The halls were still again.
The kind of still that made the world feel too big and my footsteps too loud. I walked in shadows, the hem of my hoodie brushing my thighs, my presence cloaked in a soft glamour. Not invisibility, no—too risky. Just something light. Unassuming. A presence so mundane no one would remember it. Fading into perception's blind spot.
Like I always did.
The door to the restricted library clicked open as soon as I pressed my hand to the rune-locked handle. I stepped inside without a sound.
She was already there.
Leaning over a tower of parchment scrolls, ink-stained fingertips brushing notes only she could decipher, Soraya El-Amin didn't so much as glance up when I entered. The candlelight caught her features—delicate, severe, regal. Her braid was pinned high tonight, and she wore her student council jacket over a silk blouse, as if she hadn't come here planning to break a dozen rules with me.
"You're late," she murmured.
"You're early," I replied, shrugging as I slid into the seat across from her. "Again."
She sighed, setting her quill aside with practiced care. "You speak to your seniors with that tone?"
I smirked and slouched forward. "You were the one who told me to stop acting polite."
Her lips twitched. "I didn't tell you to be insufferable."
"Too late."
She finally met my eyes. Her gaze was sharp, but not cold. She looked at me the way a seasoned chess master might look at an opponent who'd just started playing interesting moves.
"I've never seen such an inconsiderate second-year," she said.
"Then you haven't been looking hard enough."
That earned me a soft laugh, breathy and short. Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted—like a blade slipping back into its sheath.
"Let's not waste time," she said. "The surveillance issue."
I leaned in. "It's increased?"
"Strategically," Soraya said, voice hushed now. "Certain dorm halls, training rooms, even parts of the east greenhouse. All with cloaked sensors keyed to magical signatures."
My brow furrowed. "Specific students?"
She nodded. "I confirmed seven so far. All second or third-years. All with illusion-based affinities."
I blinked. "That's... oddly specific."
She nodded again, flipping through her notes. "You, me, Ayaka Tomlinson, Kieran Oduba, Samira Cho, Javier Yin, and one other student whose records have been redacted in parts."
"Redacted?" I echoed.
She looked up. "Like they were afraid of anyone knowing who they were tracking. That's never a good sign."
I sat back, absorbing. "You think it's a villain?"
Soraya's eyes narrowed. "If it is, they've embedded deep. Too deep. And if it isn't, then there's something else going on—something institutional."
I crossed my arms. "And you're warning me because...?"
"Because you're not as invisible as you think you are," she said, deadpan. "And if you keep playing two personas—flawless student by day, shadow-footed library ghost by night—you'll slip. And someone will notice."
I stared at her for a beat. Then, with a small shrug: "Thanks for the unnecessary warning."
"You're welcome for the favour you'll pretend not to owe me."
That earned a snort. We let the silence settle after that, the pages turning between us like clockwork mechanisms winding down.
Somewhere beyond these stone walls, the preparations for the Hero Festival were underway—banners hung, weapons polished, scouts reviewing combat footage. The academy buzzed with anticipation.
And here we were. Picking apart the school from the inside.
Reading spells no one had permission to touch.
Studying secrets meant to stay buried.
This is going to be troublesome.
Especially with the festival only days away.
And I had a role to play.
A mask to maintain.
And no room left to stumble.
—
The classroom always smelled faintly of old wards and stronger perfume. I hated both.
I sat in my usual spot, two rows from the front, close enough to be seen, far enough to be forgotten. Rhea had taken to sitting beside me these days. I don't remember when it started, not exactly. Maybe the day she shoved those gossiping girls into a wall with nothing but a glare. Or maybe when I handed her a pen during midterms and she whispered, "You're not as useless as they say." Compliment? Insult? With her, it was always a coin toss.
Whatever it was, I wasn't being bullied anymore. That was… a plus.
She glanced at me now, brushing her sleek bangs behind one ear as she scrolled on her tablet. Her uniform was pristine as always. Regal. Intimidating. Like a royal guard with a manicure.
The door opened. Our homeroom teacher, Chrona, strolled in — the heel of her boots echoing against the enchanted tiles like clock hands striking noon.
"Alright, settle down." She raised a hand. Everyone obeyed like trained familiars.
Even the delinquents in the back sat up straighter. When Chrona spoke, you listened.
"We're five days into the month. Which means…" She clapped once. "Hero Festival in three days."
A chorus of excited murmurs followed. Rhea raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged.
Hero Festival.
It wasn't a celebration — not really. More like a public display of national pride. A three-day, academy-wide performance of curated violence, sanctioned magic, and political theatre.
Each of the three major academies would be sending their best second and third-years. Think sports day, if sports included combat rituals, magical showcases, and hostage rescue drills judged by literal members of Parliament. This was when the sponsors came. When internships were handed out like candy to children with glowing hands.
Day One was Combat Showcase: duels between students. One-on-one matches. Show your raw strength. Elementalists, summoners, martial adepts — they thrived in these brackets.
Day Two was Tactical Trials: group missions. Simulated emergencies. Coordinated attacks. It measured leadership and teamwork. Mostly where support mages, illusionists, and strategists got to shine.
Day Three was the Arcane Parade: a public performance. Illusion walks, enchantment displays, crowd charmers, city-wide spellwork projections. Students crafted symbolic magic sequences, told stories through light and power, designed to awe. The public loved that one.
The whole event was televised. It was meant to "inspire the next generation," they said. What it really did was decide which families got invitations to higher circles.
Chrona leaned back against the desk. "This year, our school is hosting. That means you're all under scrutiny. You'll be on home turf, but the pressure is higher. Make us proud. Or at least don't embarrass me."
A few students laughed nervously.
"You'll be given three days to prepare. No classes until then. Train. Design your sequences. Coordinate with your team leaders."
She scanned the room, eyes stopping briefly on me. Just for a second.
Then she left. Just like that.
Three days off. Three days to train. Three days to keep up the perfect image.
Rhea leaned over as soon as the door clicked shut.
"You doing anything special?"
I blinked. "For the festival?"
"No, for the next three days. Obviously for the festival."
I faked a yawn. "Haven't decided."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."
I smiled. "Probably."
She scoffed and turned away. I caught her smiling too.
The Hero Festival. It was a stage. A playground. A trap. And in three days, everyone would be watching.
Which meant, for me?
Three days to be invisible.
Or unforgettable.
* * *
I didn't expect him to stop me.
The bell had rung. The classroom buzzed with chairs scraping the floor, voices rising with excitement over the upcoming festival, and I was just about to walk out with Rhea—close enough now that we didn't question the habit.
Then he stood in front of me.
Zach Monroe.
With two of his friends flanking him like loyal dogs.
I froze.
Not in fear.
Well… partly in fear. Mostly in reflex.
I hadn't even heard him approach.
"Hey, freak," he said. His tone was smooth, but sharp—like a scalpel dipped in honey. "Got a minute?"
My throat closed up. My tongue went stiff. It was like being twelve again—cornered in an alley behind my old school with someone's spit in my hair.
"I… uh…" I stammered. "W-what do you want?"
Zach didn't answer with words. He stepped closer—and shoved me.
I hit the floor hard, palms catching me just before my face did. The thud echoed in my ears. I blinked up at him, heart hammering, too dazed to speak.
"You think you're hot shit now?" he said. "Just because Rhea picked you up like a stray cat? You get a few wins, a new friend, and suddenly you're too good for the floor?"
"I—I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Enough."
Rhea's voice was calm, cold, and terrifying. She stepped forward, her black curls casting shadows across her eyes. Her gravity wasn't magic—yet—but it felt heavier than anyone's in the room.
Zach sneered. "Well, well. She speaks. Thought you were mute for half of last year. Now you're barking for the runt?"
"I'm agreeing with you," Rhea said mildly. "She is weak. She is awkward. And yes, I did pick her up like a stray. But unlike you, I don't throw away something just because it bites back."
The words weren't kind. They weren't even meant to protect me.
But they landed like a slap to Zach's pride.
His lip curled. "Watch your mouth, Amani."
He grabbed her collar—like a brute. His knuckles turned white.
My breath hitched.
The pressure between them was suffocating. I could feel Rhea's mana flexing under her skin, tightening in her spine, as if waiting for a cue to explode.
But before it did—
A wall of jagged ice snapped up between them. Tall. Thin. Deadly.
Tatiana Volkova stepped forward, hand still raised, her grey eyes sharp as winter.
"Ice magic or not, this is still a classroom," she said flatly. "Don't make me remind you twice."
The room stilled.
Everyone could feel it now.
The air turned sharp, laced with mana and contempt.
Zach wasn't done, though.
He looked ready to shove through the wall—but then another presence made itself known.
Kai Nakamura.
He leaned against a desk nearby, arms crossed, his earphones dangling around his neck like a casual threat. No words. Just a raised brow.
Then Devon Lin stomped over, heat rippling off him like asphalt in the sun. "You idiots trying to blow up the room?" he growled.
Maria Estrella—because of course she was here too—tilted her head and muttered, "Someone really needs to put a bell on Zach."
All of them now. The seven students at the top of our year.
And me.
Right in the middle.
The silence became unbearable.
Zach stepped back, finally letting go of Rhea's collar. His face was tight with rage. "Fine. I'm done. Waste of time anyway."
He turned on his heel and stormed off with his friends, leaving cold tension and cracked pride behind.
Tatiana let the wall melt into shimmering water. Then, unexpectedly, she offered me her hand. "You alright?"
I hesitated—then took it.
She helped me up with a strength that was too elegant to be brute force. I nodded, brushing dust off my skirt. "T-thank you."
Rhea stepped beside me again and said nothing. Just gave Tatiana a slight nod.
"Let's go," she told me.
I followed. Because what else was I supposed to do?
But as we walked out of the room, every pair of eyes still burned into my back. I could feel it.
A shift.
Like the lines of war had been drawn.
And somehow—I was standing on the fault line.