The First Spark

The lecture hall shimmered with ambient mana as crystalline orbs pulsed faintly overhead. Rows of students in navy robes sat stiffly, posture perfect, eyes on the lecturer.

Elira was doing her best to disappear into the wooden bench.

Today was her first real class—Elemental Affinity and Control. A harmless-sounding subject, until one realized most aristocrats here had been trained in it since childhood. Elira, meanwhile, hadn't even lit a candle with magic.

Her fingers clenched the edge of her desk. Her uniform sleeves were too long, hiding the subtle tremble in her hands. She could feel stares—curious, judging, some even amused.

And among them, two particular gazes seared more deeply than the rest.

Celestienne sat regally at the far-left corner, her silver hair cascading over one shoulder, eyes half-lidded but alert. A golden quill floated beside her, taking notes as she merely watched.

Isolde leaned back just one row behind Elira, legs crossed, lips curved in something that could not be called a smile. She hadn't even brought a notebook. Just stared.

"Lady Veremelle," Professor Avarlen called suddenly.

Elira jolted upright.

"I understand you've not awakened your affinity. A rare occurrence in your bloodline," the professor said, voice calm but laced with challenge. "You may decline the demonstration."

She opened her mouth to do exactly that.

But before the words could form, a single phrase echoed through the hall.

"Let her try."

Celestienne. Her voice—icy and soft—carried like a command.

A flicker of approval danced in Isolde's red eyes. She leaned forward on her desk, chin resting on her palm.

Elira swallowed. Saying no felt impossible.

She rose on unsteady legs and walked to the center platform. A practice orb hovered in place, ready to receive mana.

She extended her hand.

Nothing happened.

Whispers began. A few laughs.

"Typical," someone muttered

Her nails bit into her palm.

I don't want this.

And then—something sparked.

The orb, once dim, flared red.

But not just red.

Flames surged in a spiral around Elira's arm. Crimson and gold wove together like a serpent, dancing wild and uncontrolled.

Students screamed and backed away. The professor shouted a barrier spell—but before it completed, the flames suddenly collapsed inward and vanished, leaving only steam and scorched marks on the floor.

Silence.

Elira stood there, stunned.

"Interesting," Celestienne murmured, rising to her feet.

Isolde tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "So... not as withered as they said."

The professor approached Elira cautiously. "Such raw power… That wasn't a normal fire affinity. It responded to your panic, not intent."

Celestienne stepped forward, hand extended. "Come. You shouldn't be among fools who can't comprehend what you are."

But Isolde moved first. Her fingers brushed Elira's wrist, the touch light as air.

"She doesn't need rescuing," she said, tone velvet-smooth. "She needs understanding."

Elira froze between them.

Their words were daggers hidden behind silk. In front of everyone.

Whispers spread like wildfire. No one in the academy had ever seen these two speak to the same girl like this. Let alone… stake claim.

Celestienne's smile never changed, but her fingers subtly clenched. "Then let her choose."

Elira, shaken, took a step back. "I—I can return to my seat on my own."

It wasn't much.

But it was something.

Celestienne's eyes narrowed. Isolde's smile, however, grew just a fraction.

When Elira finally returned to her bench, she didn't hear the rest of the lecture.

She only heard the beat of her heart—and the unspoken war had only just begun.