Names Etched in Fire
"Do you know why they look at you like that?"
Elira turned her head slowly.
The boy beside her wasn't part of the noble faction.
His uniform was standard—no embellishments, no crest—and his hair was a soft brown, his eyes unreadable.
She blinked. "…Pardon?"
"They're waiting for you to fall," he said simply.
He wasn't cruel.
Just… observant.
Elira turned back toward the center of the grand hall where the academy's noble registry was being etched into the ceremonial pillar.
The Wall of Bloodlines, they called it.
Centuries of magic-scribed names glowed in ethereal script, pulsing faintly with lineage power.
Only a select few were ever added.
And this year, hers was one of them.
Elira Veremelle.
The name shimmered into existence near the base, gilded in red.
An honor.
A curse.
And apparently… a provocation.
"You're not like them," the boy continued. "You don't belong here."
"I'm well aware," Elira said dryly.
He chuckled. "No, I mean… you don't even try. That terrifies them."
"Should I be flattered?"
"Maybe." A pause. "Or afraid."
Before she could reply, a shift in the air made her spine stiffen.
Someone important had entered the room.
No—multiple someones.
The ripple of low bows and whispers confirmed it.
At the far end of the hall, two figures stood flanking a third.
One wore black and silver.
One wore obsidian and wine-red.
And between them—
A crown.
Not yet worn.
But close.
The Crown Prince.
He had arrived.
Elira's breath caught in her throat.
The prince—Auren Valmyr—was… handsome, yes.
But also unnerving.
Too poised.
Too calm.
Too aware of the effect his presence had.
His gaze swept across the hall—and stopped.
Right on her.
A flicker of interest.
The faintest curl of his lips.
Then, just as quickly, he moved on.
But Celestienne had noticed.
Isolde had too.
Elira felt it in the shift of their stances across the room.
Felt it in the way Celestienne's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and how Isolde's fingers tapped against her wrist in slow, rhythmic patterns—like a ticking fuse.
Later that night, Elira sat at her desk in the dormitory.
She hadn't touched the ring.
But it was still there.
So was a folded note.
Unlabeled.
Untraceable.
She opened it with slow fingers.
"Don't look at him again.
Or we'll make sure he can't look at you."
No signature.
Didn't need one.
Elira leaned back, exhaling shakily.
She wasn't a threat.
She wasn't anyone.
And yet they circled her like wolves.
Why?
Because of a name?
Because of a look?
Because of her?
She lit the note on fire with a small flick of mana.
It curled to ash in seconds.
And still, the heat remained in her fingers, long after it was gone.