Beneath the Frosted Veil

The early morning sun spilled through the tall, arched windows of the academy's eastern wing, casting long, golden shadows along the polished stone corridors. Elira walked slowly, her footsteps muffled against the carpet runner beneath her. The bracelet on her wrist—the one Celestienne had given her—felt heavier than usual, its cold surface biting into her skin like ice.

She hadn't slept. Not really. The twin letters still lay hidden under her pillow, unopened, yet pulsing in her mind like unanswered questions. One bore a silver seal, elegant and perfect. The other, deep red and thorned. Symbols of two forces that now circled her like wolves.

And she was the lamb they both refused to share.

"Elira!"

A voice—a familiar one, breathless—called out behind her.

She turned, heart skipping.

It was Mireille, one of the few girls in her class who hadn't looked at her like a freak after yesterday's incident. Her honey-blonde curls were hastily pinned back, and her arms clutched a bundle of books to her chest.

"There's a new seating chart posted outside the lecture hall," Mireille said, catching up to her. "You're not going to like it."

Elira blinked. "What do you mean?"

Mireille grimaced, then lowered her voice. "They put you between the two most terrifying girls in the academy."

Elira's stomach dropped.

"I thought assigned seating was random," she murmured.

"It was. But… now it's not." Mireille gave her a pitying look. "Do you think they're trying to keep an eye on you? Or—wait. No. Not 'they.' I mean, those two." She leaned closer. "Lady Virellith and Lady Raventelle."

Elira didn't respond. She couldn't.

Because it wasn't just eyes watching her anymore. It was will. Forceful, patient, and ever tightening.

The lecture hall was already half full when Elira entered. The moment she stepped inside, the murmurs began. Students shifted in their seats, some openly staring, others whispering behind gloved hands.

She glanced up at the new seating chart, neatly inscribed on a glowing mana scroll.

Her name sat between two others:

Elira Veremelle.

To her left: Celestienne Raventelle.

To her right: Isolde Virellith.

The room spun for a moment.

"I hate this," she muttered under her breath.

Still, she walked forward, each step measured. Her seat was near the front, too close to the instructor's platform for comfort. She sat, back straight, pretending not to notice the two empty seats beside her.

They arrived moments later—almost simultaneously.

Celestienne moved like falling snow—graceful, cold, and untouchable. She didn't speak. She simply sat and adjusted the cuffs of her navy uniform, eyes trained ahead.

Isolde's entrance was the opposite—silent, but oozing intent. She walked past every student like a stormcloud, her cloak swaying just enough to brush against Elira's shoulder before settling beside her.

The air between the three of them shimmered with tension.

Professor Avarlen began the lesson, droning on about elemental theory and focusing exercises, but Elira couldn't hear a word. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap. The bracelet on her wrist flickered faintly, as if picking up the mana signatures around her.

Then, a note landed beside her hand.

It wasn't passed. It simply appeared, resting atop her desk. Folded neatly in two. Silver wax seal.

Elira glanced sideways.

Celestienne didn't look at her, but the corner of her mouth lifted—just slightly.

Elira didn't open the note.

Not yet.

Because a second one appeared a moment later—deep red wax, placed gently by Isolde herself.

Elira's hand twitched.

The entire classroom had become a stage. And she, unwillingly, the lead actress.

Later, as the lecture dismissed, she stood quickly, gathering her things. But neither of them let her escape.

"Elira," Celestienne said smoothly, voice soft yet unignorable. "Walk with me."

"No," Isolde interrupted, rising in one fluid motion. "She promised me first."

"I did not—" Elira began, but both women were already moving.

It wasn't a walk. It was a quiet war.

They flanked her on either side as they exited the hall, an entourage of tension and veiled hostility. Students gave them wide berth. Even the faculty pretended not to see.

"You shouldn't ignore the bracelet's signal," Celestienne said after a beat. "It flickered during the lecture."

Isolde scoffed. "Maybe it's reacting to her own instability. Not that I blame her. Being trapped between predators would rattle anyone."

Elira stopped walking.

She turned toward them—finally—eyes narrowed with exhaustion and something dangerously close to frustration.

"I'm not some artifact you can monitor. Or a prize to be handed back and forth."

Celestienne's gaze sharpened. Isolde smiled wider.

"But you are something rare," Celestienne said quietly. "And rarity demands caution."

Elira stepped back. "Then treat me like a person, not a possession."

For once, silence followed. Real silence.

Then Isolde tilted her head. "You keep saying no, little lily. But your heart always trembles when we're near."

Celestienne's silver eyes flashed. "Enough."

Their tension crackled again—louder this time.

Elira turned and walked away before either could stop her. The letters burned in her pocket, unopened. But she could feel their weight.

Two thorns. Two promises. Two paths lined with danger.

And for the first time, she felt something bloom in her chest that wasn't fear.

It was defiance.