One week had passed since life at the Academy resumed its familiar rhythm for Talia and Elara.
The initial shock had faded, replaced by routine—bells chiming across stone courtyards, students flowing through corridors in neat tides of color-coded robes, magic crackling softly in practice halls once more. Whatever rumors had sparked during the sisters' sudden absence had settled into half-whispered theories and exaggerated retellings, as most things did.
The Grand Cafeteria buzzed with late-morning energy.
Sunlight poured through tall arched windows, catching in drifting motes of dust and steam rising from enchanted warming trays. Long tables stretched across the hall, crowded with students laughing, arguing over spell theory, or hunched over notes between bites of bread and fruit. The air smelled of baked grains, citrus tea, and faint ozone—residual magic clinging to sleeves and hair.
At one of the central tables, Elara and Talia sat side by side.
Elara had already pushed her plate halfway aside, more focused on the floating page of a textbook hovering just above her fork. She absently nudged roasted vegetables around her plate while reading, lips moving silently as if refining an argument only she could hear.
Talia, in contrast, ate with clear purpose—quick, efficient bites, posture relaxed but alert. Her dagger was nowhere in sight, but the habit of readiness lingered in the way her foot tapped lightly against the stone floor.
A few nearby students stole glances their way.
They'd been gone for two weeks—long enough for questions to grow teeth—but neither sister acknowledged the attention. They didn't need to. Being noticed had always followed them like a shadow.
Talia finally broke the silence, lowering her cup. "…You think she's okay right now?"
Elara didn't look up immediately. Her fingers stilled on the page.
"She is," she said after a moment, certainty threading her voice. "I can feel it."
Talia nodded once, trusting that completely—then glanced around the bustling hall, the noise, the normalcy.
The Academy moved on.
But both sisters knew—very clearly—that something important was missing from the table.
Elara lowered the hovering page at last, letting the spell fade as the parchment settled back onto the table. She stared at her half-eaten meal for a second, then sighed.
"You know who I miss right now?" she said quietly.
Talia glanced sideways at her, already suspicious. "Who?"
Elara looked up, eyes softening despite herself. "Alistar."
Talia froze—then immediately huffed a laugh. "Gods, same."
Elara leaned in a little, voice dropping like it was a shared secret. "The way he tilts his head when he's confused? And that little chirp he makes when Anna laughs?"
"And how he tries to look intimidating," Talia added, grinning, "but his wings are still too big for him so he just… wobbles."
Elara snorted before she could stop herself. "And don't forget how he tripped over literally nothing in the gardens."
"That was a tactical roll," Talia said seriously. "Very advanced."
They both laughed then—soft, genuine, the kind that eased something tight in their chests.
Elara smiled down at the table. "I never thought I'd miss a dragon."
Talia took another bite of her food, eyes distant but fond. "Yeah. Me neither."
For a moment, the noise of the cafeteria faded around them, replaced by the memory of sunlight, grass, and a small dragon trying very hard to keep up.
The laughter hadn't fully faded when a shadow fell across the table.
Talia noticed first.
Her posture shifted instantly—subtle, controlled, but unmistakable. Her hand stilled mid-bite, shoulders squaring as her gaze lifted.
Tanya stood there.
She wasn't strutting this time. No smug tilt to her chin, no lazy confidence. Her two friends lingered a step behind her, clearly uncertain, eyes flicking between Talia and Elara as if weighing how fast they might need to run.
Tanya cleared her throat. "Talia. Elara." Her voice was steadier than her hands. "Can we… talk?"
The word talk sat awkwardly in the air.
Elara's eyes narrowed, instinctively sliding her plate closer to Talia's side of the table. "About what?"
Talia didn't speak. She simply stared.
There was no magic in her gaze—but there didn't need to be. It carried the kind of quiet threat that came from someone who had already decided exactly how many ways this could end badly.
Tanya swallowed. "About… what happened. With your sister."
That did it.
Talia pushed her chair back just enough for the legs to scrape against the stone floor. The sound was sharp. Final.
Elara's hand shot out, gripping Talia's sleeve. "Talia."
Talia didn't look at her. Her eyes never left Tanya. "You've got about five seconds," she said coolly, "to convince me this ends with you still standing."
Tanya flinched—but she didn't back away.
"I know," she said quickly. "I deserve that. Probably worse." She exhaled, shoulders tight. "But I need to say something. To both of you."
A few nearby students had gone very quiet.
Elara studied Tanya's face—the tension, the lack of bravado—and made a decision. "Fine," she said, measured. "You can talk."
Talia shot her a look.
"I said talk," Elara added pointedly. "Not fight."
Talia clenched her jaw, then crossed her arms, every line of her body screaming restrained violence. "You've got one chance," she warned Tanya. "Say it."
Tanya nodded, throat bobbing.
And for the first time since the training yard, she looked genuinely afraid—not of magic, but of what she'd done.
Tanya drew in a slow, unsteady breath.
"I didn't mean for it to go that far," she said quietly. No edge. No mockery. Just truth, bare and uncomfortable. "I wanted to prove something. To myself. To everyone watching."
Talia's eyes narrowed, but she didn't interrupt.
Tanya's gaze flicked down, then back up. "You two talk about your sister like she's… everything. All the time. How proud you are. How special she is. How she keeps surprising you." Her jaw tightened. "And I—" She stopped, exhaled sharply. "I got jealous."
Elara's expression softened just a fraction.
"I've trained my whole life," Tanya continued. "Every drill. Every scar. Every exam. I pushed myself so hard just to stand in the same circles as people like you." She gestured between them. "To be noticed. To be your equal. Or at least your rival."
Talia scoffed quietly. "So you tried to break our sister?"
Tanya flinched. "No. I tried to expose her." Her voice cracked. "I told myself she was handed everything. That if I pushed her, she'd fold, and I'd finally feel… validated."
She shook her head. "Instead, I learned how wrong I was."
Silence stretched.
Elara spoke first, voice calm but firm. "You don't get to turn envy into cruelty and call it ambition."
"I know," Tanya said immediately. "That's why I'm here. Not to excuse it. To own it."
Talia stepped closer.
For a heartbeat, it looked like she really might hit her.
Then she stopped—close enough that Tanya had to tilt her head up to meet her gaze.
"If you ever come near Anna again with anything but respect," Talia said quietly, "there won't be a warning. Do you understand me?"
Tanya nodded, eyes steady now. "Yes."
Elara watched her for another long moment, then sighed. "You want to stand beside us?" she said. "Then start by being better than this."
Tanya bowed her head—not in defeat, but in acknowledgment.
"I will," she said.
And for the first time, Talia unclenched her fists—just a little.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The noise of the cafeteria slowly crept back in—distant laughter, the scrape of chairs, the clink of utensils—but the space between the three of them remained taut, fragile.
Then Tanya broke the silence.
"…How is she?" she asked quietly. Not challenging. Not defensive. Just… careful. "Your sister. Is she okay?"
Elara exchanged a brief glance with Talia before answering.
"She's stable," Elara said. "Resting. Healing."
Talia nodded once. "She's stubborn as ever," she added, a hint of fondness slipping through despite herself. "Already arguing with our parents about when she can come back."
A faint, relieved breath left Tanya's chest. "Good. I'm… glad."
She hesitated, then added, "I didn't hurt her permanently. Did I?"
Elara shook her head. "No. What happened wasn't… because of you alone." She chose her words carefully. "Something in her woke up. It would've happened eventually."
Tanya absorbed that, gaze lowering to the table. "Still," she said. "I was the spark."
Talia didn't argue.
"But she's safe," Elara said firmly. "That's what matters."
Tanya nodded slowly. "I'm glad," she repeated, softer this time.
She stepped back, giving them space, her friends mirroring the movement behind her. "Thank you," she said, not for forgiveness—but for the truth.
Talia watched her go, arms still crossed, expression unreadable.
Elara let out a quiet breath. "That… could've gone worse."
Talia snorted. "Barely."
But neither of them looked away until Tanya disappeared into the crowd.
A hesitant voice rose behind them, cutting gently through the noise of the hall.
"…Is it true?"
Talia turned first, hand already half-moving out of instinct. Elara followed a heartbeat later.
Kaelen Stagwood stood a few steps back, shoulders tense, hands clasped together like he hadn't been sure what to do with them. His usual easy confidence was gone, replaced by something raw and worried. Beside him stood Lara Grayson—Anna's roommate—eyes wide, fingers twisted nervously in the hem of her robes.
"Is Anna really okay?" Lara asked softly, barely able to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Elara's expression eased immediately. "She is," she said, gentler now. "She's resting. Safe."
Kaelen let out a breath he'd clearly been holding for days, shoulders sagging just a little. "Thank the earth," he muttered. Then, quieter, "They wouldn't tell us anything. Just that she collapsed and was… taken home."
Talia nodded. "We know. It scared a lot of people."
Lara swallowed hard. "I keep thinking I should've said something," she said. "She fell that morning and look so pale. She said it was growing pains. i should of went after her. I should of stopped her—"
Elara was on her feet before Lara could spiral any further. She stepped closer, her voice calm but firm, the way it got when she meant every word.
"Lara—stop," she said gently. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Lara's eyes shimmered. "But she fell. Right in front of me. And I just—believed her."
Talia uncrossed her arms, her posture softening in a way few people ever saw. "Anna would've talked you out of it even if you had chased her," she said bluntly. "She's terrifyingly good at that."
A shaky laugh slipped out of Lara before she could stop it.
Elara nodded. "What happened wasn't because of a missed warning or a bad decision. It was something building for a long time. Longer than any of us realized."
Kaelen shifted closer to Lara, not touching her, but close enough that she wasn't alone. "She didn't want anyone worrying," he said quietly. "That sounds like her."
Lara wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I just… hate that she was hurting and I didn't know."
Talia met her gaze, steady and honest. "That means you're a good roommate. And a good friend. Anna would say the same."
Lara swallowed, shoulders finally lowering as the weight eased just a little.
Elara offered a small, sincere smile. "When she's back, she's going to complain about the Academy food and steal your notes like nothing ever happened."
Kaelen nodded. "And pretend she's not falling asleep in Ancient Runology Class when the Professor catches her."
That earned a fragile smile from Lara.
"She's really okay?" she asked once more.
Talia answered without hesitation. "She will be."
Lara let out a slow, shaky breath, then bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Both of you. I… I really needed to hear that."
She straightened—and then seemed to realize herself all at once.
"Oh—stars, I'm sorry," she added quickly, color creeping into her cheeks. "I didn't mean to corner you like that. Or dump all of this on you. I know you've got more going on than anyone right now and I just—"
"It's fine," Elara said immediately, waving it off. "Truly."
Talia nodded once. "You care. That's not something to apologize for."
Lara blinked at them, surprised. Then she laughed softly under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. "Right. Okay. Good. Because I think if I'd kept talking, I might've cried in the middle of the cafeteria."
Kaelen gave a small, relieved smile. "That would've made today memorable."
Lara huffed, then sobered, glancing between the sisters. "When you talk to her… tell her I kept her side of the room exactly how she left it."
Elara smiled. "She'll appreciate that."
Talia added, "She'll still steal your pillow."
Lara laughed for real this time.
"Yeah," she said. "She will."
With a final nod of thanks, Lara stepped back, Kaelen falling into step beside her as they headed off together—lighter than they'd been moments before.
Talia and Elara watched them go—until a fragment of conversation drifted back through the din of the hall.
"See?" Kaelen muttered under his breath, just loud enough. "I told you she was fine."
Lara scoffed softly. "You were just as worried as I was."
"That's—" Kaelen hesitated. "That's not the point."
Lara tilted her head at him, clearly enjoying this. "Oh? Because I distinctly remember you pacing our room and saying, 'If she doesn't come back, I'm marching to the palace and demanding answers.'"
Kaelen groaned. "I did not say it like that."
"You absolutely did," Lara said cheerfully. "You even practiced what you'd say to the guards."
There was a beat.
"…I was under stress," Kaelen muttered.
Elara's lips twitched. Talia snorted outright.
"Adorable," Elara murmured.
Talia crossed her arms again, but this time there was a smirk tugging at her mouth. "He's dead if he hurts her feelings."
Elara didn't disagree.
They lingered a moment longer, watching Kaelen and Lara disappear into the crowd—still bickering softly, shoulders closer than they probably realized.
Elara exhaled, some quiet knot in her chest loosening. "I'm glad she has people like that," she said. "People who worry. Who notice when something's off."
Talia nodded, gaze distant for a heartbeat. "Yeah. She's always had us." A pause. "But it's… good she's got more than just us now."
Elara smiled at that, small but genuine. "She'd hate hearing you say that."
Talia huffed. "She'll never hear it. I'm not suicidal."
They both laughed quietly, the sound swallowed by the cafeteria's hum. For the first time since returning, the Academy felt a little less heavy—still full of questions, still missing one familiar presence, but steadier.
Elara gathered her things, sliding her chair back. "Come on. If we're late to afternoon drills again, Master Harlan's going to glare holes through us."
Talia stood, rolling her shoulders. "Let him try."
As they headed toward the doors, neither said it aloud—but both of them were thinking the same thing.
Hurry back, Anna.