Divine Royale Academy smelled like incense, marble polish, and old money. Arila Vellion stepped through its front doors with the dead-eyed look of someone bracing for impact. Her hoodie—a slightly wrinkled navy blue embroidered with tiny stars—clashed horrendously with the opulent entry hall, and she didn't care.
Ninko perched comfortably on her shoulder, tails swaying in judgment, and Lira trailed behind like a mother hen ready to tackle the first noble who sneezed condescendingly.
Her official tour group included Lucien, Darian, Julian, Vincent, and Felicia—because of course it did. Apparently, the gods had decided Arila needed to be emotionally overwhelmed at every turn.
They stood in a loose semicircle behind their tour guide, who was babbling something about academy history while Arila mentally categorized everyone into anime tropes.
The entrance hall was practically screaming for attention. Giant stained-glass windows cast dancing lights on the floor, occasionally rearranging themselves to better flatter whoever was walking past. Floating chandeliers shimmered overhead, humming with latent enchantments. There was a distinct scent of lemon pastries, betrayal, and smugness in the air.
Arila leaned toward Lira.
"Do the walls whisper, or am I having a preemptive breakdown?"
"Both," Lira replied with a polite smile, already scribbling a list of stress teas and anti-curse sprays.
The tour began in earnest, starting with the dormitory wing. The noble and royal dorms were located in a high tower, because obviously status meant altitude. Arila's room was larger than her previous kitchen and, blessedly, came with a door connecting to Lira's suite.
"Why do I have two fireplaces?"
"In case one feels inadequate," Vincent muttered.
The mirror, enchanted and unnecessarily cheeky, gave a sassy hum when Arila passed.
"Fix your hoodie. You're representing House Vellion."
"I'm representing mental stability, which I have none of," she hissed back.
Next came the kitchens. Arila nearly wept. Glorious marble counters. Enchanted utensils. Floating spice racks. A confectionery corner labeled 'Experimental Use Only.'
"This," she whispered reverently, "is sacred ground."
Julian poked at a lemon tart with the cautious air of someone who had been burned before.
"Are those… humming?"
"Probably," Arila said. "Don't disrespect the pastries."
They moved on to the classrooms. Floating chalk, whispering textbooks, and a startled professor mid-lecture on magical ethics greeted them. A fire sprite darted across the ceiling.
Arila glanced at it, then back at the professor. "Mood."
By the time they reached the dining hall—a three-tiered coliseum of food enchantments and gold-leafed anxiety—Arila was clinging to the last threads of her sanity. Felicia gasped at the self-replenishing dessert trays. Ninko stole a tart and dared anyone to stop him.
Finally, the library.
It loomed like a cathedral of forbidden wisdom, shelves rising like towers into enchanted skylights. Ladders glided silently along rows. Books floated. An entire section labeled 'Divine Striction' pulsed with holy menace behind glowing runes.
Arila stepped inside and whispered, "This place has boss fight energy."
Ninko agreed with a twitch of his tails.
The group fanned out slightly. Clarissa Blackbrook, clearly offended that she wasn't the center of attention, made a dramatic show of flipping her hair and gliding toward Lucien with two identically dramatic friends in tow.
"Your Highness," she purred. "It must be such a burden to be surrounded by… chaos."
Lucien didn't even look at her. His gaze was on Arila, who was currently examining a book labeled 'Advanced Weather-Based Warfare' while holding a scone.
Clarissa faltered. One of her friends gasped. The other fainted slightly.
Julian muttered, "Oof. Denied by visual disinterest. Brutal."
Before Clarissa could conjure another passive-aggressive flirtation, the air changed. A hush fell over the library.
A glowing book launched itself from the Divine Striction section with the speed and precision of a divine missile. Arila yelped and ducked.
The book spun once, opened midair, and released a blinding swirl of golden-white light.
A cloak, too beautiful to be morally upright, materialized. White velvet with golden filigree. Threads of starlight. An aura of 'I'm expensive and probably magical.'
It flared once, then launched itself onto Arila.
Ninko hissed but did not budge—he clearly believed himself part of the ensemble.
Arila floated. She hung in the air like an anime protagonist mid-power-up. The cloak shimmered. Her hoodie glowed. Her hair fluttered. Her sneakers remained stubbornly unimpressed.
Silence.
"Is this normal?" Felicia whispered.
"No," Lira said.
"Should we help her?"
"Probably."
Lucien stepped forward, worry tightening his features. Darian hovered behind him, hand near his sword hilt like that would do anything against fashion-based ascension.
Julian: "Well. She finally achieved divine drip."
Vincent: "That's not how artifacts work."
Clarissa: "WHY does SHE get the divine cloak?! She has crumbs on her sleeve!"
Arila, mid-hover, flailed.
"STOP IT! I don't even like capes! You can't just throw sparkly nonsense at people and call it destiny!"
The cloak shimmered again. The book that summoned it circled her smugly.
"I swear to all seven heavens, if this is a binding contract I will set something on fire."
The floating began to wobble. Ninko meowed pointedly.
Arila panicked. "No no no—I'm still in the air—Ninko, do something—AH!"
In a fit of instinct and caffeine-fueled adrenaline, Arila unleashed her wind magic. She meant to land gently. Instead, she conjured a miniature tornado.
Books flew. Scrolls screamed. A magical globe of the continent spun off its pedestal and exploded in a burst of confetti. Students ducked. Ladders spun. Lira screamed into her notebook.
Arila flailed harder.
The cloak, apparently satisfied, released her.
She fell.
Lucien moved without hesitation. He caught her with one arm around her back and the other supporting her legs, like she was a very chaotic bridal package wrapped in sarcasm and glitter.
"This is becoming a habit," he murmured.
Arila stared at him, dazed. "If you drop me, I swear I'll haunt your snow globes."
"Noted."
Ninko landed gracefully on Lucien's shoulder, smug.
The principal entered the library, eyes wide and hair slightly singed. He took one look at Arila, at the mess, at the swirling cloak still sparkling faintly.
"Well," he said. "That happened."
Julian clapped. "Best. Orientation. Ever."
The principal cleared his throat. "Students, we shall continue the tour momentarily. Please ignore the magical incident. It happens more than you think."
Arila groaned. "I want a refund."
Lira rushed over, checking her for injuries. "Do you have a concussion? Are you possessed? Is the cloak cursed? Blink twice for yes."
"I'm fine," Arila said, slowly sitting up. "Emotionally scarred, but fine."
Ninko hopped down and began licking her cheek.
"Great," Arila muttered. "Now I'm the chosen cloak host with a snack-obsessed fox and airborne trauma."
As the group reassembled, books still slowly drifting to the ground, Arila trudged after them, cloak fluttering stubbornly behind her.
"Next magical object that tries to adopt me," she muttered, "is getting drop-kicked into a fireplace."
Ninko purred. The fireplace, somehow, sparked in agreement.
To be continued…