By nightfall, the academy felt different.
During the day, it was all polished marble and disciplined order. At night, shadows stretched longer. Torches burned lower. And silence carried secrets.
Elara stood by her dormitory window, watching the moonlight spill across the courtyard below. Three years ago, she would have felt small in this place. Insignificant.
Now?
Now she saw patterns.
Guards rotated too precisely near the eastern gate. Two unfamiliar cloaked figures had entered before dusk. And the lingering presence she had felt since awakening had not disappeared.
It had grown closer.
She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.
Focus.
In her previous life, she had reacted emotionally. She had trusted too easily. She had assumed humiliation was the worst she would face.
She had been wrong.
This time, she observed.
Her mana stirred gently beneath her skin, responding more easily now. It was still unstable, still unfamiliar, but stronger than it had ever been at this age.
A soft knock echoed at her door.
Elara did not move immediately.
Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks.
Not a student pattern.
Her gaze sharpened.
She stepped silently across the room and pressed her palm lightly against the door. A faint thread of mana slipped through the wood, brushing against the aura outside.
Cold.
Disciplined.
Controlled.
Not a classmate.
"Lady Elara," a smooth voice called from the other side. "A message from the council. You are requested in the lower archives."
Lower archives?
At this hour?
Her lips curved faintly.
In her past life, she had gone without question.
Tonight, she would not.
"I will attend in the morning," she replied evenly.
A pause.
Then—
"The matter is urgent."
Elara leaned closer to the door, lowering her voice.
"Then it can wait until dawn."
Silence stretched.
Then the presence outside shifted.
Not retreating.
Adjusting.
The aura grew sharper, as if measuring her response.
Interesting.
Whoever stood outside had expected compliance.
She stepped back quietly, allowing her mana to fade. After several long seconds, the footsteps finally withdrew.
But they did not go far.
She could still feel them.
Waiting.
Testing.
Elara's heart beat steadily.
They were growing impatient.
Good.
Let them.
An hour later, the academy corridors were nearly empty.
Elara moved through them silently, not toward the lower archives—but toward the upper observation wing instead.
If someone wanted her below ground…
She would climb higher.
The upper wing overlooked most of the academy grounds. From here, she could see movements clearly.
And she was right.
Two cloaked figures stood near the eastern courtyard entrance.
Watching her dormitory.
Waiting for her to leave.
Her fingers curled slightly.
So that was the trap.
In her previous life, she had walked straight into it.
She remembered the corridor. The sudden darkness. The blade at her throat.
A shiver ran through her spine.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"You won't catch me unaware this time," she murmured.
A sudden shift in the air made her freeze.
Behind her.
Closer than before.
Not the assassins below.
This presence was different.
Heavier.
Colder.
Controlled in a way that suffocated the air around it.
Elara did not turn immediately.
She had felt this aura once before.
At her execution.
And earlier tonight.
It lingered like smoke—never touching, but always near.
"You are being hunted," a low voice said quietly from the darkness.
Her pulse jumped.
Male.
Calm.
Dangerously composed.
She turned slowly.
But the corridor behind her was empty.
Only shadows.
"You returned differently," the voice continued, softer now. "Why?"
Her breath caught.
Returned.
He knew.
Her heart pounded harder now.
Not from fear.
From shock.
"Show yourself," she demanded, steady but firm.
Silence.
Then—
A faint movement near the far wall.
A silhouette barely visible against the torchlight.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
She could not see his face.
Only the outline of broad shoulders and the faint gleam of something metallic near his collar.
Royal.
Her stomach tightened.
Before she could speak again, the presence shifted—and vanished.
Completely.
As if he had never been there.
Elara stood frozen for several seconds.
He knew.
Or suspected.
And he was powerful enough to approach her undetected.
This was not an assassin.
This was something else entirely.
Something far more dangerous.
Below, in the courtyard, one of the cloaked figures began moving.
Heading inside.
They had grown tired of waiting.
Elara stepped back from the balcony rail.
Fine.
If they wanted to escalate—
She would let them.
But on her terms.
She left the observation wing quietly and descended the western staircase instead of the central hall.
Predictability was death.
Halfway down, the torches flickered violently.
The air shifted.
Too sudden.
Too unnatural.
Her instincts screamed.
Trap.
The corridor ahead darkened as shadows thickened unnaturally along the walls.
A figure stepped out.
Then another.
Then a third behind her.
Three.
No—four.
Blades gleamed.
One of them chuckled softly.
"You were meant to come willingly," the nearest one said.
Elara's pulse steadied.
"So were you," she replied calmly.
Mana surged beneath her skin.
Not wild.
Not desperate.
Focused.
She lifted her hand slowly.
Silver light flickered faintly between her fingers.
The assassins hesitated.
Just slightly.
Good.
"You've improved," one of them observed. "But not enough."
They moved at once.
Steel sliced through the air.
Elara pivoted sharply, barely avoiding the first strike. Her palm lashed outward, releasing a controlled burst of mana that knocked one attacker back into the wall.
But another blade grazed her side.
Heat flared.
Pain bloomed.
She gritted her teeth.
Too many.
Still too many.
Footsteps echoed from both ends of the corridor.
They had sealed her exit.
Her mana pulsed harder now, unstable but powerful.
If she unleashed it fully, she might survive—
Or she might lose control entirely.
A blade slashed toward her throat.
She ducked, heart pounding violently now.
Her back hit the cold stone wall.
Cornered.
Again.
One assassin stepped forward, lowering his hood slightly.
"End it."
The blade lifted.
Elara's vision sharpened.
Her pulse slowed.
If this was the moment—
She would not die helpless.
Her mana roared to life.
The torches shattered.
Darkness swallowed the corridor whole.
And just before the blade descended—
The air grew impossibly cold.
Not her power.
Something else.
Heavier.
Older.
Terrifyingly controlled.
The assassins froze.
One of them whispered, voice trembling
"Your High"
Silence.
Absolute.
The temperature dropped further.
Elara felt it before she saw it.
A presence descending like judgment itself.
And in the suffocating darkness
A shadow moved.
The blade never reached her… because something far more dangerous had stepped into the dark.