Whispers Between Thorns

The Academy buzzed with quiet tension.

Not the kind bred from exams or disciplinary fear—no, this was a different current. Invisible. Charged. And somehow, always surrounding her.

Elira sat beneath a blooming syren tree in the south courtyard, book unopened in her lap. Her eyes followed a petal drifting down like a dying ember. Around her, noble daughters laughed and chatted, but their voices were muffled to her ears.

Because she felt it again.

A gaze.

Not from the shadows this time—but from above.

She tilted her head slightly, catching a flicker of silver from the upper terrace. A tall figure, robes pristine, leaned against the marble railing.

Celestienne.

Their eyes met for a single second.

Elira looked away first.

"She watches me like I'm a puzzle missing a piece," Elira murmured, her fingers tightening on the book.

"You are a puzzle."

The voice came from behind.

She flinched.

Turning, she found a familiar figure cloaked in deep crimson—sitting gracefully on the edge of the bench, as if she had been there the whole time.

Isolde.

"How—?!" Elira's breath caught.

"No magic." Isolde offered a soft, almost amused smile. "Just footsteps no one bothers to hear."

She reached out, her fingers brushing a stray lock of Elira's hair away from her cheek. The touch was feather-light, but Elira froze.

"Still trembling?" Isolde whispered, voice laced with something darker. "Did she scare you last night?"

Elira didn't answer. Couldn't.

Isolde's eyes trailed down to the bracelet on her wrist. The blue crystal glinted in the sun.

"So she gave you this," she muttered, almost disappointed. "Tch. How dull."

Elira instinctively pulled her hand away. "Why are you here?"

Isolde's lips curled, but not kindly. "You threw my flower into fire. You didn't even read my first letter."

"I don't want to be part of whatever game this is," Elira whispered. "Not yours. Not hers."

Isolde leaned closer, and Elira swore she felt the air grow colder.

"It's not a game, Elira. It's survival."

A pause.

"You're not just prey. Not anymore. You're ours now. Whether you run or not."

From the terrace, Celestienne's silhouette moved—vanished from view.

Moments later, a strong breeze swept the courtyard.

Isolde stood in one fluid motion.

"Take care not to trust the one who brings you gifts. Poison tastes sweetest wrapped in silk."

She walked away, her cloak trailing thorns.

That night, Elira found another letter under her pillow.

But this time, two were waiting.

One sealed in red wax.

The other in silver.

And her hands… trembled as she reached for neither.