The sky was darker than a normal evening sky — not merely dim, but unnaturally heavy, as though the heavens themselves had been smothered under a thick blanket of shadow. The clouds hung low and unmoving, their edges tinged with a faint violet glow that pulsed like a dying heartbeat. Even the moon seemed reluctant to shine, hiding behind the gloom as if it wanted no part in whatever was unfolding below.
The air was tense with dark energy, thick and metallic, clinging to the skin like cold mist. It felt wrong — not the usual hum of magic that drifted through the Academy grounds, but something heavier, older, almost like death had wandered into the compound and was quietly looking around for victims. Students whispered nervously in small clusters, their eyes darting toward the Royal Chambers, where the oppressive aura seemed strongest.
Lucen felt the shift immediately. His chest tightened, and a familiar dread crawled up his spine. This atmosphere… this suffocating pressure… it could only be the doing of Princess Nyreal. He had seen her wrath before — the way the world dimmed around her when she was displeased, the way the air tightened as if bracing for judgment. If she was in this mood, then something had gone terribly wrong. And if she believed another massacre was necessary…
Lucen swallowed hard. The students were in danger. He scanned the crowd, searching for her. It didn't take long.
Princess Nyreal stood in front of the Royal Chambers, arms crossed, posture rigid, her expression carved into a straight, merciless line. She looked like the astute chairperson of a tribunal, silently presiding over the aftermath of a beat-down she hadn't even needed to deliver yet. The students kept a respectful distance, as though her aura alone could strike them down.
Lucen rushed to her side. "My Princess…"
Eiran stayed shrunk behind him, trying to make himself smaller, as if the darkness itself might swallow him if he stood too tall. His eyes flicked nervously between Lucen and the Princess, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.
Princess Nyreal didn't look at Lucen at first. Her gaze remained fixed on the trembling student behind him. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold — colder than Lucen had ever heard it. "I am made to believe that he is the reason you have failed to perform your duty for hours…"
Eiran stiffened. Lucen felt him shrink even further.
Princess Nyreal's eyes slid to Lucen, sharp and unblinking. "What is that?"
Lucen swallowed. "He is Eiran, a friend I made."
"Hi…" Eiran attempted, lifting a hand in a small, awkward wave.
Princess Nyreal didn't even glance at him. It was as if he didn't exist.
"So you left my side to make friends?" she asked, raising a brow. "What happened to, 'It is my duty, so I have to execute it, no questions asked'?"
Lucen opened his mouth — he wanted to defend himself, truly defend himself — but the words caught in his throat. He bit his tongue, knowing one wrong sentence could cross a line he wasn't ready to cross.
Eiran flinched behind him, and Lucen could feel the discomfort radiating off him. He flashed a quick look back and gently held Eiran's arm, silently urging him not to speak, not to move, not to provoke her.
Princess Nyreal's eyes narrowed as they drifted from Lucen to Eiran, then down to where their hands met. Her expression shifted — not anger, not jealousy, but something colder. Disgust. As though she could see the connection between them and found it… distasteful.
"This is new," she said, her eyebrow rising slowly, deliberately.
Lucen's eyes snapped from her face to their joined hands. Realizing how it must look, he tore his hand away from Eiran's as though burned. "Sorry, My Princess." He bowed deeply, hoping the gesture would soften her mood.
It didn't.
Princess Nyreal exhaled through her nose — not quite a sigh, not quite annoyance — then turned her attention back to the crowd, resuming her silent, critical spectating as though the interruption had been nothing more than a fly buzzing past her ear.
Eiran leaned closer to Lucen and whispered, "Is she always like this?"
Lucen didn't dare look at him. "No," he whispered back. "Sometimes she's worse."
Eiran's eyes widened. "Oh. Great. Fantastic. Love that for me."
Princess Nyreal's voice cut through the air like a blade. "I can hear you."
Eiran nearly jumped out of his skin. "I - I wasn't - I mean - I didn't -"
Lucen stepped forward quickly. "My Princess, he meant no disrespect."
"I should hope not," she replied, her tone icy. "I would hate to think your… friend… is foolish enough to speak out of turn."
Eiran swallowed so loudly that Lucen could hear it.
Princess Nyreal finally turned her full attention to Lucen, her gaze sharp enough to slice through bone. The air around her seemed to tighten, as though even the shadows were bracing for judgment. "You still have not told me why you abandoned your 'duty'. Explain yourself."
Lucen straightened immediately. "I was not abandoning my duty. I was simply—"
"Laughing?" she interrupted, the word delivered with surgical precision.
Lucen froze. His mouth stayed open, but no sound came out.
Princess Nyreal tilted her head slightly, studying him the way a scholar studies an unexpected anomaly. "I heard it. All of it. The laughter. The shouting. The… joy." She said the last word as if it were a foreign object she had found stuck to her shoe. "You were enjoying yourself."
Lucen's throat tightened. "I-"
"You," she continued, "who swore to remain by my side. You, who insisted that duty came before everything else. You, who claimed you would never be distracted."
Behind Lucen, Eiran whispered, "She's really laying into you."
Lucen elbowed him sharply without turning.
Princess Nyreal's eyes flicked to Eiran, not with jealousy, but with the cold efficiency of someone identifying a source of noise. "Does he always speak this much?"
"No, My Princess," Lucen said quickly. "He's just… nervous."
"I am not nervous," Eiran whispered.
"You are absolutely nervous," Lucen hissed back.
Princess Nyreal's eyebrow twitched — the closest she ever came to showing irritation. "Both of you. Silence."
They obeyed instantly.
She stepped closer to Lucen, her voice dropping to a low, controlled whisper. "You disappoint me."
The words hit harder than any physical blow. Lucen's chest tightened, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.
Eiran, despite his fear, leaned in and whispered, "Hey… you okay?"
Lucen didn't answer. He couldn't.
Princess Nyreal's gaze snapped to Eiran again. "You. Step forward."
Eiran froze. "Me?"
"Yes. You."
He looked at Lucen for help. Lucen gave him a tiny nod — the best reassurance he could offer.
Eiran stepped forward, trembling slightly. "Um… hello?"
Princess Nyreal studied him with the same intensity she used when evaluating battlefield reports. "You are the one who kept him from his duty."
Eiran blinked rapidly. "I… I didn't keep him. We were just—"
"Laughing," she finished.
Eiran hesitated. "Yes?"
Princess Nyreal stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, with complete seriousness, she said, "I do not understand it."
Eiran blinked again. "Understand… what?"
"Laughter," she said simply. "The point of it. The purpose. The appeal."
Eiran opened his mouth, then closed it. "Oh. Uh… well… it's… fun?"
Princess Nyreal looked at him as though he had attempted to explain advanced mathematics by waving his hands.
Lucen stepped in quickly. "My Princess, it was harmless. Truly."
"Harmless," she repeated, tasting the word as if testing its validity. "We shall determine that."
She turned away from them, sleeping robe sweeping behind her with the precision of a blade being sheathed.
Lucen exhaled shakily.
Eiran whispered, "She terrifies me."
Lucen nodded. "She terrifies everyone."
"Even you?"
Lucen hesitated. "Especially me."
Eiran let out a breath. "Well… that's comforting."
Lucen almost smiled.
Almost.
"Well," Princess Nyreal said, her voice dropping into a cold, measured register, "while you two were busy having fun… I was attacked." Her eyes never left the courtyard — now a scarred, smoking battlefield — as if replaying the moment in her mind.
The boys froze, their breath catching, eyes widening in perfect, horrified unison. "Attacked?!" they echoed, but the word felt small against the dread curling through the air.