CHAPTER 23
The morning sun filtered through the marble windows of Sterella Academy as Sorayael made her way through the main halls, her silver hair catching the light in glimmers.
She was on her way to her first class, her steps light and her heart quietly excited. A rare expression softened her face; hopeful, curious.
But that expression didn't last long.
Two girls approached her from the side corridor, both with pristine uniforms, curling hair, and smug expressions.
Sorayael, ever composed, turned to respond politely, only for a sudden splash of cold water to soak her from head to toe.
The girls laughed.
Sorayael stood still.
Water dripped down her face, clinging to her lashes.
Her golden eyes were cast downward, unreadable.
'Ah... I see. So this is how it is, huh?' she thought, her voice calm in her head, distant.
Then, after a minute of silence, she sighed softly.
She dried herself with a quiet spell and walked forward again, composed and expressionless. As if nothing happened.
But inside, a different thought whispered.
'You'll regret that.'
.........
Those girls had acted out of envy because Sorayael had been placed in S-Class, alongside the heirs from the Crimson Dungeon. It was a class reserved for the elite, those with rare talents in magic, combat, or intellect.
Even if you couldn't wield a sword or conjure a fireball, if your mind could outwit generals or break spells with theory alone, you belonged there.
Sorayael, born with all three: magic, swordsmanship, and strategy, had been placed without question.
Their first class had been simple, just the basics of mana theory and elemental balancing. The next class is a combined lecture on sword forms and battlefield logic.
She listened, took notes, and said little. But her presence was felt.
Later, as the class ended, Sorayael found herself walking with the same six heirs: Zarethian, Karsen, Ravelia, Silas, Celene, and Kieran, toward the academy cafeteria.
The air buzzed with the low murmur of students, but their table held a rare stillness.
Sorayael gave a small nod, finally speaking, "They're observing us first, how we think, not what we know. The real challenges come after they read us properly."
Celene raised a brow, impressed. "As always, sharp."
Zarethian leaned back, arms crossed. "Just say you're bored, Sora."
She glanced at him with a faint smirk. "No need to state the obvious."
The group chuckled, the tension melting. For a moment, everything felt normal.
But deep inside, Sorayael hadn't forgotten what happened in the morning.
The academy halls buzzed with the usual energy. Students passed messages, laughed, and rushed to class.
In the middle of it all, two familiar girls strutted through the corridor, smug as ever, until a faint pop echoed above.
A water freezing cold rained down on both of them from a hovering orb, enchanted to release at exactly that time.
Shrieks echoed and everyone turned to them.
The girls stood drenched, shivering, utterly humiliated.
A few chuckles and then bursts of laughter from surrounding students.
They looked around for the culprit, angry, embarrassed.
But no one stepped forward. They couldn't pinpoint who's the culprit.
Not even Sorayael, who walked past them moments later, dry and graceful as ever, not sparing them a single glance.
But for just one second, only one, her golden eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
No one suspected a thing.
Sorayael smirked and went to her class.
.
.
The air in the marble-walled classroom was heavy with focus. Books hovered slightly above desks, flipping open with the professor's signal.
At the front stood a tall, sharp-eyed man with silver-streaked hair and a staff clasped behind his back, Professor Vyran Maelor, master of field tactics and historical battle theory.
The room buzzed. Students glanced at each other, thinking.
Thorne Mallik, a bulky student from the western border, stood confidently.
Then came a moment of quiet.
Vyran's eyes scanned the room until they landed on her.
She looked up calmly, eyes clear. Then slowly stood.
She walked toward the board, drawing a crescent shape.
Silence. Then-
Professor Vyran nodded, a rare approval in his voice.
He turned to the class.
Sorayael sat down quietly. Zarethian beside her leaned over and whispered, "Show-off."
She didn't reply, but the ghost of a smirk touched her lips.
The others in the room praised her but there were also the ones that were envious of her.
...........
Classes ended with a buzz of energy as students spilled into the halls, but for Sorayael and the rest of the heirs, it was routine by now.
They gathered as always, Sorayael, Zarethian, Kieran, Silas, Karsen, Celene, and Ravelia, and walked together toward the cafeteria, their pace relaxed, their conversation light.
Celene chuckled. "You're all hopeless."
Karsen leaned on the table, smirking. "As for me, well, I got a solid nod of approval. That's enough. I'm a man of humble victories."
Sorayael was about to speak when Silas cut in with a dramatic sigh, "Ahaha no, wait, I take it back, we all lost the moment she opened her mouth in class."
They laughed, even Sorayael. It was a rare moment of comfort in a world that constantly demanded perfection.
But the atmosphere shifted as a group of upperclassmen approached their table. Older, taller, and clearly thinking highly of themselves, they stopped just beside Ravelia.
Ravelia, seated with her arms crossed, didn't even look up. "And?"
Ravelia finally glanced at them, eyes cold. "And barging into someone's table while they're eating is respectful?" Her tone was sharp, final.
The boys blinked, clearly not expecting that. A few chuckled awkwardly, then turned away with bruised pride.
None of the heirs took them seriously in the moment, just more noise from entitled upperclassmen.
But something darker lingered in their voices as they left, their wounded egos already spinning into resentment.
Sorayael walked side by side with Zarethian, Kieran, Silas, Karsen, and Celene, their chatter light as they made their way to class. The mood was fresh, last night's cafeteria bragging still lingered in their minds.
The seat by the window, Ravelia's usual spot, was still vacant.
They all exchanged glances. Indeed, Ravelia was always the first to arrive, always composed, always ahead.
Memories from the previous day flickered in their minds. The laughter. The praise. The light-hearted competition of sharing who received the highest compliments from their professors.
And then... those upperclassmen.
Now, with Ravelia absent, the unease that had been dismissed as nothing began to coil tight in their stomachs.
A second class passed. Still no sign of her.
Sorayael stared out the window, her golden eyes darkened with thought.
'Something wasn't right.'
The six of them have one thing on their mind.