MORNING AT ST. AUGUSTINE

Dawn broke over the grand St. Augustine Academy, its towering structure bathed in golden light. The school, a relic of an era long past, stood with an air of authority and ancient grandeur. Its design echoed the Roman Empire's architectural might, with massive Corinthian columns supporting vast archways. The entrance was a towering triumphal arch, engraved with Latin inscriptions that no one bothered to translate anymore.

Marble statues of long-forgotten scholars lined the grand courtyard, their stone eyes forever watching the students rush past. The walls, built of sun-kissed limestone, had aged beautifully, their surfaces worn but dignified, like the wrinkles of an old storyteller. Tall, arched windows framed with ornate pilasters gleamed under the morning sun, reflecting the lively bustle of students. The red-tiled roof, reminiscent of Roman basilicas, stretched across the campus, completing the picture of timeless elegance.

Inside, the hallways were equally magnificent. Vaulted ceilings, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting mythological gods and scholars, stretched endlessly above the students' heads. The marble floors, polished to a mirror shine, carried the hurried footsteps of teenagers trying to beat the morning bell. Torches—purely for decoration—lined the stone corridors, casting long, golden shadows in the early light.

And, of course, chaos reigned.

The dormitories had erupted into their usual morning frenzy—doors slamming, voices shouting, hairbrushes flying. Some students, still half-asleep, stumbled down the corridors in their mismatched socks, while others fought over mirror space. Somewhere in the madness, the unmistakable sound of someone blow-drying their uniform could be heard.

Tasha Monroe was used to it.

She stood in front of the tall dormitory mirror, her fingers nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was a petite girl with soft features, her round hazel eyes always carrying a hint of quiet curiosity. Her dark curls tumbled past her shoulders, still slightly messy from sleep, and her olive-toned skin warmed in the morning light.

Despite her timid nature, there was a liveliness to her—a gentle energy that made her stand out without meaning to.

"Move, move, move—late, late, late!"

A blur of motion sped past her, nearly knocking her into the vanity.

"Lina!" Tasha gasped, steadying herself.

Lina, her stubborn and fiercely protective best friend, was already halfway across the dorm, struggling into her blazer while brushing her thick, auburn hair with the other hand. Her freckled face was scrunched in determination as she tried to do three things at once—get dressed, fix her hair, and scold the younger students clogging the exit.

"I swear, if one more first-year blocks the door, I'm throwing them out the window," Lina huffed, yanking her school tie straight.

Tasha shook her head, biting back a laugh. "You say that every morning."

"And I mean it every morning!"

With a sigh, Tasha grabbed her bag and followed her friend into the bustling stone corridor, where students poured from every doorway, dodging each other in a frantic bid to reach the dining hall.

As expected, the hallway traffic came to a sudden, dramatic halt.

There, at the center of attention, stood Celeste Laurent—the school's undeniable "Star".

With her long, platinum-blonde hair cascading in waves and her icy blue eyes sparkling with effortless confidence, Celeste walked as though the world simply adjusted around her presence. Her perfectly tailored uniform hugged her tall, graceful frame, and even in the morning rush, she looked like she had stepped straight out of an elite fashion magazine.

Lina groaned. "Oh, great. Miss 'Gift to the School' is blocking the way again."

Tasha nudged her, whispering, "Lina, be nice."

"I refuse."

Celeste, unaware (or uncaring) of the irritated students around her, was engaged in an animated conversation with her friends. They laughed at something ridiculous—probably a joke that wasn't that funny but deserved a laugh because Celeste had said it.

The students, of course, waited for her to move. Not because they respected her, but because no one wanted to be the one to bump into her and become the target of her razor-sharp tongue.

Finally, after what felt like a century, she gracefully strolled forward, and the hallway came back to life.

The main hall, with its towering marble statues and stained-glass windows, led straight to the headmistress's office. And standing right outside that office was Headmistress Grimshaw herself—an iron-willed woman with the patience of a crumbling biscuit.

Her grey bun was pulled so tight that it looked like it hurt, and her piercing green eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk searching for prey. The long, black robes she insisted on wearing billowed slightly as she muttered under her breath, already annoyed at the morning's disorder.

"I can hear you breathing too loudly, Jackson," she snapped at an unfortunate student.

Lina smirked. "One day, that woman is going to explode from pure frustration."

The cafeteria was a bustling arena of teenage chaos. Long wooden tables stretched across the room, where students claimed their territories like ancient warriors preparing for battle.

The air smelled of freshly baked bread, steaming eggs, and slightly burnt bacon. Students piled their trays with food, shoving their way to their usual seats.

And, of course, at the far end of the cafeteria, the daily scene of bullying played out.

A scrawny first-year stood frozen as a group of older students loomed over him, their smirks lazy and amused.

Lina's eyes narrowed. "Oh, not today."

Tasha barely had time to react before Lina marched across the room.

"Alright, move," Lina ordered, placing herself between the first-year and the bullies.

One of the older students sneered. "Or what?"

Lina cracked her knuckles. "Or you'll be eating your breakfast through a straw."

There was a moment of tense silence before the bullies grumbled and backed off.

The first-year, still wide-eyed, stammered, "T-thank you."

Lina just waved a hand. "Eat your food before I take it for myself."

Tasha smiled as they sat down. This was her normal—chaotic, loud, and unpredictable. But in all the madness, she was surrounded by friends, warmth, and a school that, despite its eccentricities, felt like home.

The cafeteria buzzed with early morning chatter, the clinking of metal trays echoing through the high-ceilinged space. Students moved between long wooden tables, some still groggy from sleep, others already full of restless energy. Tasha Monroe sat quietly at the edge of one table, stirring the remnants of her oatmeal with her spoon

"They're ringing the bell." Tasha said

The deep toll of St. Augustine Academy's morning bell rumbled through the halls. The cafeteria's noise dimmed as students began to rise, scraping their chairs against the stone floor. Devotion was mandatory.

Lina groaned, shoving the last bit of toast into her mouth before grabbing Tasha's wrist. "Come on, let's go before Beady Eyes starts hunting for latecomers."

Tasha barely had time to place her spoon down before she was pulled into the stream of students moving toward the Great Hall. The academy's corridors stretched high above them, flanked by towering stone columns and marble archways. Everything about St. Augustine was built to intimidate—from the domed ceilings etched with golden frescoes to the massive iron chandeliers that hung like relics from another time. It was a place of tradition, where the past lingered in every shadowed corner.

They entered the Great Hall, its vastness swallowing them whole. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, casting shifting patterns of red, blue, and gold across the polished floor. The air smelled faintly of candle wax and aged parchment.

Students filled the pews in neat rows, their uniforms crisp in the morning light. At the front of the hall, standing like a watchful statue, was The headmistress, she had a presence that could silence an entire room without uttering a word. Her iron-gray hair was pulled into a severe bun, her sharp eyes sweeping over the students as they settled in.

The devotion began with a hymn, the collective voices rising toward the vaulted ceiling. Tasha sang softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Lina, as expected, didn't even pretend—she stood stiffly, her lips pressed together in silent protest. Naomi, ever composed, sang along with practiced ease.

A senior student stepped forward to read from the academy's worn leather scripture book, his voice carrying through the hall. The passage spoke of obedience, faith, and the virtues of discipline—words that had been recited in these halls for decades.

Tasha's mind drifted as the words blurred together. The rhythmic rise and fall of the reader's voice, the flickering candlelight, the distant sound of birds beyond the stained-glass windows—it all blended into something dreamlike. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus, but devotion always felt like something she had to endure rather than experience.

The final prayer was spoken in perfect unison, the students' voices merging into one steady chant.

As the last "Amen" echoed through the hall, The headmistress gave a single nod.

A collective exhale rippled through the students as they rose from the pews. The rigid solemnity of devotion melted away as they funneled toward the grand doors, shoulders brushing, whispers starting up again.

Lina stretched her arms with an exaggerated groan. "I swear that prayer was longer than usual."

Tasha smiled. "Maybe because you weren't paying attention."

"I was totally paying attention."

Naomi smirked. "You mouthed the wrong words to the hymn."

Lina gasped dramatically. "Blasphemy."

Tasha giggled as they stepped out into the morning light, the weight of the Great Hall fading behind them.