With the uniform on, her beauty was accentuated without her realizing—or caring. Elira stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her navy-and-gold uniform. The tailored fabric hugged her frame elegantly, the crest of the Knight Division stitched neatly over her chest. She looked sharp, composed… like she belonged.
"Okay… this is it," she murmured to herself, releasing a slow breath before grabbing her satchel.
—
The hallways of Arcanhelm bustled with students—uniforms flowing, boots clicking against polished floors, conversation and mana humming in the air. Elira and Sylvaine walked side by side through the corridor. Neither of them spoke much, but it wasn't awkward anymore. Just quiet.
Their classroom wasn't ordinary—it was a wide, tiered chamber carved from enchanted marble and lit with floating globes of light that adjusted brightness on command. The walls shimmered faintly, revealing outlines of old battles and spell diagrams that moved like illusions behind glass.
They took their seats near the middle row just as the door opened.
A woman in a black high-collared coat stepped in—her boots sharp, her presence sharper. Her auburn hair was swept back into a clean twist, and her eyes were precise as a blade. She looked to be in her early forties, though her mana presence felt older than time itself.
She walked to the front of the room.
"I am Professor Vaelra Eyrin. I will be your instructor for Historical Mana Theory and Control. I expect discipline, accuracy, and respect. We begin now."
Professor Vaelra Eyrin's voice cut through the classroom like a blade.
With a sharp snap of her fingers, a scroll burst into light above her desk—hovering in the air like a waiting specter. A list of names appeared, glowing faintly in ink that shimmered with mana.
"Introduce yourselves," she said curtly. "Name. Division. Background if relevant."
The room went quiet.
Then:
"Alvian Stroud," she called.
A tall boy from the front row stood up, brushing dust off his uniform. "Alvian Stroud. Knight Division. Son of the eastern barracks captain of Caerhelm."
"Mhm. Sit."
Another name flickered.
"Lysa Ventren."
A girl with short silver hair rose, pushing her spectacles up. "Lysa Ventren. Caster Division. Apprentice archivist of the Moonvault Library."
On and on the introductions went. Some were proud. Some stumbled. Some gave no background at all.
Meanwhile, Elira barely paid attention. Her eyes drifted toward the window, watching the faint shimmer of floating platforms gliding in the distance. Her mind wandered. She wasn't interested in their bloodlines or family names. She had none to boast.
Until—
Bump.
Sylvaine elbowed her.
"Huh? What—?"
"Elira Althar," the professor repeated, clearly unimpressed. "Your turn."
Elira stood quickly, brushing her skirt.
"Elira Althar. Knight Division," she said simply. "I'm from—well, nowhere important."
Professor Vaelra tilted her head.
"Elira Althar," she repeated again, more slowly. "Althar… Any relation to Gavren Althar?"
Elira blinked. Her mind scrambled for the safest answer.
"He's my father."
That seemed to startle the professor. For a moment, her brows lifted ever so slightly.
"So the ghost knight had a daughter after all," she muttered—not loudly, but not silently either.
Professor Vaelra scanned her scroll.
"Sylvaine Caelis."
Sylvaine stood without hesitation, smooth and composed.
"Sylvaine Caelis. Knight Division. From Ismara, northern province of Aldrath."
The professor, flipping through her scroll, paused mid-snap. Her eyes lifted.
"…Caelis, you say?"
"Yes, Professor."
A long look passed between them.
The murmurs started immediately.
"Wait, House Caelis? That's royal bloodline…"
"One of the Queen's own family branches."
"Her mother is the reigning duchess. And her father, His Grace Caelis IV, right?"
Sylvaine, unbothered, sat down like none of the whispers meant anything.
Elira blinked.
"Royal bloodline?" she whispered to herself.
"I don't even know who these royal bloodlines are, I've been living in the woods dodging squirrels and swinging a sword at falling apples."
She side-eyed Sylvaine. "So I've been rooming with a sword princess this whole time?" she muttered.
—
Professor Vaelra raised her hand, fingers poised in a commanding gesture. The ambient lights in the room dimmed, and with a sharp clap, a golden-rimmed scroll materialized in front of her, unraveling with a soft rustle. Arcane runes glowed along its surface as if awakening from slumber.
"Now," she began, her voice low but firm, "we turn our attention to a far more delicate subject. One that lies at the very edge of legend… and warning."
A soft pulse of magic echoed through the room, and dozens of shimmering images bloomed into view—projected in midair for all to see. Some swords burned with blue fire. Others shimmered with ghostly light. A few were cracked, chained, or cloaked in shadows so dark they swallowed the light around them.
"These," Vaelra said, pacing slowly before the class, "are Soulblades—swords not forged by blacksmiths, but awakened through mana, blood, and history. Some of them blessed… others cursed beyond redemption."
Whispers stirred among the students.
"One blade in particular," she continued, "is known less for its craftsmanship, and more for the destruction it left behind. A relic of immense mana-hunger, capable of corrupting its wielder if not mastered."
She turned toward the center of the projection.
The image shifted—replaced by a long, obsidian-black sword wreathed in a faint, red mist. It pulsed slowly… as if breathing.
"This," Vaelra said, her voice sharpening, "is Virelaus. The demon-forged blade said to devour mana directly from the soul. It was once the pride and curse of House Velcrid… a noble family that fell into ruin nearly a decade ago."
Elira's breath caught.
"The Velcrids were accused of consorting with forbidden magic," Vaelra went on, "their lineage rumored to carry a bloodline too volatile for the world's balance. When their house was destroyed, so too vanished the sword… and the last heir."
For a brief moment, the classroom was silent. Only the faint hum of magic could be heard.
Elira didn't blink.
She didn't move.
Inside, her heart thundered like a war drum.
But outside… she was a statue.
Unmoved. Unknown.
Unseen.
I'm right here, Elira thought. But her body was stiff. Her mind echoed with the last words of her brother, the firelight on his face, the feel of the cursed blade in her small hands.
Her hearing began to blur.
She didn't cry. She didn't speak. But the walls of the classroom melted away in her memory—replaced by screaming flames, blood-soaked marble, and the press of her father's hand on her shoulder.
—
Class ended. The students filed out one by one.
Sylvaine looked Elira, slumped on her desk, cheek resting on her arm, soft snores escaping her lips.
"…Are you serious?" Sylvaine sighed, then poked her shoulder. "Class is over. You can't just collapse in public, drool on the academy desk, and call it a day."
Elira groaned and sat up slowly, blinking away sleep. "Huh…? Oh, we're done?"
"You slept through half the lecture."
"No I didn't…" Elira muttered. "I was just… meditating."
"Yuh yuh" Sylvaine said flatly.
They walked out together. Behind them, the classroom emptied—and somewhere in the walls of the academy, faint bell chimes echoed to mark the end of the morning lecture.
Their path led straight to the academy's grand dining hall. The scent of roasted meats, baked roots, and fresh-baked bread hit Elira like a spell.
Her violet eyes lit up instantly.
"Ooooh—" she whispered under her breath, barely hiding her excitement. "That smells like heaven."
Sylvaine glanced sideways, catching the sparkle in her eyes as Elira all but floated toward the serving line like a child chasing dessert.
"You act like you haven't eaten in weeks," Sylvaine muttered.
"I act like someone who knows how to live," Elira grinned, grabbing a plate already stacked with glazed ribs and stuffed peppers.
They found an open corner and sat. Elira wasted no time—cutlery in one hand, soft hums of joy already escaping her lips as she devoured the food like it owed her something.
Sylvaine quietly picked at her meal, watching Elira with a barely-there smile.
She didn't say it aloud—but she was starting to find her new roommate… entertaining.
Strange, maybe.
But fun.
And as Elira stuffed a third roll into her mouth with a contented sigh, Sylvaine thought to herself:
At least this year won't be boring.
———