Jack’s voice echoed through the darkness.

“Ev… why did you leave me?”

I turned, but he wasn’t there. Just endless black, thick and sticky, swallowing my feet like tar. I tried to run, but the ground pulled me down, suffocating me, drowning me. A cold hand clamped around my wrist—

“Eveline, wake up! You’re having another bad dream!”

My body jerked before I even registered the voice. The sheets clung to my damp skin, my breath caught in my throat, and my pulse pounded against my ribs. My fingers curled into the mattress, grounding myself in the present. This room. This house. Not there.

Dim morning light bled through the silk-draped windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the golden glow. The scent of fresh linen and expensive perfumes lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to my skin. Slowly, the haze lifted, and Ariya’s worried face swam into view.

I exhaled sharply, pushing her away, strands of my hair sticking to my damp forehead.

That dream again. It was supposed to be buried.

It had been a while since the nightmares last surfaced. I had learned to suppress them, to shove them so deep down they couldn’t claw their way back. But now, here they were again, slipping through the cracks.

I ran a shaky hand through my hair and forced a weak smile. “I’m fine.” My voice was hoarse. Lying came easier than the truth.

Ariya didn’t buy it. “Yeah, sure,” she murmured. “That’s why you looked like you were about to stop breathing in your sleep.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? I forced my body to move, pulling myself upright. The sheets slid off me, damp from sweat.

Ariya sighed, crossing her arms. “Look, just get up, okay? I don’t wanna be late on the first day. Mother would kill us both.”

I puffed up my cheeks as I exhaled, blowing my hair out of my face. The weight in my chest hadn’t left, but I shoved it aside. I couldn’t afford to let the past bleed into the present. Not here. Not now.

Rolling out of bed, I stripped off my nightclothes as I headed toward the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower. If I’m not there when Cy and them show up, leave without me. I don’t want Mother yelling at you on my account.”

Ariya muttered something under her breath, but I didn’t hear it. The bathroom door shut behind me, locking out the world.

I stepped under the scalding water, letting it burn away the remnants of the dream. My hands braced against the shower wall, steam curling around me. Senna’s lifeless eyes. Jack’s pleading face. Mae’s broken body.

Gone. They were gone.

My breath shuddered as I tried to push the memories away, focusing instead on the day ahead. The water pounded against my skin, drowning out the ghosts whispering in my ears. Eventually, they faded back into the silence.

Stepping out, I found my school uniform neatly laid out on the bed. A crisp white collared button-up, long sleeves pressed to perfection, black trousers, and an ugly brown vest.

Seriously, who thought this color was a good idea?

I stared at it for a moment before sighing. Five years, and still, I felt like I was wearing a costume. Like I didn’t belong.

But I’d gotten good at pretending.

Now dressed, I stood before the mirror on my dresser, running a brush through my hair. My bangs had grown long, falling past my belly button in sleek, inky strands, while the rest barely brushed my shoulders. I worked through the familiar motions, fingers weaving and twisting my braids with mechanical precision.

But my mind was elsewhere.

The dream clung to me like smoke, curling through the corners of my thoughts, refusing to fade. How long has it been since I last let myself think about them? Five years should have been enough to move on. Five years should have turned me into someone else—someone unburdened, someone whole.

Yet, as I stared at my reflection, all I saw was the same girl. The same haunted gaze. The same ghosts.

Satisfied with my hair, I stepped out of my room, beginning the long walk to the common room. The Ashfall estate stretched around me, its wealth woven into every inch of its architecture. Ornate rugs softened the pristine marble floors, walls lined with gilded sconces cast a warm, flickering glow, their flames enchanted to burn endlessly. Display cases filled with rare artifacts stood like silent sentinels—magical trinkets, ancient relics, and family heirlooms whose stories I never cared to know. Even the air smelled of affluence—a subtle blend of imported spices, polished wood, and something faintly metallic, like the hum of old magic.

Calling my parents wealthy was an understatement.

As I understood it, the Ashfall family was the second richest in all of Remfall, our fortune built on centuries of trade. Mother had recounted our history more times than I cared to count, always with that familiar pride in her voice.

A lineage of pyromancers, our ancestors carved their name into history with fire—both in reputation and practice. When threatened, they burned their own goods rather than let them fall into enemy hands, a tactic that intrigued powerful figures who preferred scorched earth to stolen resources. From those embers, the Ashfall mercantile empire was forged, securing its place among the ruling elite of Remfall.

Wealth was supposed to make life easier, wasn’t it? The Ashfall name ensured I never went hungry, never feared where I’d sleep. I had everything I needed. Everything I was told I should want.

So why did it always feel like something was missing?

Descending the stairs, I halted at the threshold of the parlor. A policeman stood near the hearth, his gold-buttoned coat catching the morning light, polished boots planted firmly against the marble floor. His presence sent a chill down my spine

Something was wrong.

“Father. Mother.” The words still felt foreign in my mouth, like a language I had learned late in life, never quite natural.

They had taken me in, given me their name, their wealth. A fresh start.

And I had repaid them by becoming exactly what they wanted.

I stepped into the room, folding my hands neatly behind my back, my posture instinctively perfect. It had become second nature—standing the way they expected, speaking the way they demanded. The weight of the estate’s grandeur pressed in from all sides—the towering bookshelves, the gilded furniture, the faint scent of burning cedar that always lingered in this room.

Yet today, the air felt heavier.

The officer sat stiff-backed in the chair across from my parents, his face unreadable, the brass buttons on his coat reflecting the dim light of the sconces. The tension in the room clung to the walls like a ghost.

“What’s going on?”

Father’s gaze met mine—sharp, assessing. That look. The one that measured, weighed, determined.

“There was an attack at the Foundation,” he said. His voice was even, but underneath it, something colder lurked. “Fifteen dead. Four of them children. Five staff members missing. Three more kids unaccounted for.”

A slow, sinking weight pressed on my chest.

The Foundation had been established four years after I became an Ashfall. Its purpose was simple—give homes and education to kids from Purgatory, offer them a future beyond the filth they were born into. Our family had been one of its major investors, shaping its structure, funding its expansion. A beacon of hope, they called it.

Now, it was a massacre site.

“Splicers?” I asked, though my gut already told me it wasn’t that simple.

Father shook his head. “We’re not sure. The motives and evidence line up, but the only witnesses were from the outside. They claim they saw Coyote and Smoke fleeing the scene.” He exhaled sharply, reaching for the porcelain teapot on the tray beside him. The soft clink of china against china felt jarringly ordinary. “Why is it that whenever things begin to muddle, those two are always involved?”

Coyote and Smoke. My fingers twitched at the names. They stirred something distant, like a whisper from another life—half-remembered, elusive. I knew those names. I knew them. But no matter how hard I reached, the memory slipped through my grasp, dissolving like fog under the morning sun.

"Why were they at the Foundation?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Father sighed as he poured his tea, his movements precise, unbothered—like this was just another minor inconvenience in his well-ordered world. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

His gaze lingered on me, unreadable, expectant.

Coyote and Smoke. The most infamous underworld hitmen in Remfall. Their names alone had sent shivers down spines, whispered in back alleys as both a warning and a promise. And then they had vanished. A few years ago, after the police put a bounty too large to ignore, the city’s criminals did what they always did—they turned on their own. No honor among thieves, no loyalty among the hunted.

And now, after years of silence, they were back. Not at some underground job. Not in a back-alley deal.

At the Foundation. Surrounded by Splicers.

None of this made sense.

Those two didn’t show themselves for anything less than a fortune. Even if someone had the funds, nobody knew where to find them. You didn’t hire Coyote and Smoke—you made enough noise, and they decided if you were worth their time.

But the Foundation?

There couldn’t possibly be anyone there worth such a sum. Most of the staff had been handpicked, people who actually wanted to help. Father had ensured that.

So why?

I bit my lip in frustration. “You’re right. Whenever those two are involved, the truth only gets harder to see. And with how little anyone actually knows about them… it makes it worse.”

Father didn’t respond. He just turned his gaze toward the window, his fingers idly tapping the side of his teacup.

Mother sighed, already tired of the conversation. “You must be on your way, Eveline.” Her voice was clipped, all efficiency, no warmth. “It wouldn’t do for you to be late on the first day.”

Dismissed.

I checked the clock, then leaned down to place the routine peck on each of their cheeks—a motion more habit than affection.

As I turned for the door, a bitter thought slithered in.

Would they still call me their daughter if they knew what I had done?

“I also have a report about our refugee problem…”

The policeman’s burly voice was cut off as I shut the door behind me, leaving the weight of the conversation inside.

Ariya and Cyromo sat on the front steps, mid-conversation. Cy glanced up lazily, one brow arching.

“There she is. I was beginning to think we’d have to leave you behind again.” He stressed the last word, letting it hang.

I ignored him. My mind was still tangled in the attack.

Five years. Five years in this house, and I still felt like a guest in someone else’s life. But for once, I had been proud of something my family stood for. The Foundation wasn’t just charity—it was a chance, a way for the orphans of Purgatory to break free from the cycle that swallowed so many of us whole.

And now…

Cyromo raised a brow, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though there was an edge beneath it. “Ariya, has your sister been replaced by a forgeborn or something? She looks fried.”

I blinked out of my thoughts. “It’s called thinking, Cy.”

“Thinking, huh?” He squinted at me. “That’s dangerous for you.”

I rolled my eyes, but Ariya shot him a warning glare.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I just mean…” His voice softened, concern slipping past his usual sarcasm. “It’s not like you to be this quiet, Eveline. You got a bad feeling?”

I hesitated, then exhaled. “You guys didn’t hear?” My voice was flatter than I intended. “There was an attack at the Foundation.”

Ariya stiffened, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. “An attack?” Her voice wavered. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Fifteen dead. Some of them kids.” The words felt leaden in my mouth. “Three missing.”

Cyromo ran a hand through his hair, tension creeping into his usually relaxed posture. “Shit. Was it Splicers?”

I shook my head. “There was evidence of Splicers, but the only report was a sighting of Coyote and Smoke.”

Cyromo straightened, adjusting his collar. “What the hell would two of the most wanted contract killers this side of the Fringe River want with a bunch of caretakers and kids?”

I sighed. That was the question, wasn’t it?

It was never simple when those two were involved. Something bigger was at play.

But right now? I had more pressing matters to attend to.

The journey to school was short but steeped in the quiet pageantry of upper Remfall. The streets, paved with smooth white stone, gleamed under the morning light, their polished surfaces reflecting the gold-trimmed carriages and steam-powered automotives that rolled past. Towering buildings of ornate marble and glass loomed on either side, casting long, elegant shadows over the bustling avenues.

The elite of Remfall moved with purpose, their gaudy silk and velvet garments adorned with intricate embroidery and enchanted gemstones that shimmered subtly with each step. Street vendors lined the edges of the walkways, selling delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, fresh fruit infused with magic to enhance flavor, and small half-metal animals—automatons crafted to mimic real pets, their brass-plated bodies whirring softly as they twitched their tails or ruffled artificial feathers.

Above, the sky trolleys weaved through the city on their elevated rails, glass cabins reflecting the sunrise. They glided smoothly along invisible tracks of magic-infused steel, ferrying those too impatient or too important to walk among the crowds.

Ahead, the academy loomed, its towering spires stabbing into the morning sky. Ulvu Academy. The grandest and most prestigious institution in all of Remfall. Its architecture blended the arcane with the mechanical—arched windows lined with runic etchings, spiraling towers crowned with floating, rotating rings of glowing symbols. Magic-laced lanterns flickered along the pathways, their soft blue light intensifying as students passed, reacting to movement like living creatures.

Enchanted banners unfurled in the air, despite the lack of wind, displaying the various house sigils and the Academy's crest—a golden quill piercing a shield, symbolizing both knowledge and the power to defend it.

At the academy gates, the three of us split up, each heading toward our respective wings. I barely spared a glance at the banners and signage welcoming students back for another year. I had no patience for the pageantry. My focus remained on the west wing, where my first class awaited—geology, of all things.

Ulvu Academy was a fortress of knowledge, its sprawling halls carved from polished obsidian and ivory stone, gilded accents catching the morning light streaming through towering arched windows. The corridors stretched endlessly, adorned with enchanted banners that shimmered and shifted between school crests and historical imagery. Soft, blue lanterns lined the walls, flickering in response to passing students, casting a faint glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.

I moved through the west wing, navigating through the streams of students filling the halls. Dueling apprentices sparred in an open chamber to my right, their spellwork crackling as instructors barked corrections. A few younger students huddled near an alcove, their noses buried in grimoires far too advanced for them, likely hoping to impress their peers. I passed a great mural of Remfall’s history, the enchanted ink shifting fluidly—scenes of battles, treaties, and revolutions playing out in real-time across its surface.

Every step I took felt measured, calculated. The weight of my last name preceded me, pulling eyes wherever I went.

I turned left at the Grand Stairwell, its spiraling steps appearing to stretch infinitely upward. Wrought iron railings twisted in intricate patterns, glowing faintly with protective sigils. With ease, I bypassed the main stairs, taking the narrower corridor meant for upper-year students. Here, the whispers were quieter but still present, slipping through the cracks of conversation like an insidious draft.

"Ashfall."

The name floated behind me, hushed but unmistakable.

I ignored it. I always did.

The lecture hall was just ahead, its heavy wooden doors adorned with elaborate carvings of the land’s elemental deities. The murmur of conversation spilled from inside, blending with the rhythmic scratch of quills against parchment. I took a final breath, straightened my posture, and stepped through the threshold—just another day, just another routine.

"Did you see the new girl? She’s so pretty!"

"Pretty?" The word barely registered as I passed a group of first-years, their hushed voices laced with excitement.

"She’s kind of intimidating. I wanted to say hi, but one look and I lost the courage."

I kept walking, uninterested. Until—

"A new girl?"

The words hooked into me before I could stop them. My gaze followed the whispers, drifting to the far end of the hall where a girl sat alone in the back row. The noise of the room faded into a dull hum.

Long, dark brown hair. Striking features. Almond-shaped eyes that once looked at me with trust.

My breath caught. My heart kicked against my ribs.

Serrani.

For a moment…our eyes met. Something flickered there. Recognition? Hesitation? A memory clawing its way to the surface?

Then, like a steel trap snapping shut, her expression hardened. Her jaw tightened, lips pressing into a thin line, like she’d just swallowed something bitter. No warmth. No hesitation now. Just sharp, cold contempt.

She looked through me. As if I were a ghost. A stain. Something unworthy of a second glance.

A slow, sick feeling curled in my stomach.

I didn’t talk to her much back then. Not because I hated her. Not because I feared her. But because she belonged to a past I wasn’t allowed to have.

But now? Now she was here, staring through me like she saw everything I had spent years trying to bury.

And I think it’s safe to assume she probably thinks the worst of me.

The professor strode in just as I was about to stand. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then sank back into my chair. Serrani would have to wait.

I chose a seat near the front, my back stiff as I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder. But I felt it, the weight of her gaze, sharp and unyielding, pressing between my shoulder blades like a blade poised to strike.

The glass board flickered to life with a wave of the professor’s hand, runes and shifting text scrawling themselves across its surface. The words rearranged automatically as students scribbled their notes, while holographic diagrams hovered midair—tactical formations, historical war maps, intricate arcane sigils shifting through layers of meaning.

I leaned back, barely paying attention.

"Good morning, students. I am Professor Ernhurst. If you open your—"

I tuned him out. First days were always the same. Yearly content outlines, expectations, school regulations. Nothing I hadn’t heard before.

Serrani hadn’t taken her eyes off me the entire time.

Even as the lecture dragged on, even as students murmured and copied notes, the cold weight of her stare lingered—unrelenting, like she was daring me to turn around.

By the time class ended, my patience had thinned. I stood too quickly, eager to escape the tension coiling in my chest. My hands clenched at my sides as I made for the door, ignoring the urge to look back.

Serrani needed time.

And maybe—so did I.

Ulvu Academy’s grand halls pulsed with the rhythmic hum of enchantments woven into its very foundation. Arches of gilded marble stretched high overhead, their surfaces laced with faintly glowing runes, remnants of old magic infused to fortify the structure. The corridors buzzed with students shuffling between classes, their conversations blending into a low murmur, punctuated by the occasional crackle of a misfired spell or the whir of mechanical quills scratching notes onto parchment.

I weaved through the crowd, my steps unhurried. Unlike most, I wasn’t scrambling to my next lecture. As an Inventor, I only had one other class—combat.

That left the rest of my time open for research, innovation, and personal projects. The Ashfall name carried certain expectations, and while my magical studies were handled privately by a tutor handpicked by my parents, the Academy structured my days with far more freedom than most.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Still, combat was an oddity here.

Few students elected to take it. Ulvu was a school for scholars, inventors, and traders—people who built their influence with intellect, not brute force. Law enforcement, mercenaries, and bounty hunters trained elsewhere, in academies tailored for war. The only reason combat class still existed at Ulvu was because of me. The Ashfall name had sway, and when I had chosen to enroll, the Academy hadn’t dared to refuse.

I turned a corner, passing beneath an ornate iron archway where the flow of students thinned. The combat wing was a relic from an older time—when Ulvu had prepared students for more than just politics and commerce. Now, its corridors were emptier, its once-pristine sparring halls faded from disuse. Last year, only six students had been enrolled. This year, I expected even less.

Effort determined our grades, not results. The class had no easy way to skate by with half-hearted participation. It had long since been abandoned by those looking for an effortless A.

The academy’s pristine halls gave way to something more utilitarian—smooth stone floors, reinforced steel doors, and banners stripped of unnecessary embellishments. The walls bore faint scorch marks, remnants of past duels, and deep clawed gouges from training sessions involving more… volatile techniques.

I came to a stop outside the heavy double doors, rolling my shoulders. The Academy didn’t care about combat anymore. Most of the students didn’t care about combat.

But I did.

And that was enough to keep this place open.

Pushing open the heavy doors, I stepped into the combat hall just as Serrani and Faun exchanged a rapid series of blows. The space echoed with the sharp sounds of impact—grappling feet, controlled breathing, the scrape of boots pivoting against the reinforced mat.

Serrani’s toned muscles flexed as she parried a strike aimed at her chin, her stance strong but fluid. Faun, ever the quiet technician, barely shifted his expression as he pivoted low, sweeping Serrani’s right leg out from under her. She staggered. Before she could recover, he pressed the advantage, using his left leg to further throw off her balance.

In a blur of motion, they hit the mat. Serrani crashed face-first, a grunt escaping her lips. Faun wasted no time, locking her right arm as he rose, looming over her.

A few beats passed…then, with a grunt, he let go. No words. No reaction. Just a curt release as he turned on his heel and walked off, his usual silence filling the space where most would have boasted.

I couldn't tell if that meant he approved of our new classmate or not.

Faun had arrived in the middle of last year, immediately establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with. He had proceeded to kick my ass repeatedly for the remainder of the year…an experience both frustrating and enlightening.

The most I’d ever heard him say?

"My name is Faun Morrigan."

And that was it. Not another wasted syllable.

He hadn’t even flinched when I introduced myself, when the name Ashfall had passed my lips. No hesitation. No hushed whispers. No veiled caution in his eyes. He had treated me like anyone else, like my family’s influence was nothing worth acknowledging.

That was rare.

I was used to being looked at like I was a walking bomb—something volatile, something to be careful around. Even here, in a class meant for fighting, most people approached me as though they were handling something fragile.

Faun didn’t.

And that was the closest thing to normal I had felt in a long time.

Serrani sat up, rubbing her right shoulder. I stepped forward, extending a hand. “He’s like that with everyone. Don’t take it personally.” I said lightly, trying to cut through the tension.

Her eyes flicked to my outstretched hand, then to my face. Something unreadable passed over her expression before she swatted my hand away, harder than necessary.

"I don't need your help." Her voice was steady, but fire smoldered in her eyes.

I pulled my hand back. “Alright.” I swallowed the sting of rejection. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Serrani gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Surprise.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating. I wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if I should say anything. Five years. That’s how long it had been. Five years since everything, since the life we once knew crumbled to dust.

I wanted to ask her why she was here. I wanted to ask her how she’d been. But the weight between us made every possible question feel wrong.

Serrani tilted her head, studying me with something close to disbelief. “You really don’t know, do you?”

I tensed. “Know what?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she exhaled sharply. “Figures.”

The way she said it, like she expected nothing more from me…made something inside me twist. I forced myself to meet her gaze. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Like she wanted to grab something. Like she wanted to grab me.

“You left him,” she said. Not an accusation—an execution. “You left him, and then you just kept going. You kept living.” For a split second, her breath faltered, but she swallowed it down, her voice hardening “And now you want to stand here, look me in the eye, and act like it never happened?”

The air between us was suffocating.

Serrani stepped forward, her voice dropping to something sharp and personal. “Tell me, Ev,” she pressed, her jaw clenching tight. “When you abandoned him, did you even look back?”

The words struck deep, scraping against wounds I thought I’d buried. Wounds that had never healed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “Who are you to judge? You weren’t there.”

She let out a low, humorless laugh. “And you didn’t care.”

“Not about him. Not about what he meant to—”

She stopped. Just like that. Cutting herself off like she had said too much.

“What he... what?”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Forget it. You already did.”

The sound of the training room doors swinging open cut through the moment. Serrani straightened, already moving. She turned to leave, her pace brisk, deliberate—until, at the very last second, she hesitated.

That made it worse.

She didn’t look at me when she spoke.

“You ever wonder if he’s alive, Ev?” Her voice was hollow now. “I do. Every single day.”

A pause.

“But you? You seem content with forgetting.”

My pulse pounded in my ears.

“I don’t have that luxury.”

She let the silence hang between us for just a moment longer…long enough for the weight of it to settle.

Then she was gone.

Our conversation was far from over, but it would have to wait. The weight of it pressed at the back of my mind like an old wound that had never quite healed. Seeing Serrani again stirred something uncomfortable, nostalgia laced with regret. An old face in a new life, dragging the past up with it.

The doors to the training hall creaked open, and the low hum of chatter filled the room. I blinked, pushing my thoughts aside as students trickled in, some stretching, some standing around in small groups. It was noisier than I expected.

A lot noisier.

I scanned the room, my eyes twisting in mild disbelief. There were more first-years than I had ever seen in this class. “What the hell?”

Combat training had always been a dying elective. Most students here pursued careers in invention, trade, or alchemy—things that kept them far from bloodshed. Fighting was for law enforcement, mercenaries, or people without any better options. And yet, here they were. First-years. Watching. Whispering.

I caught snippets of conversation.

"You think we have to spar on the first day?"

"I heard last year only had six people."

"Is that—? No way, that’s an Ashfall.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Fantastic.”

The familiar screech of metal on stone cut through the murmurs.

“Can I have your attention here?”

The instructor dragged a heavy iron crate across the floor, the grinding sound making a few students wince. Professor Corvus Lightfoot. Even among the Fae, wardens were rare, but his presence alone would have set him apart regardless. His skin was alabaster white, his ears sharp and elongated. His stance—perfectly still yet brimming with restrained power—radiated authority.

“For those of you new here, welcome to combat class.” His gaze swept over the students, unblinking, measuring. I had seen that look before—assessing, calculating. A few of the first-years straightened under the weight of it. “I see a lot of fresh faces this year. Interesting.”

He let that word hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Any returning students, you may go ahead and change.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Turning on my heel, I made for the women’s locker room, Claire and Maz falling into step behind me.

The locker room was as bare-bones as the training hall. Simple wooden lockers lined the walls, each marked with a dull bronze number. No embellishments, no unnecessary luxuries. Just function. Locker nine was mine.

I pulled it open, the hinges creaking slightly, and grabbed my training clothes. A plain black shirt and grey trousers practical, unremarkable, just like the rest of this place.

As I changed, I let my mind wander, but it kept circling back to Serrani. That wasn’t a reunion. It was a challenge, a reminder that I hadn’t left everything behind as neatly as I liked to believe.

And something told me this wasn’t the last time we’d clash.

I shut my locker with more force than necessary, trying to shake off the lingering tension from my run-in with Serrani. I could still feel her gaze burning into my back, even now.

As I pulled off my vest, Claire leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching me.

“So, you and the new girl have some history?”

I exhaled through my nose. “You saw that, huh?”

“Ev, half the class saw that,” she said, smirking. “I was expecting you to punch her.”

“Tempting,” I muttered, yanking my training shirt over my head.

Claire grinned. “So, are we ignoring it or addressing it? I need to know if I should prepare popcorn.”

Before I could answer, Maz spoke from a few lockers down, her voice as monotone as ever. “You should not involve yourself in matters above your station.”

Claire turned to her, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

Maz peered at her from around the corner, unfazed. “Lady Eveline’s family is of significantly higher status than yours. Why do you believe your counsel is needed?”

Claire scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize friendship required an economic prerequisite.”

Maz blinked. “It does not. But guidance should be offered only by those qualified to give it.”

Claire turned to me in sheer disbelief. “Do you hear this? Your little gremlin over here thinks I’m unqualified to give you advice.”

I sighed, already used to this dynamic. “Maz, Claire doesn’t care about my family’s wealth.”

Maz tilted her head slightly, as if the concept was foreign to her. “That seems… impractical.”

Claire groaned, throwing up her hands. “Okay, I’m done. I am so done.” She turned to me. “Ev, if I ever go missing, just assume Maz has had me executed for social inferiority.”

Maz shrugged. “A reasonable assumption.”

I barely stopped myself from laughing.

I stifled a laugh behind my hand. Maz had always been a bit dense when it came to social cues, but at this point, I was used to it. Honestly, it was impressive how far she’d come since we first met years ago. Back then, she was denser than a mountain—and then some.

I stood, slipping away as Claire launched into a long-winded explanation about how wrong Maz was. The conversation trailed behind me, Claire’s frustration clashing with Maz’s ever-calm demeanor. By the time I stepped back into the training hall, the rest of the class had gathered in a loose circle around Instructor Corvus.

He paced in front of us, dragging his fingers along the surface of a metal plate embedded into the floor. The air in the training hall shifted, magic rippling outward in faint waves.

“This year’s first challenge is simple,” he said, voice carrying over the murmurs of the students. “Stay standing.”

A few people exchanged glances, confused.

Corvus smirked. “For the next twenty minutes, you will engage, evade, and endure. If you’re knocked down for more than five seconds, you’re out. If you refuse to engage, I will personally make sure you do.”

At that, the entire hall shifted. Thin, glowing lines spread across the floor, sectioning off the space into several uneven arenas. I counted four in total, their edges flickering like embers.

"Every five minutes, the space will shrink. By the end, only one person should be standing in each zone. If you step out of your designated area before it’s time, you’re out.”

The class was silent now. This wasn’t a free-for-all; it was endurance, survival.

Corvus tapped the ground, and suddenly, our feet weren’t on solid stone anymore. The magic in the room pulsed. The air felt heavier, the gravity slightly adjusted. Subtle, but enough to make this fight take its toll over time.

I clenched my fists, already planning. This was a psychological test just as much as a physical one.

“This is ridiculous,” a first-year muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “This isn’t even a real fight.”

Corvus chuckled, his golden eyes glinting. “If you think this isn’t a real fight, you’re not ready for this class.”

Then, without warning—

A chime rang. The match had begun.

At first, nobody moved. It was a game of nerves, waiting for the first fool to make a mistake. The faint hum of the magical barriers around our zones filled the silence.

Then, a sharp crack echoed through the room. Faun had already moved.

He wasted no time, striking down a first-year in his section with a single well-placed kick. The student gasped, hitting the ground hard. I counted—one… two… three… four… before the kid scrambled up, shaking.

Faun didn’t look at him again. He had already dismissed him as a non-threat.

In my own zone, I mirrored Faun—watching, calculating. The trick wasn’t to burn yourself out in the first minute. The longer you lasted, the heavier the air would feel. Corvus wanted to see how we handled exhaustion, how we adapted under pressure.

A blur of movement caught my eye. Someone sprinted past my zone’s edge, lunging straight for Faun.

Dreads whipped through the air as the new guy made his move, twisting his body to avoid Faun’s counter strike.

His footwork was fast. Too fast. Faun had to shift his weight, adjusting mid-step to keep up. The exchange was rapid—a jab, a feint, a quick retreat before a sudden push forward.

Faun was holding his ground, but just barely.

I let out a breath, my focus shifting back to my own fight.

I had my own battle to win.

The first few minutes passed in controlled chaos.

I moved carefully, engaging only when necessary. Wasting energy now would be a death sentence later.

Across the shrinking arena, Faun and the new guy were still locked in combat. His movements were sharp, precise—using every ounce of speed to force Faun to react rather than dictate the fight.

I took the opportunity to analyze him.

Quick footwork. Reflexes like a street brawler. Smart, too. He wasn’t blindly attacking—he was testing Faun, finding openings. But Faun wasn’t easy to shake.

The moment the new guy pivoted too hard on his left foot, Faun seized the mistake.

A brutal counter-kick to the ribs.

The air cracked from the impact, the new guy staggering before dropping to one knee, gripping his side. He wasn’t out, but that hit had cost him.

I exhaled, reminding myself to stay focused.

A shadow loomed to my left. I turned just in time to see a girl lunging at me.

She was fast—but not faster than me.

I sidestepped, hooking my foot behind her knee. She hit the ground hard, gasping as I pressed a palm against her shoulder, keeping her pinned for the five-second count.

“Stay down,” I warned, before pushing off and resetting my stance.

She cursed under her breath, but didn’t argue.

My zone was still mine. For now.

Corvus tapped a finger against his wrist—a countdown display flickering into existence above his palm.

“First shrink. Move.”

The glowing barriers contracted sharply, forcing us closer together. The air thickened. The magic Corvus embedded in the field was doing its job—making us heavier, slower.

Faun barely looked fazed. The new guy, though, was struggling. He had speed, but speed meant nothing if you couldn’t breathe.

I clenched my fists, my own body starting to feel the pull.

Five more minutes. Then another shrink. Then another.

The real test was just beginning.

“Too slow, bossman!” The new guy jeered, twisting just out of Faun’s reach. His movements were fluid, his agility undeniable—bending, weaving, adjusting mid-motion like he was made of water.

The air grew heavier, pressing down on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the magic influencing the room. The gravity was growing more intense, just as Corvus promised. I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the weight. I couldn’t afford to tire out early.

Claire appeared at my side, her breathing slightly labored as she adjusted to the changing gravity. I hadn’t even noticed her approach—not good. I was getting distracted.

She nudged me, her eyes fixed on the fight. “Any idea who that is?”

I shook my head, eyes narrowing. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

She crossed her arms, her posture rigid under the invisible weight pressing down. “Must be a new student.”

I watched as the guy flashed a cocky grin, narrowly dodging a counterstrike from Faun. “Di name Ricao Erwin, but yuh cya call me Yers.” His accent rolled effortlessly, thick yet playful. He turned his gaze on me, chuckling at my stunned expression. “Ah, seems like me words tek yuh breath away. Or was it me handsome looks?”

I blinked. What.

Claire’s face was unreadable before she turned to me, completely deadpan. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

I couldn’t even respond. That was so… Lame! How was he not embarrassed?

The weight in the air grew denser, my limbs feeling heavier by the second. Claire’s posture shifted, her shoulders drooping just slightly under the increased pressure. The glowing lines around the arena flickered, contracting slowly, forcing the fighters closer.

Corvus’s voice cut through the haze of my spiraling thoughts. “Eveline, Claire, and Maz. Disqualified.”

Shit. I inwardly cursed myself. I got distracted by that nonsense.

Claire made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “Unbelievable.”

Frustrated, I tore my gaze away from the arena as Claire and I pushed through the gathering crowd. The magical pressure eased once we crossed the barriers, the air feeling light and breathable again.

Maz was already seated on the bench, her expression vacant, like she had just seen the end of the world.

Claire plopped down beside her, rubbing her temples. “What happened to you?”

Maz blinked, her voice distant. “I suddenly felt sick after hearing the words come from that man’s mouth.”

Claire frowned, looking genuinely concerned. “Huuuh!?!? You can understand that, but not me?”

Maz simply nodded, her face visibly disturbed. I bit my lip, struggling to keep from laughing.

Despite the absurdity of Ricao’s introduction, the fight itself was shifting.

Faun had adjusted, his stance wide and grounded, his weight expertly distributed to counter the artificial gravity. His eyes were sharper now, calculating, focused.

He had figured out Ricao’s rhythm.

The playful, nimble dancer was being slowly, methodically boxed in. Every step forward was countered, every jab deflected. Ricao’s fluid movements became jerky, uncoordinated, as Faun closed the gaps, suffocating his momentum.

But Ricao’s grin didn’t falter. Even as Faun advanced, even as the noose tightened, he looked annoyingly unfazed.

I narrowed my eyes, analyzing the exchange. What’s he planning?

This fight is over.

Or so I thought.

Corvus’s voice cut through the air, sharp and definitive. “Faun. Disqualified.”

What?

The three of us exchanged confused looks. The magical lines on the floor flickered, shifting subtly as the arena adjusted to Faun’s removal. The shrinking zones grew tighter, the glow from the embers casting an eerie light across the training hall.

Faun pushed his way through the crowd, settling down next to me, frustration written all over his face. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched tight. The pressure in the air had faded outside the ring, but his irritation remained heavy.

“How?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.

“I… I’m not sure,” Faun admitted, his brows furrowed in irritation. “I had him. I was shutting him down completely. Then—” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “He suddenly landed a hit on my jaw. It wasn’t even that strong, but somehow, in the same breath, he got behind me and put me in a chokehold.”

I absorbed the information, frowning. That didn’t make sense. If Faun was as in control as he claimed, there was no reason for Ricao to break through so suddenly.

Claire crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Great. That buffoon is gonna win, isn’t he?”

“Not necessarily,” I muttered, my gaze drifting back to the fight.

The glowing lines on the floor pulsed, shrinking inward. Each contraction was accompanied by a faint hum, the air rippling as the barriers forced the remaining fighters closer together. The magical pressure increased, gravity pushing down harder, making every movement more labored, more deliberate.

Ricao moved within his zone, his posture loose, casual. He wore a lazy grin, one that should have looked ridiculous given the circumstances, but somehow suited him. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze locking with mine. He winked.

My jaw tightened.

Instructor Corvus disqualified a few more students as skirmishes erupted across the training grounds. The air was charged, thick with tension. Some of the fights were over in an instant—brutal, efficient takedowns. Others dragged out longer as the more skilled fighters tested their mettle, dancing around each other with precise footwork.

The lines continued to shrink, the magic growing more erratic, the hum intensifying. The floor beneath the fighters’ feet vibrated faintly, the glowing embers at the edges flaring as the zones reached their smallest form yet.

One by one, the disqualified wall of shame grew. Faun sat next to me, his eyes glued to Ricao, shoulders rigid. I could practically hear his teeth grinding.

I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t understand it either.

Until only five remained.

Two girls. Three guys.

And among them—Ricao and Serrani.

Ricao smiled cheekily, winking my way. It took everything in my power not to recoil in secondhand embarrassment. What part of him thought that was attractive? Why did he have this unshakable, unearned confidence?

I nearly jumped when Instructor Corvus’s voice cut through the air. “Five minutes left.”

My gaze shifted, taking in the remaining contenders. Three new students. All of them moved with the ease of people accustomed to fighting. They weren’t amateurs. Still, I doubted any of them were a match for that dread-headed narcissist. Then again, I’d been in this class for years, and even I wouldn’t be confident facing him.

Then, without a word, one of the remaining students stepped forward.

Pale. Lean, but not fragile. There was something unsettling about the way he carried himself— poised, fluid, like a blade drawn in silence. He barely acknowledged Ricao before moving.

A single strike. Ricao staggered back, barely blocking in time. The force was staggering. Not just fast—brutal. Efficient.

Who the hell was this guy?

Ricao recovered quickly, slipping into a counter. He aimed a quick, sharp jab at the boy’s jaw—only for his wrist to be snatched mid-motion. The new guy barely reacted, fingers clamping down like a vice.

Ricao’s knees buckled. His face contorted in pain. “Me concede!” he squeaked.

Laughter rippled through the class.

Claire smirked. “That idiot lost that easily? Pfft.”

The remaining four exchanged looks. Then, without much hesitation—one by one, they conceded.

“Emily, Serrani, Edward, Ricao. Disqualified.” Corvus declared, stepping forward.

Ricao grumbled under his breath as he rubbed his wrist, muttering something about “lucky shot” before retreating to the wall.

“Well done to Dorian Shadsly,” Corvus announced, his eyes lingering on the pale boy. There was a flicker of curiosity, maybe even approval, in his gaze. “Now, for the rest of you, you’re free to do as you see fit for the remainder of class.”

Dorian didn’t react. No smile, no relief. He merely relaxed his stance, the tension leaving his shoulders as if the fight had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Maz cocked her head. “Shadsly? I’ve never heard that last name before.”

I frowned. Neither had I.

Claire scoffed. “Maybe the school finally started a program to give poor people a chance at learning.” She didn’t even bother hiding the contempt in her voice.

Claire's words should've made me roll my eyes. I should've laughed. I should've said something sarcastic in return. But I didn't. My gaze drifted back to Dorian. He stood near the weapon racks now, running his fingers over the hilt of a practice sword, his posture eerily relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.

The way he moved…deliberate, precise…reminded me of someone. Someone from a past I wasn’t supposed to think about.

I exhaled sharply, forcing my attention elsewhere. Around me, students milled about, some stretching, others talking in small clusters. Ricao was still rubbing his fist, muttering something to himself as Serrani pretended he didn’t exist. Faun had already moved to the far side of the room, meticulously adjusting the straps on his sparring gloves, his face unreadable.

I needed to shake this feeling off.

Pivoting on my heel, I strode toward the refreshment table set up in the corner of the training hall. Most students ignored it, but I knew better. The Academy never did anything by half measures—especially not for students bearing the right last name.

A boy dressed in the crisp, navy-and-gold uniform of a school servant stood behind the table, barely older than twelve. His posture was rigid, his eyes carefully lowered, hands folded behind his back. The Ashfall name carried weight, and while I rarely wielded it like a weapon, others still bent beneath it.

He straightened at my approach. "Would you like tea, Lady Ashfall?"

I bit back a sigh. I hated the title, the way it felt like a collar around my throat. But correcting him wouldn't change anything.

"Yes, please," I said instead.

The boy moved with practiced efficiency, selecting a fine porcelain cup and filling it with amber liquid from an ornate silver pot. The scent of jasmine and honey drifted upward as he handed it to me with both hands, head slightly bowed.

I took the cup, fingers brushing against the delicate ceramic.

This was my life now.

I was fine.

I had my family. My place in Remfall.

I had friends. I had a future.

I was fine.

The past was over.

The past was buried.

And yet, as I brought the cup to my lips, the taste of the tea did nothing to wash away the bitterness lingering on my tongue.