Chapter One: The Girl Who Solved It
Saint Elric University stood like a secret.
The building was old, cold, and heavy with silence. Its walls were covered in dark ivy, and the windows were always foggy. Rain liked it here. So did shadows. Students rushed through the halls with books hugged to their chests, eyes low, mouths shut.
Inside, people were smart. Too smart.
But no one smiled.
Eira Sinclair had never fit in, yet somehow, she belonged here more than anyone.
She walked like fog — soft, quiet, unnoticed. Her body was full, curvy in the way people whispered about but never to her face. She wore thick cardigans, long skirts, and kept her face mostly hidden behind large glasses. Her hair, wild and dark, curled around her shoulders like vines.
People called her the girl who never talks.
But if they watched closely — really watched — they'd see her eyes. And they'd know she saw everything.
---
Professor Lucien Hale didn't like people either.
He liked numbers.
He liked silence.
He liked problems with answers.
His lectures were sharp and cruel. His tests, brutal. His black suits were always neat, his voice always quiet — never raised, but always heard. He wasn't a man you looked at twice unless you wanted to be broken open.
The students called him The Ice King behind his back.
They didn't know he'd once smiled, long ago.
But something — or someone — had taken it from him.
---
It was a rainy Tuesday when he walked into Lecture Hall A13, his coat dripping wet and his mood worse than usual.
But this morning was different.
Today, he wasn't here to teach. He was here for help.
He stepped to the front, unbuttoned his jacket, and turned to the board. With slow, careful strokes, he wrote down a problem that had haunted him for weeks.
The chalk screeched against the blackboard.
By the time he was done, the students were already whispering.
The equation wasn't from the textbook.
It was original.
Unsolved.
> "Sixty marks," he said, turning around, his eyes scanning the class like a hunter. "Solve it, and the marks are yours."
Gasps. Laughter. Shock.
Sixty marks? That was insane. Too generous. Too dangerous.
> "Is this a trick?" someone asked.
He didn't answer. He just stepped aside.
---
One by one, they came.
Top students. Arrogant ones. Brave ones.
Each walked up to the board, some confident, some shaking. But none of them could finish it. Some didn't even try. Some got angry. Some swore under their breath.
The assistant professor, Mr. Alwin, stood by with a smug grin, arms crossed.
> "These kids think they're smarter than they are," he said under his breath. "What a joke."
Lucien didn't respond.
He just watched.
And waited.
He didn't know what for — until he saw her.
---
Eira.
She hadn't moved the whole time.
Sitting at the back, arms crossed over her notebook. Her legs tucked under the desk. Hair falling into her face. She looked small, harmless.
But he'd seen her papers. Her numbers.
Her quiet brilliance.
She never spoke in class. Never raised her hand. Never asked questions.
But he remembered one assignment — a problem he'd designed to be nearly impossible.
She hadn't just solved it.
She'd corrected the way he framed it.
---
His gaze met hers.
And suddenly, she stood up.
The room went still.
The girl who never talked was walking toward the board.
Alwin rolled his eyes.
> "Sinclair? Really?"
> "This isn't a game, sweetheart."
She didn't flinch. She didn't look at him.
Lucien lifted his hand.
> "Let her solve it," he said.
The class fell quiet again.
---
Eira stepped up to the board.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the chalk. She stared at the numbers.
Everyone watched.
Someone giggled in the back.
> "She's wasting her time—"
> "Can't even speak properly—"
Lucien cleared his throat. Sharp. Stern.
The whispers died.
---
And then… she began.
She didn't start from the top.
She didn't do what the others did.
She broke the problem apart like a puzzle, starting from a single middle term and pulling it loose.
She circled values, canceled pieces, and used the board like a painter using space.
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
She wasn't solving it the usual way.
She was simplifying it. Breaking it down.
Using something ancient. Something basic.
But clean.
So clean.
So bold.
It was like watching someone turn a locked door and step inside a room no one else could even see.
Alwin leaned closer.
> "What is she doing?"
> "That's not how you solve—"
> "Shut up," Lucien whispered.
---
Finally, she paused.
The final line was written.
A single number, alone.
The answer.
She stepped back.
Chalk fell from her hand.
Silence.
Lucien stepped forward.
Each step echoed.
He looked at the board.
Then back at her.
His heart… skipped.
Then—
Clap.
One.
Loud.
The students jumped.
> "My office," he said. "Tomorrow. Ten a.m."
Eira blinked. "Why?"
Lucien stared down at her. His voice low, almost dark.
> "Because what you did shouldn't be possible."
> "And I want to know how."
Then he turned and walked out.
---
Eira stood there.
Still.
Everyone stared at her like she was some kind of ghost.
But inside, her heart was beating too loud to hear anything else.
She didn't know it yet.
But that was the beginning of something dangerous.
And something very real.
---