Aurelia had not always been alone.
That was the cruelest part.
The isolation did not arrive suddenly, it had crept in, day by day, word by word, until she found herself standing in the academy halls surrounded by people who no longer saw her at all.
It had begun subtly.
A misplaced comment here. A rumor there. Whispers that framed her discipline as arrogance. Whenever Celine was nearby, misunderstandings followed. A conversation overheard at the wrong moment. A remark twisted just enough to sting.
Aurelia dismissed it at first. She had been raised to believe that reputation was forged by action, not by opinion. Her integrity spoke louder than defense. So she continued training. Continued attending classes. Continued speaking plainly and expecting the same in return.
Celine, meanwhile, smiled.
She apologized often. Publicly. Softly.
"I must have misunderstood Lady Aurelia," she would say. "I'm sure she didn't mean it that way."
Each apology planted a seed.
By the time Aurelia realized what was happening, the ground beneath her feet had already shifted.
The final incident had been meticulously prepared.
Three days earlier, Celine had called her out near the academy's archive wing, her posture hesitant, her voice low as if sharing a secret.
"I think people misunderstand you," Celine had said. "They say you dislike me."
Aurelia frowned. "I don't," she replied. "And gossip should not concern you."
Celine's eyes brightened.
"What about the rumors regarding Prince Lucas?" she asked gently. "Do you believe I'm trying to take something that belongs to you?"
Aurelia stiffened.
"That engagement is not a possession," she said.
Celine nodded, grateful.
...
Later that night, a letter appeared. Written in Aurelia's handwriting.
It spoke of resentment. A desire to disgrace Celine publicly. Using her influence as the general's daughter to drive a merchant born girl from the academy.
The language was colder than Aurelia would ever allow herself to be.
Which made it convincing. The seal was correct. The parchment was from her personal supply. Even the faint irregularities in her script had been replicated.
By morning, it was everywhere.
When the confrontation came, Aurelia had stood before the gathered students, her spine straight, her expression controlled.
"I did not write this," she said.
No explanation.
No appeal.
No visible emotion.
The crowd did not hesitate.
Of course she would deny it, they thought.
"She's lying!"
"She always hated Celine."
"Look at her, so cold!"
Celine had started crying till then. Softly. Gracefully.
"I never wanted things to go this far," she said softly. "I only wished to clear the misunderstanding."
That was the moment Aurelia felt the floor disappear beneath her.
"I did nothi-" Aurelia said.
Celine inhaled sharply interrupting her.
"I didn't want to believe it either," she said, tears finally spilling over. "I kept telling myself there must be some mistake."
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
"But every time I tried to talk to her… she looked at me like I was something unpleasant she had to endure."
A murmur of agreement rippled outward.
Andrew stepped forward then. The minister's son adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowed in what looked like careful consideration.
"The handwriting matches," he said slowly. "And the phrasing… it's consistent with Lady Aurelia's manner of speech. Formal. Precise. Emotionally distant."
Aurelia turned toward him.
"You know me better than this," she said.
Andrew hesitated. That hesitation was louder than accusation.
"I know you value order," he replied. "And sometimes… people justify cruelty through structure."
The words landed heavily.
Clarke laughed, not mockingly, but uncomfortably.
"I mean," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "it kind of fits, doesn't it? You've never exactly been warm."
" Aside from your magic of course". A slight chuckle spilled from his mouth.
Aurelia's fingers curled slowly at her side.
Celine flinched.
"Please don't fight," she said softly. "I don't want anyone to argue because of me."
She wiped her tears, then, almost unconsciously added:
"I just wanted to belong."
That. That was the spark.
"She's suffered so much."
"And she never complained."
"Imagine being treated like that." The crowd whispered
Prince Lucas finally spoke. His voice silenced the courtyard.
"Aurelia," he said, restrained, disappointed. "Is this true?"
She looked at him. Really looked. He wasn't angry.
He was already grieving something he had decided was gone.
"No," she said.
Just that.
Lucas exhaled slowly.
"Then why does everyone else see this so clearly?"
The question crushed her. she remain standing there speechless.
No one believed her. Even prince Lucas, her fiancé, did not even look at her direction. The three men beside her started to console Celine, who was crying even more.
Now, Aurelia stood near the training grounds, the weight of everything pressing down at once. The sword in her hands trembled, not from weakness, but from restraint. Flame magic pulsed beneath her skin, wild and unfocused, begging for release. She did not let it.
Her father's voice echoed faintly in her mind.
Endure. Do not falter.
But endurance was beginning to feel like suffocation. She had lost more than her reputation. She had lost the benefit of doubt. The stares had changed weeks ago. The whispers sharpened. Invitations ceased. Even neutral acquaintances avoided her gaze. Now, a handful people who stayed by her side, even they had started to leave.
Today, the hatred had crystallized. She was no longer misunderstood. She was condemned.
The Bell rang, students dispersed. Going to their respective classes. Celine walked away with the three men by her side, victorious.
Aurelia stood, staring at nothingness. Sword planted in the dirt before her
If I leave now, she thought, it will stop hurting.
She was so tired. So very tired.
But then...
"Lady Aurelia."
The voice behind her was quiet.
She turned instantly, hand flying to her sword out of instinct before she stopped herself.
A young man stood a short distance away.
Plain features. Earth magic clinging faintly to his presence. Not someone she knew.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I just felt something was wrong."
She scoffed faintly.
"Then you felt correctly. That's all."
He didn't leave.
"I don't know what happened," he continued. "I didn't see anything. I don't have proof."
She stiffened.
"But," he said, meeting her eyes steadily, "I believe you."
Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
The words struck deeper than she expected. Deeper than the accusations, deeper than silence. They touched the raw place she had been guarding all day.
Someone believed her.
Not because of evidence.
Not because of loyalty.
But because something in him said the story didn't fit.
She turned away quickly, afraid her composure might fail.
"You shouldn't say that," she said quietly. "Belief without reason is dangerous."
He shrugged slightly.
"Maybe. But disbelief without reason is worse."
She didn't respond.
"I'm Chris," he added after a moment. "I'm not important. I won't be able to help much. But… you shouldn't be alone right now."
The wind stirred her hair.
For a long moment, Aurelia stood perfectly still. Staring at him deeply.
Then, carefully. Keeping her voice level, her face composed,
"…Thank you."
It was all she allowed herself.
But as the ache in her chest eased just slightly, Aurelia realized something she hadn't dared to hope for all day. She was not invisible. And somewhere, beneath the ashes of humiliation and doubt, her fire had not gone out after all.