In the city, classes were mostly shared. Boys and girls study together but the only classes that were separate were…..
Boys trained in combat.
Girls studied magic.
It had always been that way. Iremiel never fit either role. Never in strength nor in magic. But only because he was a boy. So he stood in the training yard with the others.
Kalderon moved naturally among them confident, steady, disciplined. The general's son even when no one knew it.
While Iremiel stood slightly apart. Not weak. Just misplaced.
In the training arena, Eliora sat on the stone benches where girls gathered to watch combat sessions. It was tradition. When the boys trained, the girls observed. Some admired strength. Some judged. Some whispered.
Eliora did none of that.
She was irritated.
She had found something that could break the city in half, and she had been stuck in magic class all morning trying to find a moment alone with them. Then fortune shifted. Her professor was on leave. So the class was dismissed. She ran.
Now she sat, pretending calm, watching them practice.
The instructor stepped forward and pointed toward the iron platform at the center of the yard.
"Lift the Sword."
The Sword was a massive training blade forged from compressed ore mined beneath the city. Heavy. Unforgiving. It was said that only C-rank fighters and above could lift it properly.
Kalderon stepped forward first. He was an A-rank fighter. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and lifted. Smooth. Controlled. Effortless. The blade rose.
And the girls in the arena erupted in cheers.
While Eliora rolled her eyes at them. Of course Kalderon was never that charming to her. He lowered the sword calmly. Then Iremiel stepped forward.
The arena quieted slightly. The girl went quiet while the boys started to laugh and make fun of him while talking in their ears.
He gripped the weapon.
Pulled.
It moved.
Barely.
His jaw tightened. His shoulders strained. The blade trembled, rising a few inches before dragging downward again. It was hard for him. The lowest rank for a fighter ever recorded was F-rank. And even they can fight a little. Like fighting with one monster. And Iremiel he was even lower then that.
A few boys snickered.
And that's when Eliora stood up.
"Iremiel! Yes! You're doing it — don't stop!"
Her voice cut across the yard.
Heads turned.
Iremiel's face flushed instantly. Now everyone was watching him. He tried again more from embarrassment than pride and lifted the Sword higher than before before it crashed back down.
Eliora clapped loudly as if he had won a war.
The whispers started everywhere.
"Why is she cheering for him?" "Isn't she always near Kalderon? At least she should pick one."
Kalderon didn't look at them. But his grip tightened slightly around his own blade. Every time Iremiel managed even the smallest success, Eliora celebrated like he had conquered the field. And every cheer felt louder than the last. Kalderon Jealousy was rarely loud. It's quiet. Measured. Controlled.
Kalderon trained harder that afternoon. He was annoyed.
When the session ended, Eliora jumped down from the bench before the dust had even settled. She walked straight toward them. The girls watched. Whispers followed. But she ignored all of it.
"I have something to show you."
Kalderon nodded once but Iremiel avoided eye contact. Because he was still embarrassed of whatever happened before. Still he didn't want to talk it out with Eliora.
They went to change.
When they returned, Eliora led them through narrow streets toward one of the city's older restaurants a place layered in small enchantments.
Inside, the tables were carved from dark crystal wood. When someone sat, a transparent shield formed around the table, blurring faces and muting sound. Private. Secure.
They sat.
The shield shimmered into place.
Eliora didn't waste time.
She pulled the folded parchment from her coat and laid it flat.
The air above it felt slightly warmer.
Iremiel leaned in first. "What is this?"
"The city map," she said. "The real one."
Kalderon frowned. "We've all seen city maps."
"Not this one."
She tapped the parchment.
"Count the doors."
Kalderon looked. "Nine."
She stiffened. "Look properly."
"I am doing it."
She turned to Iremiel.
"What do you see?"
He didn't answer immediately.
The ink seemed darker under his gaze.
The tenth symbol pulsed faintly.
Then faded. He could see the tenth door clearly.
"…Nothing," he said quietly.
Eliora stared at him.
"You don't see the hidden markings? Because what Eliora was seeing was that the map was painted by new colours just so the three doors can be hidden. "
Kalderon shook his head. "There are no hidden markings."
Her frustration sparked.
"There are twelve doors on this map! Three were covered with new ink. Someone redrew the city!"
Kalderon's expression hardened. "Eliora, this looks normal."
She pointed to the northern district. "Right there! The lines are wrong!"
"They're not."
She leaned closer, voice rising. "Open your eyes!"
The shield around their table flickered slightly.
Iremiel swallowed.
But the moment Kalderon looked directly at that section, the ink stilled. The symbol disappeared as if it had never moved.
The map was not broken.
It was selective.
It did not show the same truth to everyone.
He understood that instinctively.
And that frightened him.
"Maybe," Kalderon said carefully, "you're seeing what you want to see."
Her eyes flashed. "Or maybe you're refusing to."
The temperature inside the shield dropped.
For a brief second, the ink bled outward, distorting the streets. The outline of a tenth door flickered between them faint, unstable.
All three saw it that time.
It slid slowly toward the northern mountains.
Toward the river.
Then it vanished.
Silence fell.
No one spoke.
Kalderon's voice came low. "This is dangerous."
Eliora's pulse raced.
"That's why it matters."
Iremiel stared at the spot where the symbol had been.
He felt something pull at him.
Not toward the city.
Toward the mountain.
And he didn't know why.