The morning sun spilled across the academy courtyard, glinting off white towers and shimmering runes. Class A gathered at the eastern practice grounds, the air thick with anticipation—and tension.
Casian was already in position, tossing fire sparks casually between his hands, smirking like he owned the day.
Lyra stood nearby, blade sheathed but fingers flexing as if itching for combat. Her sharp gaze swept over everyone, noting weaknesses, potential threats, and—inevitably—me.
Mira appeared a few moments later, staff in hand, floating quietly above the ground as she took her place. She glanced at me, soft concern in her eyes, and offered a faint nod.
I returned it. Neutral. Calm. Observing.
The day's exercise was simple in description: team drills designed to test strategy, cooperation, and control under pressure. Simple—if you didn't mind navigating the egos of Class A.
Casian immediately tried to dominate the planning stage. "We go fast. Burn through them. No distractions."
Lyra cut in, voice sharp. "Speed without coordination gets people killed. We'll plan, execute clean, and adjust as needed."
Mira's tone was calm, almost soothing. "We need balance. Strength, strategy, and care. Everyone must support one another."
I stayed silent. Words from all three collided in the air like clashing swords. The group didn't notice me at first—except Mira, who met my eyes briefly, silently asking me to help keep the chaos in check.
We moved through the first drill. Casian charged recklessly, flames blazing. Lyra's strikes were precise, cutting channels in the enemy constructs. Mira patched and stabilized. I slipped between them, deflecting, nudging, redirecting energy as needed.
By the third drill, friction had grown. Casian snapped at Lyra; Lyra lashed back. Mira tried to mediate, but even her patience was stretched thin.
I raised my hand, silver energy flaring just enough to create a brief shield, separating the sparks of argument from the constructive chaos.
The group froze, eyes on me. Even Casian hesitated mid-gesture.
"Focus," I said quietly, calm, neutral. "We can't win by fighting each other."
Lyra's eyes narrowed—but there was no anger, only reluctant acknowledgment. Casian's smirk faltered, replaced with… thought. Mira smiled faintly.
By the final drill, we functioned almost like a team. Imperfectly, chaotically, but functional. The construct fell. Success, though minor, felt earned.
As we left the practice grounds, whispers trailed behind us:
"Grey-eyed transfer… he's keeping Casian in check.""Lyra actually followed his lead?""Mira… she trusts him?"
I didn't respond. I walked beside Mira, the quiet between us easy.
Half angel. Half demon. A curse wrapped in skin and bone.
Yet, for the first time, I felt a small spark: maybe surviving Class A wasn't just about hiding. Maybe it was about finding the right balance between chaos and control.
And maybe… allies could be found in unexpected places.