which I noticed because she was jotting something into it with a silver pen while we talked.
She writes things down, I noted. Constantly.
"What are you writing?" I asked.
She glanced up. "Observations."
"About what?"
"Currently? You."
I didn't know what to do with that. I looked at Del for guidance. Del was studying the menu.
Vivienne smiled. It was warm, actually. "Don't worry. It's not critical. You're interesting."
"Interesting" is a word that means many things depending on the voice it's delivered in.
Hers was genuine.
I decided I liked her, tentatively and with the right to revise.
---
The third girl sat at the end of the table with the energy of someone who was always at the end of the table by choice, not because she hadn't been invited closer.
Cressida Vael. Human. Her hair was a pale, almost silvery blonde, cut to her shoulders with a blunt precision that made it look deliberate. Her eyes were a very light grey, the kind that look slightly unfocused until she's actually looking at you, and then they land with weight. She had a way of sitting that was loose and unhurried — elbows on the table, chin on her hand — and she said very little for the first several minutes.
When she finally spoke, it was to tell the waiter, without looking at the menu, exactly what she wanted, including a modification to the sauce and a very specific temperature request for the tea.
She had opinions. She simply didn't share them until she had decided they were worth sharing.
She was wearing a small pressed flower tucked behind her ear — a dried violet — and when Mira noticed it and pointed, Cressida reached up and touched it lightly and said, "From home," in a way that ended the conversation completely.
I wanted to ask about home. I didn't.
---
So there were five of us around that table, in that warm amber light, in a restaurant that smelled like butter and flowers, and for the first time since arriving at the Academy I was sitting at a table with people who had — apparently — decided to sit with me on purpose.
Not because of Kai. Not because I happened to be standing next to someone they already knew.
Because Del pulled out my chair and said, "sit here," and the others moved to make room.
That's — I don't know why that's making my chest feel like that.
I ordered the honey-glazed cream tart with a pot of jasmine tea and decided not to think about it too hard.
Then the gossip began.
"So. Class A."
"Rose Valentine," Vivienne said immediately, pen clicking. "I heard she gave a speech in homeroom that made two people cry."
"From her own class?"
"Moved to tears by her leadership apparently. That's either very impressive or very concerning."
"It's very concerning," Cressida said, lifting her tea. "Anyone who makes their own classmates cry on the first day is either inspiring or manipulative. I'm withholding judgment for now."
"She's a princess," Del said. "A real one. Celestine Royal House. Her entire life has been performance. Of course she knows how to move a room."
I had heard her name before — Rose Valentine. Kai had mentioned her once, in passing, the way he mentions things that he's already assessed and filed. He hadn't said much.
"What about Class B?" Mira asked. One ear tilted. "I heard Victor Sterling dropped voluntarily."
"He did." Del's violet eyes darkened slightly. "Victor Sterling, of the Sterling family. Ranked second in the entrance exams overall and chose to come down."
"Why would anyone do that voluntarily?"
"Because Class A was already taken," Del said, like it was obvious. "Rose Valentine locked Rank 1. Sterling doesn't like being second. So he dropped to B, where he can be first."
"That's either brilliant or cowardly."
"It depends entirely on whether it works."
"What about the girl? Sylvia Somerset? She dropped too, didn't she?"
Vivienne made a small noise with her pen. "I heard she told the Class B students she was, quote, 'the goddess of fate.'"
A beat of silence.
"Those exact words?"
"Those exact words."
Cressida set her teacup down very carefully. "That's either confidence or a mental problems."
The table burst into giggles.
I covered my mouth. It wasn't that funny. It was extremely funny.
"And then there's us," Del continued, smoothing her expression back into something composed, though her eyes were still bright. "Class C. The leftovers."
"We're not leftovers," I said, before I could stop myself.
Del raised an eyebrow.
"Instructor Aisha said—"
"Instructor Aisha says we're not leftovers because she wants us to believe it so we work harder," Del said, not unkindly. "Which is fine. It's good strategy. But knowing you're Class C and choosing to stay motivated is different from pretending it's not a disadvantage."
I hate that she's not wrong.
But Kai chose Class C on purpose. I don't know why.
He doesn't explain things unless he decides to.
"We have Elfina," Mira said, glancing at me with her head tilted and one ear following. "That's not nothing. Rank Zero."
"We do," Del agreed, and looked at me with something that was either pride or assessment or possibly both.
I took a very long sip of jasmine tea.
The conversation drifted into something softer and slightly more dangerous.
"Elfina. What's your target?"
I blinked. "My target?"
"Your goal. What are you aiming for, here at the Academy?"
Oh. That was easy. "Graduating. Getting through all three years."
Del stared at me.
"That's it?"
"It's a good goal."
"It's the floor. Everyone wants to graduate. I'm asking what you want beyond that." She leaned forward slightly. "I mean a target. Someone you've got your eye on."
I was going to say "the exams" and then the expression on her face clarified what kind of target she meant.
Oh.
My face did something involuntary.
"I'm too young," I said, immediately. "And I'm very focused on my studies."
"You're 12."
"Exactly."
Del tilted her head. "You're from Celestine, aren't you? Near the outer territories?"
"How did you—"
"Your phrasing. The way you said 'too young.'" She waved a hand. "In Celestine, that's culturally normal. The social standard there is that romantic engagement begins after maturity — typically around 16. It's a conservative region. Very traditional about that kind of thing."
I had never thought about it as a regional thing. It was just… how it was.
"Here in Asura," Del continued, "the cultural standard is different. Maturity is measured by experience, not age. If you've passed an Academy entrance exam, you're considered experienced enough to make your own social choices. The standard starts at 12."
"12," I repeated.
"12," she confirmed. "So. Target?"
"I really am focused on my studies."
Vivienne looked up from her notebook. "It's not Kaiser, is it?"
I felt my face heat all the way up to my ears.
"No," I said, very clearly.
"Because he follows you everywhere," Mira added helpfully. One ear swiveled.
"He doesn't follow me, we're—"
"He was watching your seat during the whole representative situation," Vivienne said. "Before he left the room. I was taking notes. He checked your direction twice."
"He was — he was just making sure I was okay."
"That's very sweet."
"It's not — that's not what that was—"
"He sits next to you," Cressida said, from the end of the table. "He didn't have to. The seat assignments were suggestions."
I pressed my lips together very firmly.
He sits next to me because we've always sat next to each other. Since we were small. It's a habit. It doesn't mean anything in the way they're implying.
Or — it means what it means and I know what it means and that's completely separate from the question of whether he—
I'm not doing this right now.
"He must be such a bother," Vivienne said, almost sympathetically. "Needing you to carry him everywhere. No magic, the lowest scores. You must have to protect him constantly."
The thought landed wrong.
Like a note played in the wrong key — it sounded like it should make sense and didn't.
I put my cream tart down.
Carry him. He must be a bother.
Every single memory I have of Kai does not fit that sentence. Not one.
He has never needed me to carry him. Not once. Not even a little.
He lets people think that. I'm the only one who knows he lets them think it.
And somehow, right now, I am not going to explain that to 4 girls I met this afternoon.
I picked my tart back up.
"He's fine," I said. "He manages."
That is technically true.
Del looked at me for a moment with those sharp violet eyes.
She didn't press.
The phone situation started because Del noticed I had been looking at mine like it was a small, hostile animal.
"You don't know how to use it," she said.
"I know some of it," I said.
"What do you know?"
"I know how to receive messages. And I can see my profile."
Del reached over and took the phone out of my hand with the practiced ease of someone who has never had to ask permission for things. She looked at it. Her expression did something very controlled.
"Your wallpaper," she said, "is the default. The one it comes with."
"I know."
"Elfina."
"I've had it for less than a day."
She sighed in the way of someone accepting a very specific responsibility. "Alright. First — this button here." She tapped the side with one neat finger. "This is the home screen. Everything on the phone lives here. The Dwarvian Interface System — the DIS — organizes your apps by frequency of use. The ones you tap the most will drift to the center."
"That's smart."
"It is. Now — messages live here." She opened an icon that looked like a small scroll. "The blue thread is direct message. The woven-gold thread is group channel. This button—" she tapped a small hammer icon "—is the mana-sync. Tap it when your phone feels slow; it resets the mana current running the display."
"It runs on mana?"
"Everything Dwarvian runs on mana and technology. The core is a compressed mana crystal that lasts about three months before it needs recharging. There are charging conduits in the dormitory common rooms — little copper pedestals. You set the phone on one overnight."
Kai had mentioned something about a charging his device.
"Got it."
"Camera — this eye icon." Del tapped it. "Profile picture and bio are linked to your Academy ID. Once you set them, everyone in the network can see them. Now—" she navigated to a settings menu "—messages. There are three layers. Private, which is just you and one other person. Group, which is a small circle. And the Global Weave, which is network-wide, open to all students who've been added."
"All students?"
"There are filters. The one I'm adding you to is girls-only, Class C." She tapped a few icons. "And this one—" another tap "—is a cross-class girls network. All three classes. Don't post anything you wouldn't want Rose Valentine to read."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Also, I'm adding you personally." She tapped again, and my phone gave a small chime. "That's a direct line to me. Text me if anything happens with the class. Day or night."
Delyra Nysira was 12 and already running operations.
I was mildly terrified and also kind of impressed.
"Now," Del said, handing the phone back. "Profile picture. Username. Bio. In that order."
"What do people normally put?"
"Whatever represents them." She had already taken her own phone out. Hers had a tiny portrait of herself on a soft cream background, her chin tilted at a perfect three-quarter angle, violet eyes looking at the camera like it owed her something.
Her username was D.Nysira and her bio read: Prettiest queen above all. Nysira House, Class C. Very Del.
I looked at my camera icon.
Okay. Profile picture.
I held the phone up.
I tried to look composed. I tried three times to look composed.
I settled on tilting my head slightly to the left and looking up at the corner of the frame the way I'd seen portraits done, with my hair tucked behind one ear and the window light catching the pink — and I took the photo before I could overthink it.
It looked — actually nice? My blue eyes were bright in the light. The pink hair was soft.
I look very small, I thought, but in a way I don't mind.
"Let me see," Mira said immediately, leaning across the table. She looked at the photo. Both ears went forward. "Oh, that's very cute."
"Really?"
"She's a natural," Vivienne declared.
"The angle is good," Cressida confirmed.
Del studied it. "Acceptable. Username."
I typed: elfie_lunaris
Small. Simple. The way I'd sign my name if I were signing something casual and happy.
"Bio," Del prompted.
What do I put in a bio?
What am I, in three lines or less?
I thought about it. I typed:
Class C Rep. Always accepting sweet recommendations. 🌸
The table read it.
Mira made a soft noise. "That's you."
"Is it too much?"
"It's perfectly you," Vivienne said.
Del considered it. Then, with the air of a woman making a diplomatic concession: "It's charming."
Charming from Del felt like an award.
We were still arranged around the DIS lesson — Vivienne showing me how to pin a thread, Mira demonstrating the mana-sync button by tapping it and watching the screen sharpen — when one of the group channel invites I'd accepted pushed through a message.
The Class C Girls Network had been active for all of four minutes, and someone had already posted: who's the boy with the black hair who left the homeroom early? asking for a friend.
Del did not even blink. "Ignore."
"Is that about Kaiser?" Mira asked, with the diplomatic neutrality of someone making an observation, not a judgment.
"Probably," Vivienne said.
"I'm ignoring it," I said, at exactly the same time as Del said it.
Mira looked between us. Her ears went neutral.
Then Vivienne, very casually, pulled up the Global Weave — the all-network cross-class channel.
"Since we're teaching Elfina the phone," Vivienne said, "she should see the global network. It's good to know who's already active."
She scrolled the account panel — the side column that showed recently active users. Name, username, profile picture.
Rose Valentine: RosyV — small crown icon, a dignified portrait.
Various Class A accounts, all with crisp, formal setups.
And then:
Koolboy223.
The profile picture was a sandal.
Not someone's feet wearing a sandal. A sandal, lying on its side on what appeared to be a stone floor, photographed from above, slightly out of focus.
Vivienne held the phone up.
"Does anyone know who Koolboy223 is?"
She tapped the profile. The bio opened.
I read it.
> name's kaiser. im in class c. i have no magic and no opinions and i take up very little space. if you need me i am somewhere being fine. favourite colour: pink. do not text me even if you have a question. dont put yourself through such torture. thank you for your time.
There was one second of silence.
Then Cressida made a noise that was not quite a laugh but was the precursor to one.
Then Mira's ears went flat from the effort of not reacting.
Then Vivienne put the phone face-down on the table very carefully, the way you set something down when you don't trust yourself to hold it.
"The sandal," Del said.
I had my hand over my mouth.
"Why is it a sandal," Del said.
"I don't know," I said, but it came out slightly wrong because I was laughing and trying not to be.
"Favorite color: pink," Mira read, absolutely deadpan, which made it significantly worse.
"'I take up very little space,'" Vivienne said. "He said that. He wrote that about himself."
"'Do not text me even if you have a question.'" Cressida lifted her tea. "He included a disclaimer."
"In his bio," Del said.
"In his bio," I confirmed.
I was laughing now, properly. Mira's shoulders were shaking. Even Del had pressed two fingers to her mouth, which on her was basically hysteria.
"He said his favorite color is pink," Vivienne said again, because apparently that one was still alive.
It is pink, I thought, in the very back of my mind, behind all the laughter.
Did he mean me? He would never say that outright. He wouldn't.
But I know.
I put my face in my hands for a moment, laughing into my palms, and let the warmth of the table — the sound of Mira giggling softly, Vivienne making her notation noises, Cressida saying something dry that made Del snort inelegantly — wash over me in a wave.
At some point, the laughter settled.
The food was mostly finished. The light through the window had shifted from gold to amber to something softer, the kind of light that doesn't announce itself, it just arrives and makes everything look like it's being kept.
I was holding my second cup of jasmine tea, still warm, and I was watching Vivienne argue with Cressida about whether the Class A Roster had been strategically leaked or just careless record-keeping, and Mira was spinning her little cat charm in her fingers again, and Del was straight-backed and sharp-eyed and listening to both arguments at once with the patience of someone who would arbitrate when they felt like it.
This is what it feels like.
A friend group. An actual one.
I had read about them. I had seen them from the outside — at the orphanage, the older girls who had their clusters, their tables, their languages that were half-verbal and half-gossiping. I had always been adjacent to them.
This was inside.
Four people who decided, for whatever reasons they each had — delyra's pragmatism, mira's curiosity, vivienne's notations, cressida's quiet — to open the table wide enough for me.
I hadn't earned it yet. I hadn't proven anything yet. They had just decided to allow me.
That shouldn't matter as much as it does.
But it does.
Kai was somewhere else right now — reading, probably, or carrying his stack of engineering books back to the dorm in that unhurried way he moves through places he doesn't feel the need to rush. He had told me to go. He'd sent a thumbs-up and a rose emoji, which he would absolutely deny was intentional if I ever brought it up.
He knew I needed this.
He knew before I did.
I pressed my thumb against the warm side of my teacup and let myself, just for a moment, sit with what was true:
The academy was terrifying and strange.
I was the Class Representative of a class no one believed in.
My best friend was carrying a secret so large I could only see its edges.
And I was sitting in a restaurant called The Gilded Crescent, eating honey cream tart with girls who made me laugh until I couldn't breathe over a username and a sandal.
Bizarre, I thought. This is completely bizarre.
I don't want it to end.
Outside the window, the lower academy gardens were turning gold in the late afternoon, the path lights beginning to flicker on one by one in the early dark.
Somewhere in this building, Koolboy223 was probably reading about gears.
I should text him, I thought.
He'll say something flat and strange and it'll make me smile.
"Hiii kaiiiiii!!! 😉💖💖💖" I typed.
---
January 17th, 2012 — 8:37 PM
Asura Academy — Starlight Lake Park
Perspective: Kaiser
---
This was big problem.
But no a problem.
I walked along the gravel path, carrying a small paper bag of extra parts I'd had to quickly buy from a nearby mechanics store. My phone was currently lying in shambles on my desk, and my wallet wasn't just light — it was empty.
I remembered my interaction with the dwarf clerk about 20 minutes ago. It had required a level of theatrical desperation that I usually reserved for avoiding expulsions.
"Please, sir," I had said, my voice cracking as I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing a single, pathetic tear to roll down my cheek. "My grandfather's final wish was to hear my voice through a Dwarvian communicator one last time before he passes. If I cannot fix this device tonight, he will leave this world in silence..."
The clerk had stared at me, let out a long, heavy sigh that smelled of engine grease, and pushed the brass housing and micro-processor across the counter. He had given me the parts on a 30-day credit line with a 12% interest rate. Dwarves are emotional, but they are not stupid.
I thought I was pro engineer until the damn device stopped starting.
The gravel crunched under my boots as I crossed the bridge over the lake in the central park. The sky had turned a deep, bruised violet, and the first set of path lights were beginning to flicker on.
I paused.
By the water's edge, a figure was standing in the dim light. Blonde braids, a small frame, and the standard Class C uniform.
Scarlet Hearst.
Is she here again? Does she train daily?
I watched from the shadow of a weeping willow as she threw her hands forward. A jagged, uneven shard of ice materialized in the air. It wobbled, lost its shape, and then dissolved into water with a soft splash, dripping uselessly onto the grass.
No real progress.
She took a breath, adjusted her stance, and tried again. The result was the same. She did it again. Then again.
Reminds me of my old times.
Her green eyes were wide, reflecting the faint starlight, bright with that stubborn, irritating determination to improve. It was the kind of look that usually ended in exhaustion or a cold, but she didn't seem to care.
I turned back and let her do her practice.
Technically, ice magic is just the local extraction of energy from water molecules to force a phase transition. If she simply established a secondary thermal-displacement anchor in her mana instead of trying to brute-force the temperature drop, the crystal lattice would stabilize. A simple catalyst of wind mana could change the nature of the local temperature drop...
I shook my head. Not my business. I kept walking.
When I arrived at Room 306, the desk looked like a scrap heap.
The black-market phone I'd bought was lying in pieces on a sheet of greaseproof paper. Screws, copper coils, a cracked screen, and the primary mana core. Beside them, three books lay open: Beginner's Guide to Dwarvian Cogwork, Advanced Core Theory, and a handbook on mana-circuit soldering.
I picked up the screwdriver and the brass housing.
It was time for some delicate surgery.
First, I aligned the secondary gear teeth at a sixty-degree angle to match the drive shaft. Then, I threaded the copper-plated micro-conduits through the bypass gate, ensuring the insulation didn't scrape against the metal frame. Finally, using a low-heat soldering iron, I bound the capacitor to the positive node of the mana crystal, regulating the dual-phase bypass voltage to avoid a sudden ionization surge.
The crystal flared once, a warm blue light pulsing through the glass.
The screen flickered. The Dwarvian Interface System logo booted up.
And then, the device began to vibrate.
It didn't stop vibrating.
37 text alerts. All from elfina_lunaris.
Oh. I did not text her back.
Before I could even draft a response, the doorbell rang. It was loud and sudden.
I swept the screwdriver, the spare gears, and the open manuals under my mattress with one foot. I smoothed down my shirt, wiped a smudge of grease off my temple, and opened the door.
Elfina was standing in the hallway.
I smiled. "Hi, Elfie."
"Why did you not reply to me?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She stepped past me, into the room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She spun around, her blue eyes wide, her hands grabbing my arms with a grip that was entirely too tight for someone her size.
"Kai. I texted you. You didn't answer. I thought something happened. I thought you were hurt. Why didn't you reply?"
There was a quiet, obsessive edge to her voice. Her fingers were digging into my sleeves.
I let my shoulders slump, faking a sigh of utter exhaustion. "The battery died. I couldn't get it to hold a charge until just now. I had to go buy parts."
She didn't let go. She leaned her forehead against my chest. "You didn't reply. I was worried."
She was trembling, just slightly. Not from anger, but from that quiet panic she gets when she thinks I've vanished.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, and patted her soft pink hair. "I'll reply next time. I promise."
She stayed like that for a long minute, her breath warm against my shirt, before her grip slowly loosened. She looked up, her expression softening.
I walked over to the mini-fridge in the corner, pulled out a cold strawberry milkshake I'd bought earlier, and popped a straw into it.
(On loan from the clerk as well)
"Here. Drink."
She took it, took a long sip, and the dark look in eyes dissolved into something resembling peace. She sat on the edge of my bed, swinging her legs, content.
I looked at her, slightly confused. "Don't you need to head back to your room?"
"No," she said, setting the milkshake on my nightstand. "We didn't spend any time together today. We're spending it now."
She grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the bed.
She curled up next to me, holding my arm tightly against her chest, her pink hair tickling my chin.
I stared at the ceiling, wondering how much a single gold coin could buy in the Capital, and if it was enough to purchase a lock that she couldn't bypass.
Probably not. Elfie's magic is persistent.
She shifted, looking at my phone on the desk.
"Why is your username that?" she asked.
Oops.
I shifted, pulling the blankets up a little higher. "It's an excellent username. It projects confidence and a deep understanding of footwear."
"It's Koolboy223," she pointed out.
"Exactly. The sandal represents stability. A deep layered meaning."
She hit my shoulder. Not hard, just enough to register her disbelief. "You set it to pink."
"Pink is a strong color. Very lovely."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She leaned over, tapping the screen of my phone to wake it up. "Show me the other profiles. Delyra showed me some, but I want to see what you see."
I scrolled to the Class B directory. The first profile at the top belonged to Victor Sterling.
The picture was a pristine, high-resolution portrait of him staring into the middle distance, looking utterly flawless. The jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He was absolutely mogging the camera.
Username: Victor_Sterling_Official
Bio: Heir to the sterling. Excellence is not an act, but a habit.
"He looks like he practices that face in the mirror," I said.
Elfie giggled. "Del said he dropped to Class B just so he could be first."
I scrolled down. We landed on a profile with a small cat charm icon.
Username: Mira_Ash
Bio: Napping. Do not judge me.
The picture was just a sliver of silver-grey hair and a pair of honey-brown eyes peeking over a scarf, a tufted cat ear visible at the top.
A cat girl. I raised my eyebrows. Fascinating.
"She's my friend," Elfie said proudly, pointing at the screen. "She's a Beastkin. Her ears swivel when you say her name."
"I will keep that in mind."
I navigated to the Global Weave and filtered for Class A. At the very top, sitting like a king on a digital throne, was Lucas Reinhardt.
Username: Lucas
The profile picture was a selfie, but he was wearing a heavy, dark hooded coat pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in dramatic shadows.
Elfie frowned. "Why is he wearing a hood indoors if he's taking a picture of himself?"
"It's for the cool factor," I explained deadpan. "Like I did with the sandal. We are kindred spirits in mystery."
Then we read his bio.
The lion doesn't turn around when the small dog barks.
There was a moment of absolute silence in the room.
Then Elfie snorted.
I let out a single, sharp laugh, and that broke the dam.
Elfie grabbed a pillow and slammed it into my face. "The lion!" she shrieked, laughing so hard she lost her breath.
I grabbed the pillow back, shoving it against her side. "He's the lion, Elfie. We are the small dogs. We must not bark."
She hit me with another pillow, tumbling over my legs. "He typed that! He typed that out and pressed save!"
"Okay, main character," I wheezed, parrying her pillow strike with my forearm and jabbing her in the ribs. "He's just built different."
"It's better than the sandal!" she teased, pinning my arm down and laughing down at me. "At least he didn't say his favorite color is pink!"
"The sandal is humble. The lion is trying too hard."
We collapsed against the mattress, breathless, the pillows scattered around us.
I looked at the phone again and tapped on her profile.
Username: elfie_lunaris
Bio: Class C Rep. Always accepting sweet recommendations. 🌸
The picture was her. Blue eyes bright, pink hair soft in the light, a gentle, genuine smile that reached all the way across her face.
I stared at the picture. Then I looked at Elfie, laying beside me on the bed. She was staring back, her cheeks flushed from the pillow fight, her eyes soft and trusting.
For a second, I saw the little girl from the orphanage.
The one who promised to always take care of me.
I looked at the phone. I scrolled through the directory. 73 names.
I looked at Elfie again. I couldn't help but feel protective of her.
They were all geniuses. They were special. They had earned their names, their talents, their combat skills.
They all had the desperate desire to graduate.
In three years, after the bloodshed, maybe 10 would actually walk out of here alive. The ones with the greatest gifts. The ones who worked the hardest
They were all treasures of this academy.
I never wanted to be put in a position where Elfie can see how cold my heart can get.
Immoral? Cunning? Manipulative? Villainous? Cruel?
Why am I so full of rage when I imagine them targeting her? Am I full of grief, too?
Despite everything. It's still you.
She looked nervous. Her smile faltered. "Kai? Are you okay?"
They will come for her. Sooner or later, knowing they can exploit her kindness, they will try to get rid of her. They will try to make her cry, hurt, beg.
But as you sow, so shall you reap. The grass is greener where you bury a body.
Maybe sooner, more will be buried. Some people are such treasures that you just want to bury them.
I slowly moved myself towards her.
You're going to win, Elfie. You're going to be happy, safe, and protected.
Because I'm an absolute psychopath that no one can keep up with.
I reached out and pulled her into a tight, possessive hug.
I wrapped my arms around her, locking her against my chest. I didn't let go.
"Kai?" she whispered, her voice muffled against my shirt.
"Be quiet," I said. My voice was flat. Empty.
She went completely quiet.
I held her there in the silence, my hand resting flat against the back of her head, staring at the wall.
For those I love, I will sacrifice them too.
I don't mind doing something wrong for you, Elfie. Because you're the only one I can't afford to lose. You're my everything.
Only reason I'm even alive.
I will protect you at all costs.