Unspoken Rivalries

Everyone's gaze was now focused behind him, the tension in the room shifting like a tide.

Ezra felt it before he saw it, the sudden change in atmosphere, and he slowly turned around to see what had drawn all the attention.

There, lazing against a bench built into the wall, was a girl who looked like she owned the very air she breathed. She lounged with reckless ease, a blazer strewn haphazardly across her face to block out the hall's harsh lights, her long legs crossed as if she had all the time in the world.

With a sigh, she sat up, brushing back her wild, reddish-orange curls that tumbled untamed around her face and shoulders. The vibrant color caught the light, making it seem like her hair was still smoldering from the flames she'd just conjured.

She was pretty—but not in a delicate way. Her tan skin was patterned with vitiligo, patches of lighter skin contrasting against the deeper tones, creating an almost celestial map across her arms and face.

Her bare legs were adorned with multicolored tattoos, intricate designs that spiraled and twisted down to her ankles, bold and unapologetic.

Her black mini skirt rode high, exposing the shorts she wore underneath, but she didn't seem to care. Confidence radiated from her with every movement.

A lollipop stuck out from the corner of her mouth, the bright candy at odds with the sharp, almost dangerous glint in her eyes.

She popped the lollipop out with a loud click, her eyes flicking over Ezra with a quick, uninterested once-over before her gaze slid lazily to the boy with the blood-red hair.

"Tch," she scoffed, her voice low, smooth, and dripping with disdain. "You're still pulling this tired crap, huh?"

With a casual stretch, she stood up, swinging the blazer under her arm as she started to walk over. Her steps were slow, almost lazy, like she had all the time in the world and wasn't in a rush to waste it on whatever this was.

Her eyes half-lidded, she stared at the boy with an expression that bordered on boredom, as if his entire existence was more of an inconvenience than a threat.

Halfway to them, she let out a loud yawn, lazily covering her mouth with the back of her hand, completely unfazed by the tense standoff that had the entire dining hall holding its breath. Her nonchalance was almost insulting, like none of this was worth her time.

The boy with the blood-red hair turned toward her, his sneer deepening as his eyes narrowed.

"Ignis," he spat, the name rolling off his tongue like venom. "What a pleasure seeing you here."

She cocked her head to the side, her lollipop dangling loosely from her fingers as a smirk tugged at her lips.

"Can't say the same about you," she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm, like she was genuinely bored of his existence.

A few students gasped softly, eyes darting between them, sensing the weight of history in their exchange.

But her? She just popped the lollipop back into her mouth, her gaze unwavering, staring him down like he was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

Before the tension could escalate further, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air, slicing through the silence like a blade.

"According to Article 78, page 15, any fights—verbal or physical—will not be taken lightly."

The entire cafeteria seemed to freeze, the weight of the words sinking in. Even Cassian's smug expression faltered, his eyes darting toward the source of the interruption.

From the far end of the hall, a figure emerged, dressed in the formal uniform of the academy but with an air of calm authority that demanded attention. A silver badge gleamed on their chest, marking them as someone important—perhaps a student enforcer or prefect, tasked with maintaining order.

Their eyes, cold and unreadable, swept over the scene, lingering briefly on Ezra before settling on Ignis and Cassian.

"If you have a problem, take it to the arena," the figure continued, their tone flat but laced with an unmistakable warning. "Otherwise, sit down and eat like civilized people."

The figure strode forward, each step measured and precise, until they reached Cassian's table. Ezra's eyes followed their movements, taking in the details with growing unease.

It was a boy—older, maybe by a couple of years—but it wasn't his age that made Ezra tense. It was the way he carried himself. His dark navy-blue hair was slicked back flawlessly, not a strand out of place, and a pair of glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of calculated control rather than fragility.

But it was his eyes that froze Ezra in place. Deep blue, almost like the depths of the ocean, sharp and unblinking, locking onto Ezra with a gaze that felt both dissecting and disinterested—as if he were already measuring him up and dismissing him in the same breath.

Everything about him was immaculate—from his posture, straight-backed and poised, to the way his uniform fit perfectly, not a single wrinkle or misplaced button. Even the way he adjusted his glasses seemed deliberate, like every move he made was part of some silent, strategic game.

He stopped beside Cassian, his gaze still fixed on Ezra.

"You're causing quite the stir for a first day," he said, his voice smooth, calm—too calm. "I suggest you learn your place before things get… complicated."

Ezra felt the weight of the warning, but before he could respond, Ignis scoffed, stepping between them.

"Oh, please," she muttered, twirling her lollipop lazily in her mouth. "Save the cryptic threats. You're not as scary as you think, Atlas."

With that, Cassian scoffed and stalked off, but not before shooting Ezra a final, venomous glare. His lackeys followed close behind, leaving the tension hanging thick in the air.

Atlas, however, didn't move to leave. Instead, he turned his sharp gaze toward Nora, his expression one of mild annoyance, as though she were the real disturbance in the room.

"You're still barbaric as ever, Nora," he said flatly, his tone laced with quiet disdain. His eyes flicked over her with clinical precision, lingering just long enough to make his disapproval clear. "Fix your shirt. And that skirt is too short."

Nora, entirely unbothered, plopped down next to Ezra with a dramatic sigh, her blazer slipping off her arm and onto the bench like she hadn't a care in the world. She didn't even bother to look at Atlas, just popped her lollipop back into her mouth, the candy clicking against her teeth as a smug smirk tugged at her lips.

It seemed these two had history—whether they were old friends , Ezra couldn't tell. But there was a familiarity in the way she dismissed him, like they'd done this dance more times than they could count.

Nora let out a light, playful laugh, finally casting Atlas a sideways glance.

"Ease up a little, Atlas," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. "You're gonna pop a vein if you keep being this uptight, even the headmaster can't say anything to me "

Atlas didn't respond, his expression remaining cool and unreadable, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested this wasn't the first time Nora had gotten under his skin.

Finally, Nora turned her full attention to Ezra, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she leaned back in her seat.

"So," she said, twirling the lollipop lazily in her mouth, "you're the infamous Ezra."