The walk through the academy grounds had felt endless, but the sting of cruelty traveled faster than footsteps.
After their encounter near the eastern garden, Eldric and Serina didn't let things end with words.
The two siblings, clothed in pride and the Greenal name, followed Ansel deeper into the corridor, where the stone arches grew narrower and no one lingered. It was a place between wings—a blind spot for wandering eyes.
"You thought you could just walk past us like you mattered?" Eldric said, voice low, laced with venom.
Before Ansel could react, a hand struck his shoulder and slammed him against the stone wall. Pain pulsed down his side, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out.
Serina stepped forward, brushing dust off her pristine uniform. "Disgusting. Even your presence soils the air here."
Eldric scoffed. "You're not one of us. Stop dreaming."
Ansel tried to push himself up, but Eldric pressed a foot against his chest, pinning him.
"I heard they put you in Class F," Eldric sneered. "Fitting. For Failure."
"Leave him alone," a voice said, but it was distant—faint, like a passing whisper.
They eventually stepped back, not out of mercy, but boredom. Serina gave him one last look. "Don't speak to us. Don't even look at us."
They walked away as if nothing had happened, their laughter echoing down the corridor.
Ansel waited until the footsteps faded before standing. His uniform was wrinkled, his lip bleeding, and one knee had torn open. But his hands trembled not from fear—but fury.
He didn't cry. Not now.
"I won't break. Not here."
By the time he arrived at the Class F dormitory, the sun had dipped below the horizon. The building stood at the far end of the academy grounds, separated from the grand halls and sparkling towers. It was older, the stone moss-covered, the roof slanted slightly. A place built to be forgotten—like its students.
He pushed open the heavy door. Inside, the walls were bare, and a faint chill hung in the air. A few other students glanced at him but quickly looked away. No one offered help. No one cared.
Ansel found his room: a small chamber with a bed, desk, and cracked window. It smelled faintly of dust and age.
He dropped his bag and sat on the bed, fingers still trembling. The room was silent, save for the wind brushing against the shutters.
He pulled a worn book from his bag—one his mother had given him. The one about courage and freedom. The pages were faded, but the words burned in his heart.
"I'll become stronger. For her… and for myself."
Outside, the stars were beginning to appear. Each one a distant fire in the sky.
And within Ansel, a fire had been lit too—quiet, but unyielding.