A hush hung in the library like a held breath. Frost clung to the inside of the stained glass, spiderwebbed over with delicate veins of white. Oil lamps cast long, flickering shadows across the towering shelves of war records, spellcraft theory, and ancient national scriptures. The warmth inside was artificial. Bricks heated by an alchemy furnace in the floor, but the cold still lingered in the corners, as if Nivalis itself couldn't bear to be entirely warm.
Behind a desk near the far end sat The Principal, unmoving. He always seemed to be waiting for something. He wore no insignia beyond the academy's coat with iron buttons, not luxurious but carried weight. His hands were folded over a book he hadn't turned in an hour.
Footsteps were heard, measured and firm across the marble tiles. They did not approach like a student's timid shuffle or a clerk's light step. These were brisk, confident. Boots clicked once, paused, then moved toward him with military precision.
"You're late," he murmured, without looking up.
"I don't operate on cathedral time," came the voice, clear, grounded, with a rasp earned not by age but discipline. There was always a kind of friction in the way she spoke, like a flint striking near-dry wood.
Instructor Anastasia emerged from between the shelves, her officer's coat stiff with snow dust, her gloves tucked under one arm. Her presence disrupted the silence of the library like a crack through glass, unwelcome and necessary all at once.
She stepped forward and placed a thin, weather-worn folder on the table. It made no sound louder than a whisper, but it felt like a thunderclap in the stillness.
He closed the book with a slow, deliberate motion. "I assume this isn't more paperwork on recruitment quotas."
"We confirmed the report," she folded her arms. "A boy, around eleven, from the Southern District. No registered parents, assumed war orphan."
At the sound of the name, he finally turned his head. "Another one?"
"Yes. At least… we believe so," she said, opening the folder to reveal a report, a blurry photograph, and a hand-scrawled note written by a local caretaker. "It came from a residual memory bleed. No manifestation of Astra. No known element. However, the resonance is undeniable."
The Principal lifted an eyebrow. "Undeniable?"
"I watched the report twice," she said. "Survival instincts on par with active soldiers. Predictive movement. Weapon familiarity. All with no formal combat background."
"He's being trained right now," she continued. "Out in the woods. By someone you and I both know."
He paused, almost theatrically, before asking, "Is it him?"
Anastasia's lips pressed into a flat line. "It is."
Neither spoke for a moment.
No one said his name, as if it were sacred and cursed. But they knew who it was.
Then she scoffed under her breath and leaned back in her chair. "Of course it's him."
"You're angry."
"I'm not angry," she grumbled. "I'm… tired."
His eyes didn't flinch. "He was your friend once."
"He was more than that," she said flatly. "And then he became less than nothing."
"He left because he had to."
"He left because he wanted to."
She stood suddenly, her coat flaring behind her like a shadow. She turned away from the table and looked out through the frost-stained glass. Beyond the walls of the Academy, the snowy pines of the forest loomed like memories carved in silver.
"He disappeared during the Demon Year outbreak. Didn't say a word. Not even to me," her voice dropped. "And now he reappears to train a child? What's he playing at?"
He rose slowly, smoothing the front of his vest. "He was never the sort who played. If he chose to train this boy, there's a reason, and you'll have to find it yourself."
She was silent for a moment, then she took a deep breath.
"Unofficially?" her frown deepened.
"For now. Quiet observation. If this child really is what we think he is, the academy will need to prepare for ripple effects."
She wanted to reject it, but curiosity defeated her ego. She shook her head, retrieving the folder from the desk.
"Take Lilya with you, she'll offer the lighter touch," he suggested.
"Lighter touch?" she tilted her head. "The one who once blew the practice tower with her Astra?"
He didn't say anything, except a silent smile for her.
Instructor Anastasia lifted her foot, leaving the library. As she turned to leave, The Principal spoke again, so softly it nearly faded.
"You never truly stopped waiting for him."
She heard it, but never tried to deny it. She just disappeared between the shelves, leaving only the flickering lamplight and the scent of old paper behind her.
***
The morning sun had risen only halfway over the mountain rim, casting long lavender shadows across the whitewashed roofs of Nivalis. The city stirred beneath a pale sky, its usual bustle quieted by the chill. Within the academy's perimeter, snow-crusted paths crunched under careful boots as Instructor Anastasia made her way to the training stables.
The wind was sharp. It slipped beneath her collar and danced around the edges of her regulation coat, but she paid it no mind. Her thoughts were already too loud.
She was supposed to be composed, sharp and controlled, like the lightning that answered her call. But her fingers twitched at her side. The conversation with the Principal still looped in her head.
A low, sudden hum sliced through the air above her.
Anastasia stopped and tilted her head back, squinting past the glare of the white sky.
Far above the frostbitten rooftops of Nivalis, a thin white contrail cut a diagonal line through the overcast sky. Suspended in the air, lounging atop a missile-shaped Astra with her legs lazily crossed and one arm dangling off the side, Lilya waited.
She wasn't in a rush. Snowflakes melted on her cheeks and boots as she hovered in place, the humming of the Astra's propulsion just soft enough to be mistaken for distant wind. Her long coat fluttered in the cold air, but she seemed unfazed, a picture of poised nonchalance in a place where no one else could stand.
A book rested on her stomach, half-read and forgotten. Her head tilted slightly as she spotted the familiar figure below. A smile curled at her lips, slow and knowing.
"Well, well. Speak of the thunder and she appears."
Anastasia didn't even flinch. She crossed her arms and stared up, unimpressed. "I told you not to make dramatic entrances."
"Strict as usual, aren't you?" Lilya called back cheerfully.
The missile-broom descended in a smooth arc. The propulsion's hum died down as Lilya's boots touched the snow. She hopped off with practiced ease, as if the explosive-powered contraption were nothing more than a bicycle. Her coat swept open in the motion, revealing the Academy crest over her heart and the faint sparkle of frost on her scarf.
"Still reading that trashy wartime romance?" Anastasia said, nodding at the worn paperback Lilya tucked under her arm.
"Absolutely. There's something cathartic about people falling in love while artillery rains down around them."
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Your standards remain impeccable."
Lilya grinned. "Admit it, you missed me, right?"
"I missed the silence," she answered immediately.
"Oh, hush. You'd miss me even more if I didn't call your real name." Lilya leaned in with a mock whisper. "How's dear Miss Luchnikova doing today?"
Anastasia stiffened, but didn't protest. Not this time.
The snow fell gently around them, catching in their hair and eyelashes. For a breath, it was quiet.
Lilya's tone softened. "So… he's really alive, huh? That gloomy Arvid guy."
Anastasia nodded. Her gaze drifted northward, beyond the walls, toward the wilderness.
They stood there a moment longer, the sound of the wind rising and falling like a breath between them.
Then, Lilya stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Do you want to see him again?"
"I... don't know," she hesitated.
Lilya understood her very well.
Anastasia always acted perfect, as if she knew what was going to happen. But deep down, she was just a woman still trapped in her own thoughts.
"So it has been decided then," she cheered while pulling Anastasia's hand. "Let's go meet that depressed guy and beat him after what he'd done."
She was surprised by her sudden behavior, but she followed anyway. Only with them could she be soft and relaxed, while hoping this moment would last.