The first day at Virel Academy was never calm.
Especially not when your power was so unstable you didn't even trust yourself.
Aria adjusted the silver clasp of her navy-blue uniform—the color of Thalassa Wing—and walked with her back straight across the Courtyard of Elements. Around her, the air smelled of salt and morning dew. Water students moved in silence, like waves careful not to break the surface.
But as she passed the central fountain, something slipped.
A tremor in her chest. An unwanted memory.
The water in the fountain surged over the rim, soaking the shoes of two Thalassa students.
"Aria!" hissed a girl with braids. "Again?"
"I'm sorry," Aria murmured, fists clenched.
"Your grandmother could calm entire tides with a sigh. You can't even handle a fountain. What a disgrace to the lineage."
Aria said nothing. She just lifted her chin and kept walking.
Control. Always control.
On the other side of the courtyard, an explosion made everyone turn.
CRACK!
The fire fountain—a sculpture of eternal embers—erupted in blue flames. Pyra students stumbled back, coughing. At the center of the chaos, uniform singed at the edges and hair half-untamed, stood Irish.
"Irish!" a Pyra boy shouted. "You can't just walk in like that! This isn't a survival camp!"
"And why not?" she shot back, shaking her hands. "If the fire answers me, it's because it wants to. Not my fault it's… passionate."
Awkward laughter. Some nodded. Others frowned.
Irish was good—everyone knew that.
But she was also unpredictable. And at Virel, unpredictability was dangerous.
That's when their eyes met.
Aria, standing by the water fountain, gaze as cold as the ice she couldn't yet summon.
Irish, wrapped in smoke from her own disaster, wearing a smirk that held no warmth.
They stared.
Not with curiosity.
Not with admiration.
With disdain.
"Would you look at that," Irish called out, loud enough for Aria to hear. "The water princess, scared of her own shadow."
"And you," Aria replied, voice low but sharp as shattered glass, "don't even know if your fire protects you… or burns you from the inside."
An uncomfortable silence spread.
Thalassa students gathered around Aria.
Pyra students formed a circle around Irish.
As if the courtyard had split in two.
"Fire and water never mix," someone from Terra Wing warned.
"And especially not when one is pure and the other… chaos," added a Zephyra girl, teasing a breeze between her fingers.
Irish let out a dry laugh.
"Then don't mix. But don't get in my way."
Aria turned away without a word.
But before she left, her eyes found Irish's one last time.
Just for a second.
And in that second, the water in the fountain trembled… and the flames on the ground flickered.
It wasn't imagination.
They both felt it.
But neither would admit it.
That afternoon, in Basic Elemental Combat, Professor Orin—a broad-shouldered man from Terra Wing, scars of cooled lava tracing his arms—glanced at his roster.
"Today, cross-wing pairing. To balance energies."
He paused for effect.
"Aria of Thalassa Wing…"
Irish straightened her back, as if she already knew what was coming.
"…versus Irish of Pyra Wing."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Aria frowned.
Irish smiled. A smile that promised nothing good.
"Perfect," Irish said, stepping into the combat circle. "Now you'll learn water doesn't always win."
"And you'll learn," Aria replied, stepping in with steady strides, "that fire without control… is just noise."
The professor raised his hand.
"Begin."
Aria lashed out with a whip of water.
Irish met it with a wall of flame.
Steam exploded between them, filling the air with hot mist.
For a moment, they couldn't see each other.
Only heard the other's ragged breath.
And something else: a heartbeat.
Fast. Nervous.
Too human for mere rivalry.
The professor called it off before things escalated.
"Poor control. Both of you."
"Of course," Irish said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Hard not to, when I'm stuck fighting someone who's afraid to get wet."
Aria didn't answer.
But as she gathered her towel, she noticed something:
On the floor where Irish had stood, a small blue flame still burned… consuming nothing.
Just glowing.
As if waiting.
Aria stamped it out with her boot.
The flame died.
But that night, in her room, she dreamed of warmth.
And hated herself for it.