The Student Council Chamber sat high in the east tower of Duskfall Academy — a glass-panelled war room masquerading as a student-run governance body. The late sun fractured across the polished obsidian table, casting sharp geometric reflections on the floor. Seven chairs. Five filled. And the tension thick enough to carve with a blessed blade.
Soraya El-Amin flipped through the dossier with delicate fingers, her polished nails clacking softly on the pages. To anyone watching, her serene, almost bored expression gave little away. But beneath it? A silent storm of thoughts.
Red Rook Protocol Initiated.
Priority: Containment.
Classification: Illusion-affinity magic users exhibiting abnormal behavioural trends or showing potential for latent manipulation-based abilities.
The dossier had names. Faces. Footage.Calla Myre's file was near the top.
Soraya blinked once, the only outward sign of recognition. She didn't need to read it. She'd already memorized every word last night, alone under her reading lamp. But she kept her expression neutral. No one knew about her after-hours meetings with Calla. No one needed to.
"Are we all just going to pretend her name isn't there?" Milo Reyes, Treasurer, broke the silence with that ever-slick voice of his. He leaned back in his chair, feet on the table, always the icon of effortless rebellion despite his role in the council's most precise and ruthless calculations.
Vice President Haruki Mizushima adjusted his glasses and stared down the table. "The protocol's specific. Illusion casters within the 3% anomaly margin. It's not an accusation—yet. It's containment."
"A polite way of saying: we watch them till they trip."
Tatiana Volkova's name wasn't in the dossier, but her recent intervention had been noted.
"Rhea and Zach nearly blew apart their classroom," said Haruki, as if commenting on a weather report. "Over her."
A beat of silence.
"She's either dangerous, valuable… or both." President Elowen Marchand finally spoke — her voice smooth and controlled like velvet over a sword's edge. She had presence, the kind that silenced rooms. "And if Tatiana intervened personally, then we're looking at three elite heirs with opposing stances… over a girl who until last month couldn't hold a combat score above seventy."
"She doesn't belong," muttered the Enforcer, Jasper Rhys, arms crossed. "Put her on probation. Pull her from group projects. Let her crack. Or make a mistake."
Milo smirked. "Or she's playing us. And we're just late to the game."
Soraya kept silent.
She glanced down at the picture of Calla — a still from one of the surveillance mirrors. Expression blank. Eyes lost in thought. Barely a threat, unless you knew what to look for.
And Soraya did.She'd seen the cracks in the mask — the little things Calla never meant to show. The way her posture changed when no one was looking. The slight twitch in her fingers when she read battle strategies. The way she never forgot anything… ever.
"She's hiding something," Soraya thought."And I want to be the first to understand what."
"Action items?" asked Haruki.
Elowen tapped the table once. "Assign shadows to everyone on the Red Rook list. Discreet. If they resist or flee, we escalate. We want leverage before Hero Festival. We want answers before mid-term combat trials."
"And Calla?" Milo asked, eyes glinting.
A pause. Then Elowen smiled faintly.
"Let her dance a little longer."
—
You can't learn a mind by watching it think. You learn it by watching it break.
That's why I brought her here. The south courtyard — abandoned since the last campus expansion. Concrete fractured by roots, graffiti older than we are, the air still thick with that damp, mineral smell after last week's rain.
Calla was already here when I arrived.
That surprised me. Not because she was on time — anyone with a self-preservation instinct shows up early to a predator's den. No. It was the way she stood. Perfectly still. Book bag slung lazily over one shoulder, like this was just another afternoon.
I wanted her to flinch when I approached but she didn't.
Day one had been foundations — brutal, yes. I don't pull punches. But it was also a map. I needed to see her pressure points. Her limits. The illusionist affinity is a notoriously evasive school of magic. Smoke, mirrors, clever vanishing acts. Rarely confrontational.
But she adapted too quickly yesterday.
Too precisely.
Today I changed the tempo.
"Again," I barked. My hand clenched and gravity snapped beneath her feet — a sudden shift that buckled her knees. Her palms slapped the stone. She gritted her teeth but didn't cry out.
Smart girl. Pain is information, not a weakness.
We cycled through more punishing iterations — controlled descent, blindfolded reaction drills, false terrain shifts. I even embedded noise disruptions in her ear to trigger disorientation. Every time she fell, I watched how long she stayed down.
She always got up.
Not angry. Not afraid. Just… calculating.
At hour two, I felt the change.
It was subtle. My internal gauge — the instinct I trust more than breath — flickered. Something was off. The air tasted wrong. My pulse adjusted.
"On your feet," I said.
Calla stood. Her arms shook, but her face didn't twitch. She stared straight through me.
Then she blinked.
And the courtyard… shifted.
I didn't feel it happen. That's what shook me. One moment, it was me, her, cracked stone, overgrown weeds. The next, I was standing in an exact replica — same angles, same cracks in the wall — only something was inverted. A spatial vertigo crawled up my spine. My own gravity field felt muted.
The illusion was seamless.
It lasted exactly twenty-one seconds.
And then it broke like glass.
I snapped back. Back to her — standing in the real courtyard — swaying slightly, lips parted in exhaustion.
I hadn't even felt the shift.
I was halfway through a breath when I realized I'd whispered it out loud:
"…There you are."
Her eyes met mine.
Not smug. Not pleased. Just… seen.
Somewhere far across the ruin, on the roof of the old admin building, a glint caught my eye.
A girl stood there. Watching.
Soraya El-Amin. Perfect uniform. Smile plastered on like paint. One hand holding a parasol like we weren't all training in the middle of a graveyard.
She'd seen everything.
Of course she had.
I didn't wave. Neither did she.
But I noted the angle of her shoulders.
Prepared.
Curious.
Calla followed my gaze, but I shook my head.
"Forget her," I said. "You've got more important things to focus on."
She didn't argue.
That was new, too.
—
I watched them from a distance.
Calla and Rhea.
One drenched in sweat, the other in sunlight.
And for a moment, I wondered which of them was truly the weapon.
Rhea had her on the edge — barking orders, slashing with words sharp as steel. But Calla… Calla didn't snap with violence. She snapped with precision. I felt the illusion crack reality for just a few seconds. And from Rhea's expression — the second it melted — I knew she had felt it too.
"There you are," Rhea murmured.
I smirked. My part was done for now. I turned and walked away.
The halls of Duskfall were quieter today.
Or maybe it was just me, listening differently.
I took my time getting to the library. Walked past the courtyard, the training wing, even the greenhouse. Familiar places with unfamiliar shadows. Students whispered like wind, darting from bench to bench, from conversation to conversation, all pretending their lives weren't built atop lies.
And then she appeared.
"Elowen," I said, pretending it was a greeting.
She stood beneath a cherry tree, sunlight catching on her silver pin — the Council crest.
Unmoving. Observing.
"Soraya," she replied with a nod. Her voice was as flat and polite as always, like a blade sheathed just barely.
"Didn't think I'd see you out here," I said lightly, hands in my pockets. "Don't you usually haunt the council room like a well-dressed ghost?"
A flicker. Barely. But I caught it.
"I needed air," she answered calmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Even ghosts like to breathe sometimes."
We walked side by side. Not together — just… aligned for the moment.
"Duskfall's a mess of towers and tradition," I muttered. "You ever get used to it?"
"No," she said without hesitation. "But you learn how to walk the tightropes without looking down."
Small talk. Empty words.
But beneath it, we were both listening for something else.
"The Hero Festival's in two days," she said as we reached the library steps.
I hummed. "You think anyone'll die this year?"
Elowen gave a soft laugh. "Only reputations."
Inside, the library smelled of dust, old paper, and secrets no one wanted to admit were still breathing.
We passed the lower wings, the reading alcoves, the quiet zones. I turned toward the older section, but before I could step ahead—
"Soraya," Elowen said gently.
I stopped.
"Careful with your night walks," she said, voice light, even friendly. "The Forbidden Wing doesn't take kindly to curious feet."
I turned back slowly. No surprise on my face. No guilt.
Just a tilt of the head. "Funny," I said. "You say that like someone told you a story. You know how dangerous misinformation can be."
She smiled — all teeth and softness. "You're right. I'll be sure to bring evidence next time."
"Do," I said. "Rumours are a bad currency to trade in. But you already know that, don't you, President?"
"I'll note that down," she said, turning away with a polite nod.
I watched her disappear between the shelves, her steps measured, her exit flawless. But she'd given herself away — just a little.
She knew. About the Forbidden Wing, about Calla and about me.
And I knew how.
Ari Vos.
The school's walking network.
The girl who knew everything worth knowing and three things you wish you didn't.
She didn't just hear secrets — she collected them. Filed them. Bartered with them.
And now… one of them had made it to the President.
Good.
Let them come.
The truth's not what haunts people.
It's the silence that comes after they hear it.