The resentment between Eliza and me festered, a silent poison that seeped into every shared moment. Our conversations became clipped, our shared glances evasive. The bond that had pulled us through the darkest times was fraying under the constant pressure of my accelerating progress and her deepening struggle.
The breaking point came during our end-of-year practical examination for Elemental Manipulation. The task was to create and maintain a complex, multi-layered shield that could withstand a series of enchanted projectiles. Students were called up one by one, their shields shimmering with varying degrees of success.
When it was Eliza's turn, she stood stiffly at the center of the enchanted circle. She began the incantation, her voice trembling slightly. A translucent barrier flickered into existence around her, but it was thin, almost transparent. The first enchanted projectile, a simple dart of pure energy, struck it and shattered the shield instantly. Eliza cried out, stumbling backward as the residual magical shock dissipated. Her face was etched with humiliation and despair.
"Eliza, are you alright?" the professor asked, hurrying to her side.
She nodded mutely, her eyes glistening. She walked off the platform, her shoulders hunched. Our eyes met for a brief second, and in hers, I saw not just failure, but a raw, aching pain, and something else—a flash of bitter accusation aimed directly at me.
Then, it was my turn.
I stepped onto the platform, the familiar cold determination settling over me. I remembered Cael's subtle pointers, the hours I'd spent visualizing the flow of magic. My hands rose, and the incantation flowed from my lips, not just words, but pure intent. A robust, shimmering blue shield solidified around me, its layers interlocking, feeling like an extension of my own will.
The projectiles began. First, the darts, which bounced off harmlessly. Then, heavier, glowing spheres that impacted with a dull thud but left the shield intact. Finally, a concentrated blast of crackling lightning. My shield pulsed, momentarily faltered, but held. It was powerful, resilient, a stark contrast to Eliza's.
A murmur went through the room, followed by hushed whispers and then genuine applause. Even the professor looked surprised, his gaze lingering on me with newfound curiosity. I had not just passed; I had excelled.
As I walked off the platform, feeling the hum of spent magic in my veins, Eliza intercepted me. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing with a mix of tears and fury. She pulled me away from the departing students, into a deserted hallway.
"What was that, Kira?" she hissed, her voice barely a whisper but laced with venom. "How are you doing that? You were struggling worse than me just months ago!"
"I told you," I said, my own voice calm, "I worked harder. I studied."
"No!" she almost shouted, then lowered her voice again, fearfully glancing around. "No, you didn't! Not that much! It's him, isn't it? The magician. Cael. He's helping you. I see him watching you, I see the way you look at him. Are you... are you betraying us, Kira? Taking his help, after everything?"
Her words stung, a venomous arrow striking deep. "Betraying us? Eliza, he hasn't done anything. And I'm getting strong for us! For Leon! This is the only way!"
"No, it's for you!" she cried, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "You're changing, Kira! You're becoming like them! Cold, ruthless. You don't even laugh anymore! You just work, and you just stare at them with that hatred in your eyes, and now you're taking help from them to get ahead! What happened to us? What happened to friendship?"
Her raw pain sliced through my carefully constructed walls, but her accusations hardened me even further. "What happened to us is that we lost everything, Eliza! And I'm not going to let that happen again! I need to be strong! I need power! And if you can't keep up, that's not my fault!"
The words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Eliza's eyes widened, a look of profound hurt replacing her anger. She took a step back, as if I had physically struck her.
"Fine," she whispered, her voice broken. "Then I guess... I guess we're not 'us' anymore."
She turned and ran, disappearing down the hallway, leaving me standing alone, the silence heavy and suffocating. The triumph of my exam performance felt hollow, replaced by a searing ache in my chest. My mission remained, clear and unwavering, but the cost felt impossibly high.