Back in the creaking, poorly lit common room of House Mennefer, the trio sat in the dim glow of the single enchanted lantern that flickered above the mantle. The wooden walls groaned as the wind swept across the old dormitory, and the smell of dried herbs mixed with dust lingered in the air. Outside, dusk settled over Paladas.
Azlin sat at the round table, reading through the parchment Professor Lazlark had delivered moments before. His brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing. Nagara paced nearby, arms crossed, his expression troubled. Rania, meanwhile, was curled into her favorite armchair, a teacup delicately balanced between her fingers, legs elegantly draped across the side.
"It's a ruin," Azlin said aloud, mostly to himself. "Old structure east of the campus woods. Lazlark thinks something's stirring inside. Wants a scouting report."
"A scouting report?" Nagara turned, frowning. "This isn't a patrol. It's a magical site. It could be cursed—or worse."
Azlin glanced up, concern flickering in his eyes.
Nagara's eyes slid to Rania. "And you're fine with this?"
She didn't even look up. "No. I'm not."
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
"I don't like arguing. It's bad for the skin."
That was the final thread.
Nagara stepped toward her, the irritation finally breaking through his composed mask. "You've shown no magical aptitude. No academic input. No combat interest. If we're being sent into a potentially dangerous ruin, I want to know if you're going to be a burden later or not."
Azlin flinched slightly at the word. Rania, however, finally raised her golden eyes to meet Nagara's.
She took a slow sip of her tea and sighed. "Relax," she said, voice soft and even. "I'm not going to be a burden. If anything I think your hot-headedness will get us in trouble, and such a shame for a prince you have no manner. That's not how you talk to a lady."
"That—"
She cut him off calm and detached. "I'd much rather stay here. A nice bath, some tea, maybe ten hours of beauty sleep. But I'm not the one who said yes to this little quest of trioness or whatshoever." Her lazy smirk curled as she returned to her novel.
"You said yes, prince. Not me."
Nagara's jaw tightened. Her attitude—it wasn't just arrogance. It was something else. Something more infuriating than defiance: complete disinterest. He turned away, unwilling to speak more.
Azlin finally stood. "We'll leave at first light," he said, voice gently trying to defuse the moment. "I'll gather supplies."
"Bring honey, Azlin," Rania murmured behind him.
...
The ruin loomed, shrouded in creeping ivy and whispering winds. Inside, stone corridors coiled like a serpent's spine, dark and crumbling. The air held the scent of dust and something older—forgotten.
Nagara led the trio, frost lacing his fingertips in caution. Every sense was alert.
Behind him, Rania stepped lightly over a broken pillar, lifting the hem of her cloak in one hand and holding a polished hand mirror in the other. "Veldorys," she said in a languid tone, "go check that left corridor. It looks darker than the rest. I have a feeling danger's brooding there."
He turned sharply. "Then maybe don't go there?"
"But what if it flanks us?" she blinked sweetly. "You should neutralize it."
"I'm not your bodyguard," he grumbled.
She gave a sigh and adjusted her braid, unimpressed. "You're stronger than me. This is just you fulfilling your natural role. Go."
With a groan, Nagara muttered curses under his breath—but obeyed, stepping toward the corridor with annoyed stomps.
While he was gone, Azlin knelt by a carved pedestal. "The markings are half-eroded, but I think this used to be a seal of some kind…"
Rania hummed, seated gracefully on a fallen stone as if she were in a garden courtyard. "Azlin, darling, would you be a dear and tell me if anything in here will explode?"
Azlin gave a small, strained smile. "I'll do my best."
Nagara returned, frost flickering faintly along his sleeve. "It's clear," he announced. "Nothing but mold and shadows."
"Good boy," Rania said absently.
"Don't call me that."
"Hmm? Then 'darling knight'?"
"No."
"Fine. Nagara it is. Now go stand near that statue. It looks like it's about to fall and crush me."
Nagara stared at her. "You're not even near it."
She shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
With another frustrated groan, he moved again—grumbling the whole way.
Despite the antics, Azlin's voice grew more serious. "This ruin isn't stable. The glyphs are partially broken, and the containment array's fractured. Something's inside this chamber that shouldn't be."
The ancient mirror at the far wall began to stir, its surface rippling like disturbed water.
Rania blinked, unimpressed. "Oh. That looks cursed."
"It is cursed," Azlin said quietly. "And I think it's waking up."
Nagara stepped in front of both of them, his voice low. "Then I'll deal with it."
From behind, Rania added with a sigh, "Do try not to get injured. It'll ruin the mood of my tea nap."
He groaned again—but raised his hand toward the stirring glass.