The next morning, a sharp breeze rattled the tower windows and drew me from uneasy sleep. Dawn's light barely reached through the haze outside, but the academy's halls already hummed with activity—mostly whispers. Every shadow held a rumor. Every passing glance lingered a bit too long.
By the time I reached the dueling grounds, Mireille was already there, sword flashing even brighter in the pale morning. She nodded in greeting. "You're late."
"Five minutes early," I protested, breath visible in the chill.
She cracked a slim smile. "Not by my clock." Without another word, she motioned for me to take position.
We sparred in quiet focus. I noticed her movements had changed—not just threatening, but protectively circling, as though standing watch. For the first time, I felt like we weren't just training. We were being watched—judged by eyes I couldn't see.
Over her shoulder, I spotted Seraphina gliding along the edge of the field, a journal in hand. She scribbled furiously, occasionally flicking her gaze between me, Mireille, and the cluster of upperclassmen loitering beneath the banners.
After our match, Mireille leaned close. "They're talking more than usual." Her voice was low, words meant for me alone. "Stay alert after class. I have a feeling you'll be tested again—and not by the faculty."
Tangled Encounters
By mid-morning, the academy pulsed with tension. In Spell Theory, I sat sandwiched between Elane and Liora. Elane passed me a folded note under her sleeve:
"They say you're hiding something. I don't believe it. But… be careful, please."
I offered a lopsided smile, pocketing the paper.
Liora didn't write; she reached out and silently placed a carved stone on my desk—a warding rune, if the glyphs were honest. When I met her gaze, she held it, searching for something unsaid, then nodded and melted into her own silence.
Later, in the corridor, Cassandra intercepted me, posture bristling with agitation. "Three students asked about you this morning. Upper years." Her tone was clipped. "If anyone corners you, call for me. Understand?"
She pressed a small, cold charm into my palm—a silver rook, the emblem of her House. "Don't lose it."
My thanks caught in my throat as she stalked off. For all her protectiveness, trust didn't come easy.
Brewing Storms
After classes, the common hall was thick with murmurs. Faces I recognized only from the background now clustered in small knots, pausing mid-conversation as I passed.
Seraphina cornered me at the foot of the staircase, her grin razor-sharp. "Word is, someone challenged your 'honor' before breakfast was cold. I hope you're flattered."
"Flattered isn't the word I'd use."
She shrugged, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Does it ever bother you, being at the storm's eye?"
Elane fluttered at my elbow, voice almost lost beneath the growing din, "Don't go alone anywhere tonight. Please?"
"I promise," I whispered. The truth was, I didn't plan to leave the dormitory at all. Too many shadows, and too many invisible fights.
As the day wore on, the sense of pressure mounted. Each heroine checked in—some protective, some almost possessive, all uneasy in their own ways. I recognized their glances for what they were: warnings and promises, a web tightening around me, whether I wanted it or not.
That night, as the halls quieted and only the wind raked the ancient stones, I found myself awake long after the candles had gone out. For the first time, the academy felt less like a challenge and more like a snare.
And somewhere in the distance, a pair of unseen eyes watched—and, I feared, listened to everything I dared not say aloud.
[End of Chapter 8]