A hush had fallen over the arena.
All around the marble-lined stadium, students filled the tiered seats—faces alight with anticipation, some leaning forward, others whispering behind gloved hands. Even the snow that once drifted lazily from the enchanted dome had frozen mid-air, suspended in tense expectation.
In the middle of the arena, Eira stood calmly within her dueling circle, wand loose in hand, eyes locked on Julian Trévér.
He was pacing across from her, wand clenched, jaw tight, and rage boiling just beneath his skin.
The referee stepped forward, an older student robed in sky-blue from Papillonlisse house.
"Standard dueling rules," he said. "No spells with lethality. First to surrender, disarmed, or unconscious loses. Begin when the line vanishes."
The white barrier between them shimmered—and dissolved.
Julian moved first.
"Expelliarmus!" he roared.
Eira sidestepped with the grace of a dancer. She didn't even raise her wand.
"Oh no," she said cheerily, "a disarming spell? How original. Did you come up with that all by yourself, or did your nanny teach you that one before bed?"
Another flash—"Stupefy!"
Eira spun aside again, her hair catching the golden glow of the ceiling lights. Her wand finally lifted—almost lazily.
"Gelida Ventus."
A blast of cold wind erupted from her wand, slicing through Julian's next spell mid-cast and sending him skidding backward across the floor. His robes flapped wildly, and he barely stayed on his feet.
Gasps and laughter from the crowd.
Julian snarled. "You bi—!"
"Language," Eira warned sweetly. "This is a school, not your family's private dungeon."
He struck again—aggressive, reckless. Spells came rapid-fire now: flames, binders, shocks of kinetic magic. Eira responded with the calm of someone utterly bored.
"Vapori Umbra."
Thick mist burst from her wand, shrouding her silhouette. His next two spells missed entirely.
"Is that all, Julian?" her voice echoed from the fog. "You talk like a champion but duel like a drunk Kneazle."
Julian roared in frustration. "Revelio Maxima!"
The mist split, clearing just enough for him to see her again.
And she was smiling.
A cruel, elegant little smile.
"Your brother duels better," she said," Oops. My bad He's already dead actually."as she put a hand on her mouth to cover her laugh.
Julian charged while casting—"Incarcerous!"—ropes surged toward her.
Eira flicked her wand. "Carthago."
The ropes disintegrated in the air.
"Did you know," she mused aloud, walking toward him now, "that when someone's wandwork is shaky, it usually means they're compensating for something?"
Julian gritted his teeth. "Ventosa Lapidem!"
Rocks rose from the floor and shot toward her.
Eira raised a single hand.
"Cera Comica."
The rocks transfigured midair—into cream pies.
They smacked Julian in the face with comedic splats—one, two, three.
The audience howled with laughter.
Julian sputtered, face dripping in cream. "You—!"
"Say cheese," Eira said sweetly, and flicked her wand.
"Faciem Ludibrio."
Julian's face contorted suddenly. His eyebrows curled into loops. His nose turned bright blue and expanded like a balloon. His lips puckered involuntarily, twitching with each shout he tried to make.
He tried to cast—"Rictuse—"
But Eira was faster.
"Pluma Tempestus."
A whirlwind of multicolored feathers burst beneath him, spinning him in the air like a clumsy ballerina before tossing him flat onto his back.
The students were nearly in tears now. Laughter echoed from every level of the arena. Fleur was doubled over against the railing, barely breathing.
Julian sat up slowly, face flushed deep crimson, cream dripping from his jaw, his wand trembling.
Eira took a few graceful steps forward, tilting her head, voice low and purring.
"You know, for someone who loves challenging girls to marriage duels, you're shockingly bad at making a good impression."
He tried to stand, shakily.
She flicked her wand again.
"Sibilus Simius."
A chorus of invisible, mocking monkey whistles erupted around Julian. The sound followed him as he stumbled backward, clutching his wand uselessly. Every movement triggered another loud, taunting whistle.
His lip trembled.
Eira lowered her wand slightly, letting the air calm.
"You could surrender," she said with faux sympathy. "Though I understand—retreating from a girl must bruise the precious Trévér pride."
"Enough!" Julian cried, tears brimming now in his reddened eyes. "You're humiliating me!"
"Oh, Julian," Eira said, feigning shock. "You think I'm doing it?"
She stepped forward again, closer now, voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"You did this to yourself. You threw the glove. You started this duel. All I did was finish it. With flair."
The final spell came then—swift, elegant, quiet.
"Finita Risus."
The magical effects melted off Julian's face. The cream vanished. The feathers disintegrated. The monkeys silenced.
But the damage was already done.
Julian stood there—shoulders shaking, eyes wet, utterly humiliated in front of a dozens students.
And Eira turned her back on him.
The referee hesitated, glancing between them, then stepped forward and raised his voice.
"Duel over! Winner: Eira White of Ombrelune!"
Thunderous applause. Stomping. Whistles. Some students stood to cheer, others banged their hands on the railing in rhythm. Fleur clapped wildly, beaming.
Julian didn't move. His wand fell from his hand with a clatter.
And his tears finally spilled.
He turned away quickly, but too late—everyone saw.
Eira said nothing more. She didn't smirk. Didn't gloat.
She simply returned to her side of the arena, flicked her wand to vanish the dueling chalk line, and turned to Fleur.
"Well," she said calmly, "I think that went rather well."
"You're a monster," Fleur said through a grin. "A glorious, glorious monster."
They left Julian behind, still standing in the arena with shame crawling up his spine like frost.