When you're walking to your public humiliation, the last thing you want is to be spotted by people who remember who you used to be.
Unfortunately, I didn't have that luxury.
The academy courtyard stretched wide before me, dotted with low stone benches and ornamental lanterns that hovered midair like lazy fireflies. It was where students congregated between classes, where rumors bred faster than bacteria, and where nobles preened under the illusion of importance.
And where I walked straight into a confrontation.
"Look what the wind rolled in. Or maybe waddled in, if we're being accurate."
I knew the voice before I saw the face.
Serion Velmire, third son of Marquis Velmire, wearer of the finest imported silk, and consistent thorn in my side since year one. He leaned against the marble pillar at the courtyard's edge, flanked by two sycophants whose names I could never remember.
"Darian Ravenscar," Serion drawled, stepping forward. "I heard a rather juicy piece of news. You're not actually being expelled yet. That true?"
I didn't stop walking.
He matched my pace.
"Thought you'd burned your last robe last semester," he said, too loudly. Several students nearby turned to look. "Or was it the time you tried to enchant your breakfast and made it explode? What was the spell—Scrambled Omelette of Death?"
There were chuckles. I gritted my teeth but said nothing.
Serion stepped in front of me, blocking the path. "Come on, say something. I'm dying to know how you've managed to squirm your way into another trial. Maybe the dean's taking bribes from your family again?"
That stung more than I liked.
Not because it was true, but because it used to be. A few years ago, my father's influence could've smoothed this over with a single letter. But ever since my fourth public failure and the scandal during the Alchemy Showcase, the Ravenscar name had lost its shine.
"Move," I said.
"Or what?" he smirked.
"I'll move you."
The smirk widened. "You've forgotten who you are, Darian. You're not the heir who was promised. You're a ghost wearing a noble name."
The crowd grew slightly. A few first-years, wide-eyed. Upperclassmen, arms crossed.
I didn't rise to the bait.
"Still," Serion continued, "I admire the effort. Slimmer robes, less sweat, even a combed head of hair. You're almost passable."
I clenched my fists but didn't strike.
A quiet voice cut through the tension.
"Serion."
Everyone turned.
It was Aeris Galewin.
A second-year, same as me—but unlike me, she had climbed the rankings. Daughter of a lesser duke, top-tier wind magic specialist, and unfortunately... someone I had embarrassed myself in front of during my worst phase.
Her golden-blonde hair fluttered as if caught in a breeze only she could command. Her pale eyes flicked between Serion and me.
"Still picking fights with people on probation?" she asked, unimpressed.
Serion faltered. "I wasn't—"
"You were. He was walking. You inserted yourself. Like mildew on marble."
Aeris approached me, ignoring the crowd. "You have somewhere to be, Darian?"
"Trial's at third bell," I said.
"Then you'd best be early."
She turned and walked off without waiting for my reply.
I followed.
Serion didn't say another word.
We walked in silence until the crowd disappeared behind us. The East Wing Library loomed ahead—a place I'd avoided for a year out of pride. Aeris turned on her heel just outside the arched doorway.
"You'll lose if you go in rattled," she said.
I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm rattled?"
She pointed to my clenched fists. I hadn't even noticed.
"Serion's words don't mean much," she said. "But the academy watches everything. Fail this trial, and you won't get another."
"I know."
She hesitated, then reached into her coat and handed me a slip of parchment. A diagram. A flame rune, but modified. Cleaner anchors. Dual-ink stabilization marks.
"Don't use it directly," she warned. "But study it. Think of it as... a comparison."
"Why help me?"
"You're trying. That's more than most nobles ever do. You embarrassed yourself. You're fixing it."
She didn't smile. But her voice wasn't cold either.
Before I could thank her, she disappeared into the library.
I turned to follow—but as I stepped inside, the lamps flickered.
The library was nearly empty. A few study golems hovered in place, adjusting scrolls and whispering reminders about silence.
Then I heard it.
A voice. Soft. Not Aeris's.
"...The seal is weakening... not ready... he isn't aware yet..."
I turned a corner and saw nothing.
Then a shadow moved behind the forbidden archives gate—a figure in a black cloak, slipping through the security rune with something clutched in their hand.
They vanished down a stairwell that wasn't supposed to exist.
My skin prickled.
Was it hallucination? Or had I just glimpsed something buried far beneath the academy's normal life?
The third bell rang in the distance, shaking me back to reality.
Trial time.
I took one last look at the shadowed stairwell, then ran toward the Rune Arena.