The Next Morning – Phoenixes Dormitory The early morning sunlight streamed through the brilliant stained-glass windows of the Phoenixes dormitory. While his peers were frantically straightening their ties or smoothing disheveled hair to make it on time, Juston was a solitary note of calm in the hurried symphony. He sat there leisurely, flipping through the pages of an ancient tome on the history of Serpentis. His mind had drifted far from reality, immersed in the archaic legends of the mythical serpent.
Suddenly, a rough hand snatched the book away. Juston flinched slightly, his brows knitting together.
"Oh, look who's daydreaming about Serpentis! Quite the snake-lover, aren't you, Juston?"
Derisive laughter erupted across the dormitory. Whispers began to swarm:
"I've seen him clutching that book constantly lately."
"Only a freshman and already fantasizing about the serpent emblem?"
Without a word, Juston stood up, walked straight into the crowd, and decisively reclaimed his book. His gaze was icy:
"I have no intention of joining the Serpentis house."
Seeing the rising tension, Neval quickly stepped in, pulling his friend away from the prying eyes.
At the Great Hall, Juston's breakfast tasted strangely bland. He faced his plate in stony silence, his earlier anger still smoldering like dying embers. Lena noticed his odd demeanor and shot Neval a questioning look. Neval sighed, whispering:
"Some people brought up the Serpentis house again just to mock him."
Rissy looked at Juston with concern:
"Are you alright?"
Juston offered no reply, merely a silent shake of the head, leaving Rissy momentarily bewildered.
Magical Creatures Class
The class took place at the edge of the forest behind the academy, where the air smelled of damp earth and pine resin. On long rows of tables, eggs shielded by magical seals emitted a faint, ethereal glow. But Lena Julier was drawn to something else.
Behind the classroom area sat a forbidden chamber. Lena was captivated by a flickering light emanating from within. Driven by curiosity, she used a spell to bypass the sealed door. Inside, piles of blankets and pillows were stacked high, with a soft radiance pulsing from within the layers.
Lena held her breath as she approached. Tucked between the fabrics was a colossal dragon egg, roughly the size of four chicken eggs combined. The shell was a deep emerald green, interlaced with shimmering veins that looked as if they were embroidered with magical thread.
"A dragon egg?"
Lena whispered, her breath hitching in astonishment. Suddenly, a thin streak of light flashed beneath the surface, as if a creature were stirring. Her heart hammered against her chest. Then, a sharp "crack" echoed. A fissure stretched across the egg, and the protective seal flared intensely. Instinctively, Lena reached out to steady it.
A surge of magic pulsed through her hand—not painful, but bone-chillingly cold. Hearing Rissy calling from outside, Lena recoiled and hurriedly fled the room.
"Where have you been?" Neval asked as she appeared, looking dazed.
Juston said nothing, but his eyes immediately locked onto the strange mark on Lena's hand.
"What... is that on your hand?" A peculiar burn—in the shape of a phoenix feather—stood out vividly on her skin. It glowed a brilliant orange before fading away.
Rissy glanced toward the sealed room, asking suspiciously:
"Did you go in there? Was there something inside?"
Lena pulled her three friends toward the door, pointing out the sparks flashing from the pile of bedding.
"What is it?" Juston asked in a low, skeptical voice.
"I saw... a green dragon egg. It's as big as your head, Juston!" Lena replied, her voice trembling slightly.
Neval muffled a laugh at the comparison. Juston's jaw dropped, his usual composure shattered by shock.
"I thought it would be more heavily sealed?" Rissy wondered.
"It opens twice a day for the mother dragon to incubate them. Usually for about 30 minutes in the morning and evening, but it has to be mid-session. Our class just happened to coincide with the opening," Lena explained confidently, having researched the topic thoroughly.
As they whispered, a classmate ran over:
"To your seats! Professor Cramdius is starting!"
They hurried back but couldn't escape the Professor's razor-sharp gaze.
"Where have you four been?"
Lena quickly hid her arm behind her back. The four of them stared blankly. Juston blurted out:
"Uh... there was a hedgehog, sir."
"A hedgehog made you skip half the lesson?"
The professor narrowed his eyes.
"Yes, it was... very colorful!" Neval added, a reason so absurd the professor could only sigh in exasperation.
Returning to the lectern, she asked:
"Now, back to the lesson. Who can tell me what these eggs on the table are?"
Neval piped up:
"They look like dragon eggs, ma'am."
"Correct, but insufficient, 'Mr. Colorful Hedgehog'," Cramdius remarked dryly, drawing laughter from the class.
Juston kept his head down, but his eyes were bright with suppressed amusement.
"Did she just call you a colorful hedgehog?"
Neval nudged him:
"Shut it!"
Meanwhile, Rugi—a student from Serpentis—stood with absolute poise:
"Those are chicken eggs treated with a Draconic Embryonic Transformation spell, Professor."
Cramdius arched an eyebrow:
"Continue."
"Since Regort was an Ancient Academy, mages replaced real dragon eggs with chicken eggs for teaching. True dragon eggs possess a free will; if forced to hatch, they will revolt and incinerate the handler. Chicken eggs are more stable, their biological structure holds magical energy well enough to simulate a legendary life-form."
The class fell silent at Rugi's flawless explanation. A light breeze swept through the room, making the eggs shimmer in the silver light.
"Exactly. 20 points to Serpentis," Cramdius nodded.
Rissy whispered to Lena : "That was actually impressive."
But her mind was diverted by a rustling from the back room. A large dragon eye appeared through the crack in the door, staring directly at Lena. Its gaze was haughty and regal, yet held a strange pride. At that moment, the phoenix feather mark on Lena's hand flashed once more.
After Class
The four walked down the long corridor, sunlight casting shadows on the cold stone floor. Lena was still lost in thought.
"Lena, is something wrong?" Rissy asked softly.
Juston tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the faint mark:
"Still worried about that?"
Lena nodded:
"Earlier..."
"Earlier what?" Neval chimed in.
"I saw—"
Suddenly, a resonant chime cut her off:
"Dong… doooong…"
"What's next?" Juston asked urgently.
"Transfiguration."
Neval grabbed the group:
"Move! The Professor will be furious if we're late!"
The dry, sharp sound of their shoes on the stone floor mingled with the still-lingering bell, urging them to hurry towards the next classroom.
Transfiguration Class
In the dimly lit classroom, Professor Lyrea – small in stature but with a commanding gaze – was explaining the basic transfiguration spells. Neval struggled, mispronouncing the spell; the cup on the table suddenly exploded, turning into a cloud of smoke. She shook her head slightly, her voice stern:
– "Wrong. Juston, you sitting next to him, please show him how to pronounce it correctly."
Juston raised his wand, patiently guiding her:
– "You must pronounce it as Mutavio."
Neval tried again, but still missed the mark:
– "Murtavio!" – The cup was instantly covered in green moss.
Juston smiled, then emphasized each syllable:
– "Listen: Mutavio!"
Neval took a breath, pronouncing clearly:
– "Mutavio!"
Instantly, the cup transformed perfectly, shining brightly as if newly created. Neval exclaimed excitedly:
– "I did it!"
Juston nodded slightly, secretly pleased that he had helped his friend overcome the first challenge of the art of shapeshifting.
History of Magic
Professor Roven's room was shrouded in a somber atmosphere, the sounds echoing as if from nothingness. He asked each student to recite an ancient incantation from an old scroll. Juston's voice was firm and authoritative. Neval still stumbled, hesitating at a few points. When it was Rissy's turn, her voice was soft but clear, distinct like a stream flowing through a rocky crevice.
As soon as she finished, Detus – a student from the Serpentis house – coldly spoke:
– "That incantation, if spoken in such a weak voice, will hardly be effective."
Rissy didn't lower her head. Her eyes lit up, looking directly at Detus:
– "I don't need a strong voice to make the magic fluid."
The class fell silent. Lena subtly smirked, her gaze triumphant, while Detus merely shrugged, a fleeting, enigmatic smile playing on his lips – both mocking and appreciative.
After the lesson, Rissy still felt a lingering sting in her heart. She was used to being scrutinized for her different voice and hair, but Detus's gaze was unusual – more like a challenge than contempt.
"Are you alright?" Lena asked, her voice full of concern.
"I'm fine. He was probably just saying that."
Neval interjected, frowning:
"That guy is really unpleasant to talk to, even though we just met."
Juston rested his chin on his hand, thoughtfully:
"No, it's better to be direct than backstabbing. Besides, Rissy reads quite clearly, she just needs to be a little more confident in her voice."
The group walked and chatted, unaware that Detus and Rugi were watching from behind the stone pillars.
"You're being a bit harsh," Rugi said, crossing his arms.
"I'm just stating the truth," Detus replied nonchalantly.
"If you keep acting like this, the whole academy will hate Serpentis because of you."
Detus shrugged, his eyes still following the receding figures of the Phoenixes:
"As long as I don't hate myself, that's all that matters."
In the fading twilight, on the stone table where Rissy had just sat, a little glowing ash – the remnants of the cursed neck – still silently shimmered, like a promise of unawakened, latent power.
Behind them, Detus and Rugi watched from behind stone pillars.
"You were a bit harsh," Rugi said, crossing his arms.
"I only spoke the truth," Detus replied indifferently.
"The whole academy will hate Serpentis because of you."
Detus shrugged:
"As long as I don't hate myself, it's fine."
Under the fading sunset, on the stone table where Rissy had sat, a few glowing embers—remnants of the ancient chant—shimmered quietly, like a promise of latent power waiting to be awakened.