The roar of applause still echoed faintly through the grand hall, though much of it had already begun to scatter into murmurs and hurried footsteps. Victory had been declared, the Dark Valley faded back into nothing more than an empty stage, yet the weight of it lingered.
From the viewing balcony above, the spectacle looked strangely small—like pieces on a game board swept clean. Soldiers, monsters, and valleys had all dissolved with Professor Cally's macht, but what remained was harder to erase: the sight of a violet-haired freshman standing unshaken at Riel Desillix's side.
Prince Navelleir leaned forward against the railing, his posture deceptively lazy, but his eyes glinted sharp with thought. He had missed most of the match, arriving only in time to hear the cheers at its conclusion. Still, the name flashing on the results board was enough.
"Desillix," he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course it'd be you."
Then his gaze drifted—drawn, almost against his will—to the girl standing beside Riel. The smirk faltered.
"...Riley?"
A voice, smooth and amused, slipped into the pause.
"Oh? So you know her too?"
Nave turned his head sharply. A familiar figure had taken the space beside him as if she had always been there. Pale gold hair shimmered under the light, her uniform marked with the crimson trim of the thriver class, her bearing unshakably regal.
"Elaris," Nave said, surprise flickering despite himself.
She leaned against the railing as though it belonged to her, ruby eyes fixed on the scene below with cool detachment. "Didn't expect to see you here either."
Nave's brow rose. "Elaris," he repeated, this time with a note of disbelief. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Her posture mirrored his, graceful yet relaxed, arms resting against the railing. Her pale-gold hair fell in carefully woven braids that caught the lamplight, and her uniform—crimson lined, immaculate—seemed to command its own gravity.
"Greetings, Your Highness the Second Prince." Elaris gave him an impeccable curtsy, fluid as water.
"I thought you hated crowds," Nave muttered.
"And I thought you hated public events," she replied with the faintest curl of a smile.
He smirked back. "I came to see Riel. You too, I assume? Fiancée duties?"
Elaris gave a lazy shrug. "Partially. Mostly..."—her eyes flicked to the violet-haired girl below—"...to see her."
Nave's gaze followed hers.
"Her?" He arched a brow, lips curving. "Jealous already?"
"Please." Elaris scoffed softly. "Jealousy is the last thing a noble lady can afford. Political marriages don't have room for such nonsense."
Nave chuckled under his breath. "Still realistic as ever."
"And you," she countered, eyes glinting, "still in denial."
He had opened his mouth, ready to throw back a retort, but the shift in atmosphere below caught them both. Professors moved across the stage, preparing papers. The crowd's energy shifted from heated applause to impatient chatter.
All six matches had concluded, and the faculty announced a short recess while scores were tallied. Disappointment rippled through the students—many had hoped for a tournament-style final, a true winner. But this was not sport; it was assessment.
Some filed out muttering about the anticlimax. Others lingered, buzzing with speculation about which names would rise with glory.
Elaris tapped the railing lightly with her gloved finger. "Come," she said, a hint of amusement lacing her tone. "Let's greet our favorite icy heir."
Nave snorted. "You say that like it's a joy."
---
Down below, Riley sat on one of the benches along the hall's side, cooling herself with a paper fan. Her hands still trembled faintly—not from fear, but the aftershocks of adrenaline. Her mind replayed the battlefield in fragments: collapsing cliffs, drowned ravines, Riel's commands cutting sharper than any sword.
She was still lost in those thoughts when a voice broke through.
"Hey. Do you still remember me?"
She looked up.
Silver-blonde hair. Sharp, amused golden eyes. That soft, teasing voice.
Riley rose quickly, violet eyes widening. "Your Highness—" she dropped into a curtsy, "—Second Prince Navelleir."
Nave grimaced, lips quirking. "Please don't do that. You didn't bow back then."
Her brow knit. "Back... then?"
Before she could press further, a colder presence brushed her awareness—familiar as the weight of her own shadow.
Riel stepped in beside her, holding two bottles of water—one already uncapped, offered silently into her hand.
"To what do we owe the grace of His Highness?" His voice was level, but tension threaded through it, a frost sharp enough to bite. Guarded. On edge.
Nave's smile didn't waver. "Am I not allowed to visit a classmate? And an old friend?"
Riel's reply was crisp as ice cracking. "It's not a good time for idle chatter, Your Highness."
Before the tension could escalate further, a third presence slipped in—graceful, impossible to ignore.
Riley's breath caught. Platinum blonde hair cascaded in intricate braids down her back, ruby eyes gleamed like gemstones, and her aura carried a weight that made even nobility take pause.
"And do I need permission to visit my fiancé?" Elaris's voice was silken, amused. Her cloak swayed as she stepped forward, elegance woven into every motion. Her eyes found Riley almost immediately.
Riley's lips parted, recognition flashing. That voice. That hair. That night.
"You're the one... from the forest—"
Elaris tilted her head, lips curving. "Oh, you remember. Good."
"You healed me."
"I did," Elaris said lightly, then turned toward Riel with playful triumph. "She remembers me. She likes me."
Riel exhaled heavily, rubbing at his temple. "You didn't give her much choice."
Riley's heart raced, but she managed a flustered laugh. "I never got your name..."
With a curtsy that would shame half the nobility, Elaris introduced herself, "Elaris von Kleiv. Daughter of Marquess Kleiv. And unfortunately"—she threw Riel a sly glance—"the one betrothed to this shadow-obsessed iceberg."
Riel groaned faintly. "You introduce yourself like that every time?"
Elaris shrugged innocently. "I find it leaves an impression."
Riley smiled despite herself. "I'm Vyrilleya Vreisz. From the Viscounty of Vreisz."
"Everyone seems to call you Riley," Elaris said, voice smooth but with an undercurrent of intent. "Mind if I do too?"
Riley hesitated, but it wasn't the kind of question one could refuse. This girl had healed her, saved her from Selanne's cruelty. Warmth bloomed in her chest. "Of course. If My Lady is comfortable with it."
"Perfect," Elaris beamed, her smile radiant. "Riley it is."
Riley blinked, dazed by the sudden bond. She had no idea what just unfolded, but she felt instinctively that she'd gained a powerful ally.
The moment was broken by the professors' return to the podium, their robes swaying as silence fell once more.
"Duty calls," Elaris said lightly, tugging at Nave's sleeve. "We'll leave you two to it."
Without waiting for a reply, she guided the prince away, eyes glittering with private amusement.
Riley watched them go, pulse still racing. She turned to Riel. "Was that... always your fiancée?"
His sideways glance was brief, unreadable, as he handed her the water bottle.
"Yes," he said simply. "Unfortunately."
---
The faculty gathered at the podium with an air of finality, their movements deliberate, voices carrying weight enough to hush the hall.
Professor Helstam took the center. His presence, composed yet commanding, seemed to draw every gaze.
"Students," he began, tone resonant, "the evaluation is complete. All six matches have been reviewed. I will now announce the teams whose performances exceeded expectations."
The room tensed, anticipation rippling like current.
"Team Desillix," Helstam declared, the name ringing through the hall like a struck bell.
Riley's breath hitched. She had expected recognition—Riel's strategy had been flawless—but hearing it spoken aloud, in public, was something else entirely.
Whispers stirred the crowd. Desillix? Of course. That name meant brilliance, cold execution, a lineage of tactical genius. To hear it acknowledged was expected.
But her name was not Desillix. She was only Vyrilleya Vreisz—daughter of a minor viscount, a forgotten name on most registries. Yet here she stood, violet hair catching the light, side by side with him. Gazes burned into her, heavy with questions, envy, doubt.
Professor Helstam's eyes swept toward them. "A victory without loss of life, even within simulation, is rare. The tactical precision demonstrated warrants mention. Yet..."—his voice dropped, heavy as iron—"success does not erase weakness. The leader's insecurities nearly fractured the unit at its inception. Only intervention prevented collapse. Desillix," his gaze fixed on Riel, "you carried the burden. But leadership is not meant to rest on one alone."
The words cut deep. Riley's fists clenched at her skirt. She wanted to speak—to protest—but her voice faltered against the weight of the hall.
Riel inclined his head slightly, accepting the rebuke with unnerving calm.
Other names followed, praise and critique handed in equal measure, but Riley heard none of it. Her thoughts lingered on that line. Not meant to rest on one alone. And yet Riel had borne it. Without hesitation. Without falter.
When dismissal was finally given, the hall loosened into chatter. Some basked in recognition, others sulked under criticism.
Riley walked beside Riel in silence, their footsteps echoing against the stone.
"You were amazing," she whispered at last.
He didn't slow, his profile carved in shadow. "It was necessary."
"That doesn't mean it wasn't extraordinary."
For a fleeting instant, his eyes softened, before ice shuttered them again. "Don't romanticize survival."
Her breath caught at the word. Survival. It rang too familiar, too heavy, like a memory she couldn't quite place.
"...Besides," Riel added, almost offhandedly, "it was all thanks to my dependable partner handling the disturbances." His hand brushed her head in passing, a fleeting pat, grounding yet uncharacteristically gentle. "You also did great."
Riley's lips parted. That brief gesture, so small, warmed her more than all the applause in the hall. She let out a long, shaky sigh—like finally setting down a burden she'd carried for months.
All the studying. All the sleepless nights. All the mock battles. None of it had been in vain.