The orientation bell tolled across Divine Royale Academy like the opening line of an overdramatic opera—deep, resonant, and incredibly unnecessary. Despite its insistence that students be in their designated affinity circles, most were still milling about like enchanted ducklings trying to locate their elemental mother hen. There was confusion. There was elbowing. There was at least one noble who appeared genuinely lost despite the glowing signs.
Arila Vellion stood comfortably in the chaos, utterly surrounded by the Four Royal Plot Devices™—Lucien, Darian, Julian, and Vincent—as well as the blindingly sweet Felicia Ashtorne, who was practically radiating sunshine. Ninko, perched imperiously on Arila's shoulder, judged the crowd with the tired disdain of a deity forced to attend a school play.
"I feel like I've been lured into a fantasy harem anime," Arila muttered under her breath, taking a large bite of her emergency cookie.
"I don't know what that means," Julian said, "but if it's flattering, I accept."
Before Arila could come up with a better insult, a familiar sound clicked across the marble—heels. Precision-engineered, dramatically timed, fashion-assassin heels.
Clarissa Blackbrook arrived, flanked by two equally coordinated minions with matching hair ribbons and expressions of pure judgment. The noble trio halted before Lucien, all emerald green silk, offended cheekbones, and perfume that probably cost more than Arila's entire snack budget.
"Your Highness," Clarissa purred, deploying her voice like a weapon. "You're looking radiant today. Regal. Magnetic."
Lucien offered a polite nod. "Thank you."
Clarissa's smile froze slightly when his gaze immediately returned to Arila, who had begun using a biscuit as a pointer while explaining the difference between chaos and charm.
"…and that's why flirting is just emotional dodgeball," Arila finished, nibbling the edge of the biscuit.
Lucien chuckled softly. "That explains a lot."
Clarissa blinked. "Excuse me?"
Darian turned away, barely hiding his grin. Vincent muttered something in Ice about 'aristocratic delusion,' and Julian, sensing an opportunity, leaned toward Arila.
"Want me to pretend to faint so you can dramatically escape?"
"Tempting," Arila replied. "But I left my smoke bombs in my other hoodie."
Before Clarissa could implode from sheer indignation, the crowd fell silent. A swirl of glowing light appeared atop the main platform, and the principal of Divine Royale Academy—a tall, owl-eyed man with robes that sparkled like midnight riddles—stepped forward.
"Welcome," he said in a voice that both soothed and threatened. "You are the finest magical students of your generation. Whether you are royalty, nobility, or exceptional commoners…" he nodded in Felicia's general direction, "…you are here because of your potential."
Arila, halfway through another cookie, zoned out somewhere around the phrase 'lifelong journey.' Ninko's tail swished across her cheek like an alarm clock, but she only muttered, "This speech has the same energy as my dad's PowerPoint lectures on elemental contracts."
"…and so, we shall begin with demonstrations of magical affinity," the principal concluded.
That got her attention.
Students lined up in groups according to their magical affinities—light glittering here, earth rumbling there, fire swirling in artistic spirals. Arila watched, unimpressed.
Clarissa conjured a spiraling tornado of wind laced with droplets of water that sparkled like gemstones. People applauded. Clarissa curtsied.
Felicia summoned light in delicate bursts shaped like butterflies, followed by a gentle ripple of water that watered a patch of thirsty ivy near the platform's edge. The crowd cooed.
Then it was Arila's turn.
She climbed the platform like she was heading to an execution, Ninko still perched on her shoulder with visible boredom.
Professor Daelen Rowe appeared beside the stage, arms crossed, brows already twitching in anticipation.
"Try not to overdo it," he warned. "This is orientation, not a battlefield."
Arila offered him her most innocent smile. "I'm a model of restraint."
"You vaporized a wyvern."
"It was rude."
She stepped into the center, took a deep breath, and raised her hands.
First: Wind.
It swirled gently around her like a playful ribbon, lifting her hair and tugging at the hems of her hoodie. The audience murmured.
Second: Water.
A ring of shimmering droplets formed midair, orbiting her arms like jeweled bracelets. The wind carried the droplets in mesmerizing arcs.
Third: Earth.
The marble beneath her feet trembled. A flowerbed of crystalline blossoms erupted in perfect symmetry, each petal humming with gentle power.
Fourth: Fire.
Not a single flame. Dozens. Flickers of golden fire ignited midair, dancing with her wind currents and igniting petals into glowing, harmless sparks.
Fifth: Lightning.
A hush fell. The sky itself seemed to pause as a bolt of pure electric energy crackled in her palm—tamed, humming with barely restrained power. She released it into the wind, sending a shockwave through the floating fire sparks, creating a burst of elemental fireworks.
And then—Ninko.
The divine fox leapt from her shoulder, tails fanned wide. A glittering wave of pure ice magic burst from him, freezing the edges of the floral display in delicate frost. The contrast of frost and flame, lightning and wind, water and crystal, left the crowd stunned into silence.
For a moment, the academy platform looked like the set of an opera staged by the gods themselves.
Then the applause hit.
Loud. Reluctant from some nobles, stunned from others. Several students stared open-mouthed. Clarissa's jaw nearly dislocated.
Professor Daelen, trying and failing not to smile, gave a curt nod. "Well done," he said. "Finally learned restraint… in a theatrical sort of way."
Julian whistled. "That was either a demonstration or a marriage proposal to chaos."
Vincent's arms were still crossed, but his brow had ticked upward. "Unusual affinity control."
Felicia gasped. "That was incredible!"
Lucien didn't say a word. He just watched Arila with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable—until the exact moment she stepped off the platform.
She turned, caught sight of something in the tree line—a flicker of movement, a shimmer that didn't belong.
Her foot missed the step.
Down she went.
But not far.
Lucien moved faster than most could blink. One hand caught her around the waist, the other steadying her back. She landed against him with the force of destiny, hoodie and all.
"Oh no," Arila said, staring up into his face. "It's a cliché moment. We're in the trope zone. Help."
Lucien's expression twitched into something soft. "You fall dramatically even in moments of magical triumph."
"It's a skill," she mumbled. "Passed down through generations of clumsy sugar addicts."
He helped her upright slowly, lingering a moment longer than necessary. Her pulse was annoyingly loud.
"I'm fine," she insisted, stepping back quickly. "Totally un-royally caught and composed."
"You were distracted," he said, glancing toward the woods. "Did you see something?"
Arila hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe it was a hallucination brought on by nervous sugar withdrawal."
"Hmm."
Before the awkward silence could thicken, the principal's voice rang out again.
"And now, students, the tour of the grounds shall begin. Follow your orientation guideposts and remember—no unauthorized teleportation into forbidden towers."
"Forbidden towers," Arila muttered to Lira as they rejoined the crowd. "That's going on my bucket list."
Lira sighed. "You can't put crimes on your bucket list."
Arila threw an arm around her shoulders. "You underestimate both my creativity and my disregard for social order."
Ninko leapt onto her other shoulder with the self-assurance of a king reclaiming his throne. The trio marched off behind the glittering crowd of students, their path illuminated by enchanted lanterns and mutual exhaustion.
"Oh gods," Arila said, looking back at the platform. "I forgot to bow. Do you think they noticed?"
"Yes," Lira replied immediately.
Arila groaned. "Tragic. I was so close to looking competent."
Ninko sneezed.
To be continued…