Three days had passed.
Three long, bitter days of missed classes, silent meals, and scrubbing out alchemy rooms as punishment.
Nagara had learned one thing: detention at Paladas Academy was designed to grind down even the most prideful students until they no longer resembled themselves.
So when the heavy doors to the Theory Hall opened that morning, he stepped inside with quiet determination.
No drama.
No duels.
No smug earth-bending princes.
Just… learning.
After all, he reminded himself, he had come here for power—and power without knowledge was just noise.
He scanned the room. Azlin was already seated near the front, scribbling careful notes into a leather-bound book. As always, the boy looked entirely out of place in this world of cutthroat ambition—too gentle, too still. But here, among aged scrolls and echoing lectures, Azlin glowed.
Rania, of course, was nowhere to be seen.
Nagara took a quiet seat a few rows back. The professor, an elderly elf with six monocles layered over one sharp eye, cleared his throat and began without a glance up.
"Today, we examine the Heraldic Symbols of the Five Great Houses of Paladas, and the philosophies they once stood for—before the rise of bloodline elitism."
Most students shifted lazily in their chairs.
Azlin's hand rose.
"The flowers were chosen not for aesthetics, but for meaning," he said softly. "Each was rooted in an elemental or moral virtue."
There was a pause. The professor tilted his head.
"Go on."
Azlin didn't falter.
"Validus bears the red camellia—strength, unwavering pride, and honor in power.
Rashaqa chose the swift orchid—for agility, speed, and instinctive clarity.
Calliditas is marked by the foxglove—a clever bloom, symbolizing cunning and wit.
Physeis holds the fernflower—rooted in nature, harmony, and healing.
And then there's Mennefer, with the pale edelweiss. The flower of quiet endurance, humility, and survival. Often overlooked, but it blooms in the harshest cliffs."
The professor blinked, monocles clinking faintly.
"…Impressively accurate. And rare knowledge, even among staff."
A quiet murmur stirred in the room.
Nagara sat straighter. He hadn't known half of that. And judging by the furrowed brows around the hall, neither had most of the fifth years.
Azlin, meanwhile, calmly resumed taking notes, not even glancing back.
Nagara leaned forward slightly.
That boy—soft-voiced, bookish, always one step behind the noise—was beginning to feel more and more like the only one truly ahead of it.
And for the first time since arriving, Nagara didn't feel like an outsider fighting to be seen.
…
As the class ended and the students shuffled out into the sunlit courtyard, Nagara noticed that Azlin was slower than usual. The boy held his satchel tighter, steps a little too careful. A few students in dark green sashes—House Calliditas—circled nearby, whispering and snickering.
It started with a shove.
One of the Calliditas boys, tall and smug-faced, bumped into Azlin hard enough to send his books clattering.
"Well, well. If it isn't the walking encyclopedia," he sneered. "Still showing off in class? Trying to impress the professors, huh?"
Azlin knelt silently, gathering his books. Another snide voice added, "Maybe he's hoping for a scholarship out of Mennefer—poor little weed."
Nagara's jaw tensed. He took a step forward.
Azlin caught his eye and shook his head firmly.
"Don't," he said quietly. "You already got detention once. It's not worth it."
"But—"
"I've dealt with worse."
Still, Nagara's fists clenched. He didn't like watching it—Azlin didn't deserve this. Just as he was about to ignore Azlin's warning—
A cool, clear voice cut through the courtyard:
"That's enough."
All heads turned.
A girl stepped between them. She had cascading peach-pink hair, tied elegantly with silk cords, and sharp amber eyes that held the calm authority of someone used to being obeyed. Her House Calliditas crest gleamed on her cloak's collar—gold embroidered foxglove.
The bullies instantly straightened.
"Lys," one muttered, eyes dropping.
She tilted her head slightly, smiling without warmth. "Didn't realize Calliditas had stooped to mocking Mennefer students for knowing things. How clever of you all."
None of them replied. The silence was answer enough.
Lys turned her gaze to Azlin, then to Nagara.
"I apologize," she said, polite but sincere. "They don't represent the house. Or me."
Then she extended a hand to Nagara. "You must be the prince everyone's whispering about. I'm Lys Kaelith, Head of House Calliditas."
Nagara blinked, surprised. He took her hand slowly.
"I'm Nagara."
She smiled. "I know."
Then, with a nod to Azlin, she added, "Don't let them get to you. Mennefer may be quiet, but quiet things tend to survive longest."
And with that, she turned, and the Calliditas students followed her with hushed reverence, not daring another word.
Once they were out of earshot, Nagara glanced at Azlin. "Who is she?"
Azlin adjusted his glasses. "Lys Kaelith. Fifth year. She's the top of House Calliditas—and one of the most influential students in the entire academy. Some say she's already been offered a seat in the Council of Tacticians."
Nagara raised an eyebrow. "She saved us."
"She saved me," Azlin said with a small smile. "But I think she might be curious about you."
Nagara looked toward where she had gone, expression unreadable.
"…I don't know if that's a good thing or not."