Oliver Ashford
Just as I slung my bag over my shoulder, ready to leave homeroom for my first class, Miss Avonhart's voice cut through the scrape of chairs and chatter.
"Before you go, class."
That soft, lilting tone was enough to pull every head around—everyone except Emilia. She drifted out the door without so much as a glance back, the same cool indifference clinging to her as always.
"I would like to announce," Miss Avonhart continued, brushing a strand of autumn-brown hair behind her ear, "that tomorrow, we'll be welcoming a new student."
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat, sinking in.
"A transfer student?" I blurted, my brows lifting. The question seemed to pass through the room like a spark; heads turned, whispers stirred, and a wave of nods followed.
"Well, yes, actually." Even she looked faintly surprised. "It's Mythoria's first transfer acceptance since its founding. Something new even to me." Her smile softened the statement, but confusion lingered behind it.
The reaction was instant. A surge of chatter burst from the class, filling the air like the hum of a beehive. Books slammed shut, desks shook under elbows, and voices collided in the scramble for speculation. Lessons were forgotten. Who could blame them? Even Miss Avonhart—an S-Class healer, rumoured to have saved lives on the battlefield—was uncharacteristically unsure. A transfer to Mythoria? Unthinkable. Until now.
"Oi, Oliver!" Cassian's voice broke through, sharp and familiar. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and grinning. "Bet you'll be first to introduce yourself, yeah?"
"Of course!" I grinned, springing upright. "First thing after they walk in." I pumped my fist skyward, as though sealing a vow.
That earned a ripple of laughter.
"God, I wish I had your social battery," someone teased, drawing more chuckles.
Another piped up, "What if it's a girl?"
Dozens of eyes landed on me, expectant.
"I'd do the same thing," I said without hesitation. "Gender doesn't matter. As long as we can be good friends, that's all that counts."
That answer, apparently, was dangerous. A chorus of squeals rang out from some of the girls, while the boys muttered darkly among themselves.
"It's not fair when this is the competition…" someone grumbled from the back. Low, almost too low to hear. Almost. My regalia sharpened every whisper. I pretended not to notice.
"Do you think they'll be strong, Oliver?" A timid voice floated from behind a raised book. The girl holding it peered over the top, her knuckles white against the cover.
I gave the question the weight it deserved. "Hard to say. But if they're the first ever transfer, there must be something special about them."
"What if they're just some talentless rich kid?!" another voice shouted from the other side of the room.
I almost laughed aloud. 'Everyone here's rich in some way,' I thought. Instead I answered evenly: "Doubt it. Mythoria's the top regalia academy in the world—they don't take in money over talent. And Mr. Knight would never allow it. Especially since they applied a week late."
The name alone seemed to chill the air. A ripple of unease passed over the class.
Mr. Knight. The headmaster. Mythoria's iron-clad shadow. I remembered the entrance ceremony—his words, sharp as blades, spoken while the crushing pressure of his regalia bore down on every one of us. One hundred fresh students, brought to our knees by his sheer presence. My chest tightened at the memory.
"Miss Avonhart?" I called, louder this time. The murmurs dipped. "Do you know anything about the new student?"
Her eyes lifted from the papers on her desk, drawn to me through the press of bodies. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "You're quite keen, Oliver. Yes, I do know a few tidbits."
The dam broke. Questions poured from every corner of the room, bombarding her from all directions. She flinched, momentarily swamped by her own students.
"Easy, everyone!" I raised my voice, forcing it above the din. "If we bury her under noise, we'll never hear a thing."
It worked. The volume dipped to an expectant hush. Miss Avonhart gave me a look of quiet gratitude—relief written plain in her eyes.
"Well… I'm not too deep into the know," she admitted, gesturing with her hands as though balancing invisible scales. "It was all very sudden. Even Damien only found out yesterday."
Her words alone were enough to ignite fresh sparks of speculation. I suppressed a sigh. Miss Avonhart was kindness personified, but she was also hopeless against curiosity.
"Do you know anything about his regalia, Miss Avonhart?" a girl shouted eagerly, bouncing on her chair.
Her lips pursed. Then she nodded. "Damien said he'll be in my class because our regalia fall into similar categories."
The revelation set the class ablaze again.
"A support type, and a guy?!" someone squealed, and the girls immediately spiralled into giddy imaginings of what sort of 'cute' he might be.
I cut in again before it spiralled too far. "What about his name?"
The question hushed the room in an instant. Every eye turned to Miss Avonhart, every ear straining.
Her expression shifted, arms folding across her chest with forced severity. "His name… you'll find out tomorrow."
A collective groan echoed through the class.
"Please, Miss Avonhart!" one of the girls begged. "We'll tell you all our gossip every lunch break!"
Miss Avonhart froze.
"…Every lunch?" she repeated, her composure crumbling.
That was all it took. Her arms dropped, eyes wide.
How could she defend when her students could attack her strongest weak point?
"His name is Caelus."
A stunned beat of silence.
Then whispers surged through the room, names repeated, theories spun anew.
I pressed a hand to my face and groaned inwardly. 'Have some self-control, woman…' Once again, her one weakness had betrayed her, and the students had claimed their prize.
Still, as the name settled in my mind, I couldn't help but frown. Caelus… It was unusual, unlike any I'd heard among the upper echelons. None of the great families bore it, at least none I could think of. Unique, almost foreign—like it didn't belong to any of the circles we knew.
For a transfer student, maybe that was exactly the point.