Saphielle didn't attend classes for two weeks.
No one questioned it—not seriously. Rumors circled, of course. Whispers in the hallways, curious glances in the dining hall whenever her name came up. Some said she'd gone on a diplomatic mission. Others thought she was recovering from magical exhaustion.
The truth was simpler.
She had spent every day tending to the aftermath.
The mansion she called home was nearly unrecognizable—walls cracked, ceilings half-collapsed, enchanted wards shattered beyond recognition. Her personal staff had taken the worst of it: bruises, burns, fractured pride. She treated them one by one, often with her own magic, refusing to let anyone else lay a hand on them.
She never spoke of what happened.
Not to the instructors, not to her classmates, not even to Cordelia or Lys.
But something had changed.
