Meanwhile,
Administrative Manor,
Registration Hall,
Rina's POV
The administrative hall served as a jarring blend of opulence and inefficiency.
Everything functioned as a whirlwind of controlled chaos where nervous students and frantic faculty navigated the low, constant thrum of protective wards vibrating like a distant heart. I moved through it all with detached indifference, gliding through the final stages of registration while the air itself seemed to crackle with the anticipation of the new term.
The administrators assigned to verify my enrollment remained pale, their hands visibly trembling as they processed my files. Their crystals confirmed the impossible truth of my rebirth and the undeniable potency of my Moon Seal signature, glowing a fierce, unyielding violet. They handled my forms with the reverence one reserves for a ticking bomb, and I gave them only curt, minimal nods in return. I was already elsewhere, mentally prepping for the social battlefield that awaited me beyond the mahogany doors.
While the elderly Dean of the Arcane Arts droned on about my major in High Sorcery and my minor in Court Diplomacy, my fingers idly scrolled through my phone.
Yes, my phone... the same phone I had died with back in the world I once knew.
Though android phones are also common in this world, it still felt completely absurd that this mundane piece of technology had followed me back, yet my contacts were wiped entirely clean. The gods must have possessed a dark sense of humor to leave me with a digital ghost of my past life.
I could scroll through my old playlists and half-read romance novels, but I couldn't call my mother to tell her where I was. The irony made my chest tighten, but I ruthlessly swallowed the feeling because today was not a day to bleed or show any vulnerability. The phone was also the vessel for the author's manuscript, my only guide to this new life.
I was just scrolling through the chapter detailing the current student body when a gaunt footman in midnight-blue livery approached the desk.
"High Arcanist Duskbane, Provost Azazel requests your presence in his private office immediately," the clerk stammered, looking relieved to pass me off.
"All key entrants have been summoned for a pre-ceremony briefing, and your presence is considered mandatory."
"Lead the way," I replied, clipping the phone discreetly into a hidden pocket of my deep purple robe.
I stood with a grace that felt foreign yet perfectly natural to this body. The corridor to the Provost's office was lined with judging ancestral portraits, but I barely spared them a glance. As I entered the emerald-velvet chamber, my silver hair and gown felt like a blatant declaration of power. Gasps swept across the room as I walked in; I felt the weight of their collective shock, but I refused to bend or flinch.
At the head of the massive mahogany table, Provost Azazel, a corpulent, oily changeling barely holding a humanoid form, beamed with agonizingly false warmth.
"Ah, Lady Lumira Duskbane! Welcome back! It is an extraordinary honor to have the High Arcanist of the Moon Seal among us again," he crooned, his voice slick and coated in political grease.
I glided to the gilded seat, crossing one silk-clad leg over the other with practiced elegance.
"I'm sure it does," I cut in gently, offering him a polite smile that carried razor edges. "I'm sure my presence brightens every room, Provost, though I hope the light isn't too blinding for the agenda."
My quip caused a soft, amused chuckle to ripple through the gathered nobles. Azazel faltered, clearly unused to such blunt brevity from a student. My violet eyes, sharp as amethyst shards, swept the room to catalog the twenty VIP students present.
These were the highest orders of supernatural society, scions of legends I knew from the manuscript. Seeing them in the flesh - feeling the sheer latent danger radiating from them - sent an exhilarating thrill down my spine as the Provost reintroduced them to me.
Valerius Khol, the Daemon Lord, was leaning back, radiating a dark casual menace. His smirk was sharp, his eyes held the dangerous smoke of the Underworld.
Besides him was Faethan, Sun Fae Prince, was the opposite: bright, arrogant, and woven with concentrated sunlight.
Zadkiel Vesper, the Dragon Prince, massive and imposing with contained aggression.. His amber eyes, molten gold, betrayed his ancient fiery lineage.
Lysander Thorne, Vampire Prince, elegant danger in black silk, focusing on political manipulation.
Marcus Stone, Werewolf Alpha Blue Blood Pack, big and tense, was relegated to a back seat. His silence only sharpened his quick temper.
Zed Alaric, Paladin Prince, was the heir to the Western Order, bringing a holy hum and a clean metallic scent that clashed with the room's magic.
Then the women a tapestry of power:
Xylia, the fiercely competitive Water Fae Princess;
Thalassa Aegir, the serene and pearlescent Mermaid Princess;
Dahila, a Witch Noble with ancient power wrapped in velvet;
Terrica, the severe and judgmental Earth Elven Princess;
Zephina, Shadowborn Noble, cloaked in deep shadow magic;
Amira, Nephilim Princess who were fierce and vibrating with celestial energy;
Lyra Astraea, Celestial Mage, always gazing at invisible sky charts;
Morwen, the ethereal Siern Princess;
Elara, Phoenix Princess, radiating subtle warmth and rebirth fire;
Petra, the armored and formidable Valkyrie Noble;
Wren, Light Mage, a gentle contrast;
And Rhysandra Nychus, Vampire Noble, making up for her lack of power with excessive drama.
Finally, my eyes fell on the source of that soft, amused chuckle. Vampire Prince Kaelion Draven was silently napping, or at least pretending to be, looking utterly bored by the proceedings. His immaculate black suit blended perfectly into the expensive, high velvet chair. His profile was cold, lethal perfection, an exercise in stillness that felt entirely unnatural. I was captivated, staring at him with an intensity that bordered on the obsessive. He was the most dangerous of the seven critical males described in the manuscript, a predator among predators.
As though anticipating my stare, his eyes snapped open instantly. The deep, burning molten red met my unique purple eyes in a clash of color. I gasped, a sudden, sharp intake of breath hitting my lungs. There was a profound, unsettling familiarity in those crimson depths, a flicker of recognition that felt fundamentally wrong and yet undeniably real. It echoed a dream or a memory I couldn't place, a connection that shouldn't have existed between a reader and a character.
Before I could fully process the shock, the low, aristocratic murmuring in the room grew louder. The nobles were already hurling elegant, thinly veiled insults at one another's races to pass the time. Light Mage Wren scoffed at the Daemon Lord Valerius Khol, while Dragon Prince Zadkiel Vesper mocked Merfolk Princess Thalassa Aegir for her terrestrial clumsiness.
The Provost, now sweating visibly, tried to regain control of the meeting.
"Well, esteemed students, we are still missing one of you, but we must proceed with the critical protocols..."
Just then, a knock thundered through the room, and the air temperature dropped several degrees.
Alpha Jaxon Fenrir strode in, flanked by his grim Gamma, Caleb. He was magnetic, massive, and imposing as he scanned the room. His gaze bypassed everyone, resting only on the Provost and the furniture. He pointedly ignored me, acting as if the chair I occupied was empty. My chest burned because the mate bond he had severed was not yet completely gone from my system. The raw pain was immediate, confirming that his deliberate indifference was a calculated, cruel shield.
"Provost, apologies for the unavoidable delay," Jaxon intoned, his low rumble brooking no argument.
"Urgent pack matters demanded my attention, and I trust I haven't missed anything vital to the security of the territories." He moved to a less-gilded seat, remaining calm, composed, and absolutely silent toward me.
From the back, I heard Vampiress Noble Rhysandra Nychus whisper to her companion.
"I wonder if the rumors are true - will Lumira beg him to be her mate again now that she's back from the dead and desperate for status?"
The room chilled as Kaelion Draven sat bolt upright in his chair. His red eyes fixed with cold, lethal intent, effectively annihilating the lesser vampire with a single look.
He didn't move or speak, but the weight of his gaze silenced every whisper in the chamber.
It was a clear message to the room: Speak of her again, and bleed to death.
My pulse stumbled, but I wasn't sure which unsettled me more - Jaxon's calculated indifference to the woman he had discarded, or Kaelion's silent territorial fury for a girl he barely knew.