Classes in Arclight Academy felt more like performances than lessons. Professors paraded across marble floors, robes trailing, as students feigned interest or plotted new avenues of noble one-upmanship. Surviving the first two hours required a mix of looking busy, keeping my head down, and praying none of the teaching staff noticed my utter confusion.
History of Mysticism, Room 107, was my next trial. I slid into a seat near the window, hoping to disappear.
Wrong move.
Elane Farris was already there, hunched over a notebook filled with swirling calligraphy. She glanced up, and her eyes did the thing they always did—wide, searching, a flicker of hope shadowed by something much deeper.
She offered a tentative smile. "You made it early."
I nodded, unsure if conversation with her was safe or dangerous.
For some reason, Elane blushed, burying her face in her papers.
A few seconds later, Seraphina breezed in, taking the seat behind me with a flourish. I resisted the urge to tense up. Over the next several minutes, the classroom filled—Liora silently choosing a seat far away, but never out of sight; Cassandra striding in, nodding grimly at the professor and fixing me with a look that could bend steel.
Professor Quill, a wisp of a man with wild silver hair, launched into the day's lecture on ancient relics and their historical wielders. My mind drifted.
A paper slid across my desk. Elane had written a single line in tiny, looping script.
"Do you need help with today's notes?"
That shouldn't have made my heart race, but it did.
She bit her lip, sliding the note closer. I nodded, grateful, awkward. A scribbled reply: "Thanks. I'm not great at this stuff."
From behind, Seraphina let out a dramatic sigh, loud enough for both of us to hear. "If you keep struggling, Riven, I can lend my alchemy formulas. Or a stamina tonic, perhaps? You look tired."
Cassandra, from the next row, grunted. "He needs discipline, not tonics."
Liora, quiet as a breath, murmured without looking up, "Sometimes, a bit of magic is all it takes to understand the world." She traced a symbol in the condensation of her water glass.
I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to become part of the architecture.
Class ended with Professor Quill's usual flurry of homework assignments. As students filed out, Cassandra blocked my escape, posture like a wall.
"You're on lunch duty with me. Don't be late."
I must've made a face, because she added in a softer tone, "There's a reason. Trust me."
Elane offered a tiny wave as she left; Seraphina winked knowingly, and Liora simply vanished.
I trailed after Cassandra, half-dreading, half-wondering what lunch duty entailed.
She stopped in a sunlit alcove, arms crossed. "You have to be careful. Not everyone in this academy is your friend."
That, at least, was true.
She glanced down, her expression softening just a fraction. "Don't trust offers that seem too good. Promise me."
I hesitated. She looked at me as if the words mattered.
"I promise," I said.
Her lips quirked. For her, this was probably a smile.
As the bell called us back to our routines, I realized that for all my plans to be invisible, I was becoming impossible to ignore.
Every interaction—every silent thought—had become ammunition in a secret war I didn't know I was fighting.
And behind each word, each look, lay truths I was nowhere near ready to face.
[End of Chapter 3]