The rest of the day passed in a haze of introductions, expectations, and constant stares.
Elira walked through the academy like a doll on display—watched, whispered about, and measured. Every student who passed offered either a respectful nod or a wary glance. None of them dared approach.
Not when she was flanked by two living legends.
Celestienne walked on her left, silent and regal. Isolde on her right, humming softly, occasionally brushing her shoulder just enough to make Elira flinch. The air between them was so thick with tension that Elira could hardly breathe.
They didn't speak to each other. They didn't need to.
Their war was quiet. Controlled.
And Elira was the battlefield.
"Do you always follow people around like this?" she asked finally, unable to stand the silence.
Isolde grinned. "Only when I'm interested."
Celestienne didn't even glance at her. "She needs supervision. After such a long absence, it would be irresponsible to leave her alone."
"I'm not a child," Elira muttered.
"No," Celestienne agreed, voice calm. "But you're fragile."
"I'm not—"
"You collapsed once already. I won't allow it again."
Elira stopped in her tracks.
It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't concern.
It was a command.
Celestienne took another step before realizing she was alone. She turned slowly, silver eyes unreadable.
"I don't need a warden," Elira said, quietly but firmly. "I can walk myself to class."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, surprisingly, Isolde let out a soft laugh. "You've grown a spine. Good. You'll need it."
Celestienne's gaze remained locked on Elira. Then she gave a slight nod, as if granting permission.
"I'll see you after class," she said, and turned away.
Isolde watched her go, then leaned in close to Elira's ear. "Careful, darling. You just poked the queen. And queens don't like being challenged."
Elira didn't answer. She just walked.
Her first class was "Foundations of Magical Ethics." The title sounded promising. Safe. Maybe even boring.
She was wrong.
The professor, an aging man with a pointed beard and robes too long for his legs, launched into a lecture about magical boundaries—how noble mages were expected to show restraint, discipline, and obedience to tradition.
"Magic," he said sternly, "is not a toy. Nor is it a weapon for petty ambition. It is the legacy of our bloodlines. A responsibility. Abuse it, and you will find yourself before the Royal Tribunal faster than you can chant your first incantation."
Elira scribbled notes mechanically, trying to understand the unfamiliar terms. The magical theory was complex, the social structure even more so. Nobles had rights. Commoners didn't. Certain types of magic were restricted to specific bloodlines.
And worse… she had no idea what kind of power Elira Veremelle even possessed.
At one point, the professor called her name.
"Lady Elira. Would you care to explain the fundamental principle of mana resonance?"
Dozens of heads turned toward her.
Elira froze.
Her throat tightened. Her fingers trembled around her quill.
Say something. Anything.
"I… believe it relates to… the synchronization between an individual's core and the ambient flow of elemental mana," she said, barely disguising the guess.
There was a long pause.
Then, the professor gave a small nod. "Acceptable."
She exhaled slowly. Crisis averted.
For now.
After class, she tried to leave quickly. Blend into the crowd. Vanish.
But the moment she stepped into the hallway, a familiar presence blocked her path.
Celestienne.
"You lied," she said calmly.
Elira blinked. "About what?"
"You don't remember your studies. You don't remember me. And yet you pretend."
"I'm trying," Elira said, voice tight. "You said yourself I was in a coma. Of course some things would be fuzzy."
"Don't insult me."
The words were soft. Almost tender.
That made them worse.
Celestienne stepped closer, close enough for Elira to see the pale shimmer of magic flickering at her fingertips. It felt cold. Restrained.
"You've changed too much," she whispered. "Too quickly. If you're not Elira… then who are you?"
Elira's heart pounded.
"I'm doing my best," she said, trying to step back—but Celestienne's hand shot out, not grabbing her, just hovering beside her cheek.
"I don't care if you're lying," Celestienne murmured. "But lie better."
Then she turned and walked away.
Back in her room, Elira collapsed onto the bed.
Everything was happening too fast.
Celestienne's cold intensity. Isolde's teasing closeness. The academy. The pressure. The magic she didn't understand. The fear she couldn't shake.
She stared at the ceiling.
"I just want to graduate quietly," she whispered.
But something in her gut knew the truth.
They wouldn't let her.
Not Celestienne.
Not Isolde.
And maybe… not even the world itself.