The air in the hidden valley of Eldoria Academy tasted of ozone and ancient secrets. Princess Elara of the Fae realm stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, her heart a drum against her ribs. She adjusted the strap of her satchel—a simple human-made thing that felt foreign in her hands. It had been three months since the attack. Three months since the Dark Queen's shadow had swallowed her kingdom, forcing her to flee through a portal to Earth. Now, she was here, in this sanctuary for magical beings, a place where she was supposed to learn how to fight back. But standing before the towering, ivy-covered gates, she felt anything but regal. She felt like an imposter.
"State your name and realm," a voice echoed from the stone archway.
"Elara," she said, then paused. *Princess* Elara felt too heavy a title to bear now. "Of the Summer Court." The lie tasted bitter. The Summer Court was ashes. She was a princess without a court.
The gates swung open silently, revealing a campus that stole her breath. Buildings of shimmering crystal and living wood rose from the ground, connected by bridges of light. Students with wings, scales, and shimmering auras moved between classes. Laughter and the crackle of magic filled the air. It was beautiful, but to Elara, it was a stark reminder of everything she'd lost.
A flash of silver caught her eye. A tall young man with storm-gray eyes and a smirk leaned against a tree nearby. His uniform—a deep blue tunic with silver trim—was impeccable, but his posture was deliberately lazy. He watched her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Lost, little fairy?" he drawled, pushing off the tree. He moved with the grace of a predator. "Or just admiring the view?"
Elara lifted her chin. "Neither. Just wondering if arrogance is part of the curriculum here."
He laughed, a rich, warm sound that didn't match his sharp eyes. "Theron. Prince of the Winter Court. And you are?"
"Elara." She didn't offer more. She didn't want his pity.
"Elara," he repeated, as if tasting her name. His gaze lingered on the faint scar along her temple—a souvenir from the Dark Queen's attack. "You look like you've seen a shadow or two."
Before she could retort, a bell chimed. "Welcome to Survival Magic 101," Theron said, gesturing toward a nearby tower. "Try not to get eaten by a grimoire on your first day."
---
The classroom was a cavernous space filled with floating orbs of light and the scent of crushed herbs. Professor Thorne, a stern-faced man with ram's horns, began the lesson by conjuring a storm cloud over his desk. Elara tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting. *Why am I here? How can I lead when I couldn't even save my own home?* Her magic felt like a sputtering candle, not the blazing sun it once was.
"Princess," Theron's voice whispered in her ear. She flinched. He'd slid into the seat beside her. "Your aura is flickering like a dying star. Distracted?"
Elara glared at him. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Only when I'm saving lives," he said, his eyes suddenly serious. "Or kingdoms."
Before she could decipher that, the classroom doors burst open. Not students, but *shadows*—twisted, snarling creatures with claws of pure darkness. *Dredgehounds*. The Dark Queen's scouts.
Panic erupted. Spells flew, but the creatures absorbed them like ink. One lunged at a young witch. Elara acted without thinking. She threw out her hand, and a shield of golden light erupted, deflecting the blow. The creature recoiled, hissing.
"Not bad," Theron said, already on his feet. His hands glowed with icy energy. "But shields won't save you. You have to fight."
"I *know* how to fight," she snapped, though her heart was racing. She hadn't used her magic offensively since the attack. What if she failed? What if she froze?
A dredgehound charged at Theron. He blasted it with ice, but another lunged from behind. Elara reacted. She didn't think about her kingdom or her doubts. She thought of the spark of defiance that had made her run, not surrender. She thrust her palm forward. A beam of pure sunlight—bright and fierce—erupted, vaporizing the creature.
Theron stared at her, his icy facade cracking. "That," he said, breathless, "was impressive."
The professor and other students finished off the remaining creatures. In the sudden quiet, Elara's hands trembled. She'd done it. She'd fought back.
Theron stepped closer. "You know," he said softly, "the girl I knew at the Summer Solstice Ball wouldn't have hesitated. She'd have lit up the whole room." His eyes searched hers. "You've changed. But that fire? It's still there."
*The Solstice Ball.* Elara froze. She'd been twelve. She'd danced with a shy, serious Winter Prince who'd stepped on her toes and made her laugh until her sides ached. That boy had vanished after his court fell to the same Dark Queen a year later.
"*Theron?*" she breathed.
He offered a small, almost vulnerable smile. "Took you long enough, Elara."
As the professor debriefed the class, Elara's mind spun. Theron had survived too. He was here, arrogant and infuriating, but alive. And he'd recognized her.
Later, as they walked through the healing gardens, Theron's shoulder brushed hers. "The Dark Queen took everything from both of us," he said quietly. "But we're here. And this place? It's not just a school. It's an army in the making." He stopped, facing her. "You want to save your kingdom? So do I. Maybe we can stop running."
Elara looked at him—the prince she remembered, now hardened and fierce, yet still carrying that old kindness in his eyes. For the first time since she'd fled, hope didn't feel like a lie. It felt like a seed cracking open in the dark.
She smiled. A real one. "Then let's learn how to fight."
Above them, the first stars of the evening winked into view, as if the sky itself was whispering: *Begin.*