A moment later, Suri arrived.

  She hadn’t expected the sudden weight in her chest—not when she already knew something had happened. She’d caught wind of the rumor moments after the illusion she cast whispered the image of Kana sprinting through the Academy’s halls, soaked and holding a child.

  But the reality of it—Kana sitting there, towel draped over her head, hair still damp, her face pale and hollow like something had been scooped out of her—hits differently.

  Suri walked slowly, silently.

  She sat beside her without a word, folded her arms around Kana’s shivering frame, and pulled her close.

  Kana didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Her breathing was slow but strained, like each inhale asked permission. Her fingers, still faintly curled, trembled slightly as if they hadn’t yet realized the crisis was over.

  Suri rested her chin on Kana’s shoulder.

  She didn’t push. She didn’t ask what happened. There’d be a time for questions, but not now. The weight in Kana’s eyes wasn’t one that words could carry away. It had to be held—quietly, gently.

  After a long pause, Suri whispered again, softer this time, “Let’s go to our room.”

  Kana didn’t answer. But when Suri stood and took her hand, she followed.

  We should have come with her.

  …..

  Act normal. Act normal.

  Boris repeated the words like a mantra, over and over in his mind. He’d spoken briefly with Suri earlier, and while she hadn’t said much, he could read between the lines. Something had happened yesterday—something significant.

  Now it was the start of a new week, and with it came the mandatory main class attendance. Boris walked alongside Kana, who was unusually quiet. And that was saying something. Kana was always reserved, but this silence carried a weight. It was the kind of quiet that screamed.

  Roy, the necromancer, and Toby, the exorcist with the nervous hands, joined them as they made their way to History. Of all the electives, they’d ended up choosing the same one. Fate, coincidence, or just a shared appreciation for long lectures and ancient wars?

  The classroom was massive—too massive for the number of students in it. Rows of polished stone benches arched toward a central platform, and yet more than half the seats sat empty. They chose seats near the front. A few murmurs rippled through the room as they settled, but nothing hostile. No Gold-class students were present. Only Silver.

  After a few minutes, the professor arrived.

  He was tall, but thin enough to look like the spine of a book given form. A long, academic coat trailed behind him as he walked, a leather-bound tome tucked beneath one arm.

  “I’m Enry,” he said simply. “A [Bookkeeper]. I’ll be your history instructor.”

  His voice carried the weight of someone used to being ignored—and not caring.

  “For those of you in Copper Class, attendance once a week is mandatory. For Silver and above, you’re expected at least three times a week, and your year-end exam isn’t optional. Fail it, and you don’t advance. For Copper Class…” he paused, eyes sweeping the room like a hawk judging weak prey, “you won’t pass unless you attend. Daily.”

  He opened the book.

  “Today’s topic: the origin of our kingdom.”

  He looked up again, scanning the dozen or so students present. “We began as nothing. A scattering group of villages, calling themselves clans, yet barely more than stubborn families with too much land and not enough unity. Then came King A, the founder, and our first king. His class, as per records, was called [Monarch].”

  “King A convinced the clan leaders to unite, citing threats from the Empire and other larger kingdoms, who had noticed our fertile lands. Not all agreed. Of course they didn’t. But they changed their tune when the Empire attacked. Funny how a shared enemy makes for quick friends.”

  He let the silence sit a moment before continuing.

  “The alliance started as temporary. Then came marriages, trade contracts, mutual defense pacts. Slowly, grudgingly, the scattered clans became a nation. A kingdom.”

  The rest of the hour passed with the professor recounting the details—battles, betrayals, treaties signed in blood and ink. Names long forgotten. Mistakes repeated anyway.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Finally, Professor Enry closed the book with a snap.

  “That’s all for today.”

  …..

  Their History class ended without incident. Roy and Toby peeled off, heading to their next subject—something about defensive spells or soul wards, Boris didn’t care to ask. He and Kana moved toward the Art class.

  Kana walked beside him, silent still. She hadn’t said a word since they left the classroom.

  Then Suri found them—stepping out from one of the narrower alleys between the buildings, waving as she approached. Her pace slowed as she took in Kana’s expression.

  “How was History?” she asked, hoping Kana would talk.

  “I don’t know,” Boris replied instead after a moment of silence. “I fell asleep halfway through.”

  Kana offered no comment. She didn’t even blink.

  Boris glanced at Suri. Their eyes met, and without a word, they came to the same conclusion. Not now. Let her be.

  The Art classroom was a different world entirely.

  The classroom was larger, brightly lit, and unlike the emptiness of the history lecture hall, it was alive with sound and energy. Over fifty students were already inside. Most wore the tailored cloaks on top of their Academy uniform and polished boots of noble families—Silver class, with a few Golds class were among them. And strangely, the overwhelming majority were boys.

  As the last few students settled, a woman stepped into view at the front of the room. She stood with confidence, hair cut short and neat, the same red shade as Suri’s, though styled with flair. Her Professor cloak had been custom-tailored to match her figure, the buttons and trim gleaming like jewelry. Lips painted full red, she looked every bit like someone who’d painted her life onto the canvas of her body.

  “I’m Len Griffin,” she announced. “Class: [Artisan].”

  Her voice filled the room—not loud, just perfectly projected.

  “We’re here to teach you how to appreciate the beauty of Art. How to see the world as an artist does. And maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find you have the hands to match the vision.”

  She paced once across the front of the class, then continued.

  “You’re required to attend once a week. That’s all. But I’ll be assigning projects throughout the term. Do well, and you’ll be exempt from the final exam.”

  At the word exam, a low wave of murmurs rippled through the room. Everyone perked up.

  “That’s great,” Boris muttered from the side. “I won’t need to study.”

  Suri raised a brow. “I don’t think you have talent,” she said, swaying her head. “In creating… artistic things.”

  Boris made a face. “That hurts..”

  “Truth often does.”

  Professor Len either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the side comments. She was already unfolding a leather portfolio on the desk beside her.

  “For now,” she said, “we’ll begin with a brief history of the arts. Why it matters. Where it’s used. And how, if you're clever, you can make a livelihood from it.”

  Her smile was slight but sharp. “More than a few nobles built their names not through politics or war—but through creation.”

  She let the statement linger.

  “Creation?” Kana whispered, then louder, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Her eyes lit up like flint catching spark. Without warning, she stood.

  The sudden movement startled Boris and Suri. Even more startling was her voice—low, commanding, and clear enough to echo off the room. Every student in the room turned. A few chuckled under their breath.

  Professor Len raised an eyebrow, then smiled with genuine interest. “It looks like we have quite the artist here.”

  Before Kana could say anything else—Boris gently pulled her back into her seat. He didn’t say a word, just gave her a look that said: Later. Please. Later.

  Kana let him. That, more than anything, told him she was starting to feel like herself again.

  They made it through the rest of the day, though making it through might have been generous.

  Their next class—Geography—felt less like a subject and more like History wearing a different coat. Borders drawn in blood, territories traded in treaties, wars fought over rivers and farmland. Maps faded and redrawn. Boris lasted maybe fifteen minutes before sleep claimed him again, his head lolling sideways like a wilting sunflower.

  Suri, though in a different class now, couldn't stop thinking about Kana.

  She hadn’t seen the moment—but she felt it. A flicker in the bond they shared, like a breath finally drawn after being held too long. She knew Kana would return to herself eventually.

  She just hadn’t expected it to happen today.

  Still, it didn’t matter when. What mattered was how. And more importantly—that it was happening.

  This time, she vowed, she would be there.

  Not just watching. Not just waiting.

  But standing beside Kana—through whatever came next.

  Suri breathed heavily, chest rising and falling with each strained inhale. Sweat clung to her temples, her red hair sticking to her skin. She hadn’t expected to be running laps around the Academy on the very first day of Physical Enhancement I.

  She scanned the field. No sign of Andal. No sign of the others either. For some reason—some baffling, ridiculous reason—she had been the first to finish.

  Why are they so weak? she wondered, genuinely puzzled.

  She wasn’t particularly athletic. Not compared to Kana or Boris. Not compared to anyone back in the Saltrain Village. She hadn’t even pushed herself that hard. And yet, here she was—alone at the finish line, staring back at the distant dots of students still dragging their feet halfway through the track.