The grand bell of Valemere Academy rang out across the skies, signaling the start of a new year.
Students flowed in through the enchanted gates like royalty marching onto a battlefield—robes billowing, wands holstered, pride stitched into every stride.
This year was Matheo Hesperia's final. The golden prince of darkness. The untouchable heir.
And Josephine—the girl who had returned from the dead—was walking at his side.
Yet no one knew who she really was.
Not yet.
---
Matheo left her briefly to greet his inner circle near the fountain courtyard:
Delrico Maxwell, Bastian Thorin, Patricia Rosewell, and the Theo & Enzo Kennon.
Josephine stood near the garden steps, alone but composed.
She was still adjusting to the idea of being alive in this world—of navigating it without tripping over the past she had read and the present she was now living.
That's when the trouble began.
---
"Watch where you're going."
The voice was firm. Irritated.
Josephine turned.
A tall girl with a warrior's gait and blazing eyes stood in front of her, robes crisp and pristine.
Hestia Garcia.
She didn't look angry at Josephine.
She looked… insulted by her existence.
"I knew Delilah would send someone like you," Hestia snapped. "Perfect face. Little mouth. Thinks the world will just hand her status."
Josephine blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You don't even know me," Hestia said, stepping closer. "But you stare like you do. Like you're judging me for something Delilah said."
"I'm not judging you. I don't even know her."
"Don't lie," Hestia hissed. "You're clearly her newest minion."
Josephine's voice dropped. Calm. Measured. Sharp.
"I don't follow people, Hestia. I lead."
Hestia narrowed her eyes. "You're new here. You don't get to play queen."
"And yet, I don't recall asking for permission."
It was subtle.
The spark between them.
Two girls. Two fires.
One built on misunderstanding.
The other built to survive storms.
Before either could speak again—
"Oh, don't tell me you're still this dramatic, Hestia."
Delilah Maxwell stepped into view.
White curls wild. Lipstick sharp. Confidence trailing behind her like a royal train.
"Oh look, the matching hurricane," Hestia muttered.
Delilah laughed. "I love how you think the world revolves around you. I didn't send her, sweetheart. And if I did, she'd already be ten steps ahead of your tantrum."
That did it.
Hendrix Paxton and Rowan Whitlock arrived seconds later.
"Another Delilah show?" Hendrix yawned. "What's the conflict today—her lip gloss or her pride?"
Rowan smirked. "Looks like a new recruit in her army."
Hendrix pointed lazily at Josephine. "You. Are you here to play lackey or just dumb and pretty?"
Josephine's jaw clenched.
"I don't answer to bullies. And I certainly don't entertain cowards in overpriced boots."
The jab made Hendrix pause. His smirk vanished.
Hestia folded her arms, but doubt flickered in her expression.
Josephine took a step forward, voice steady, burning now:
"You don't know me, Hestia. You should've asked before assuming."
Josephine's chest ached.
A deep, strange pressure curled up from her ribs and tightened around her lungs. Not magic. Not fear. Something older. Something that felt like it had been branded into her soul.
She could barely breathe.
So she did the only thing she could.
"...Matheo," she whispered.
One word.
Barely more than a breath.
Yet it tore through the threads of reality like fate snapping its leash.
---
Across the courtyard—
Laughter. Idle gossip. The lazy hum of rich, untouchable students enjoying their power.
Until Matheo's head snapped up.
Eyes wild. Alert. Burning.
Delrico had just started a joke when he saw the shift. "What—"
"She called," Matheo said sharply, already moving.
Delrico didn't ask. He followed.
---
In seconds, the air changed.
Matheo's fist collided with Hendrix Paxton's jaw before the boy could blink.
Delrico shoved Rowan back against the stone pillar, his expression colder than the steel on his belt.
The courtyard dropped into dead silence.
Josephine stood behind them, one hand clenched over her heart, still breathless.
Matheo turned to her, voice a growl edged with panic.
"Jo? Did he touch you?"
"I'm fine," she said softly. "Now that you're here."
Matheo's jaw flexed, but he didn't press. He turned back toward Hendrix, fury still radiating.
That's when it happened.
Hendrix wiped the blood from his lip, laughing bitterly.
"Of course the royal dog comes running. I should've guessed," he spat. "But your bestie over here—" he nodded at Delrico, "still hasn't gotten over being rejected by Hestia, huh? What's it like? Protecting someone who'd rather choke on her own ego than ever want you?"
Stillness.
Delrico's hand twitched.
Josephine saw it—the hurt hidden behind a lifetime of masks. His smirk faltered. His spine stiffened.
Delilah's magic began to hum, wild and furious, forming around her fingertips.
"Say that again," she hissed, "and I'll rip the words out of your throat."
The tension cracked the air.
Until—
A sudden blast of chilled wind swept across the courtyard.
And a voice like thunder wrapped in silk echoed:
"ENOUGH."
The Headmaster looked across the circle of chaos with contempt.
"Maxwell. Hesperia. Paxton. Whitlock. Garcia. Rosewell. Kennon. Miss…"
He paused—eyes locking onto Josephine.
"…Hesperia."
A long silence.
"I was told you wouldn't return this term."
Josephine didn't speak. Her heart still pounded too loud.
He looked across the gathered students.
"Valemere is a place of knowledge. If any of you are looking for war, there are other lands that welcome it."
Then, just before turning away, he muttered under his breath
"Hesperias. Always arrive with drama."
Later That Evening – The Grand Hall of Valemere
The chandeliers above the enchanted dining tables glowed softly, casting golden light on thousands of watching eyes.
The Headmaster stood at the center dais, raising his voice for the hall to hear.
"We have a returning student this year," he said. "One thought lost to unfortunate circumstances."
A low murmur rolled through the hall.
"She will resume her rightful place among the noble line of Hesperia. I expect the rest of you to offer her the respect she deserves."
Then, slowly, he turned to the students seated below and announced—
"Josephine Hesperia. Younger sister to Matheo Hesperia."
Gasps. Murmurs. The sharp sound of reality cracking.
All heads turned toward Matheo and Josephine.
But none reacted as intensely as Hestia Garcia.
She blinked, stunned, blood draining from her face.
That girl—the one she accused, shoved, disrespected—wasn't just someone Matheo knew…
She was his sister.
His only living family.
His shadow turned sovereign.
A sick, heavy feeling dropped into Hestia's stomach like a stone.
She thought Josephine was just another quiet, decorative girl—maybe even Matheo's secret lover, hidden from scandal like many nobles did.
But now…
Now she realized she had insulted the girl who held Hesperia blood in her veins.
Across the table, Delilah Maxwell raised her goblet in a mocking toast toward Hestia and said under her breath—
"Oops."