I woke to pain.
A sharp, throbbing pulse behind my left eye. A ringing in my skull that made the air feel thick—wrong—like the world had shifted several inches to the side while I slept. My tongue tasted of metal. My fingers tingled. My ribs ached with every weak inhale.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was.
All I could see was the memory Hel had carved into me:
Her pale fingers brushing my cheek before she buried her hand into my eye socket.
My own scream echoing through the fog of the Hidden Kingdom.
The blinding white light that swallowed everything.
I yanked in a breath, eyes snapping open.
The infirmary's lanterns flickered overhead, painting the ceiling in trembling shadows. And my heart hammered because—gods—Hel had been real. The throne of bone had been real. Her cold laughter had been real.
That jaw-deep ache in my skull? Also real.
I reached up, fingertips brushing the place where she had ripped something out of me. The skin there throbbed with phantom heat. But there was no wound. No bandage. No scar.
Just pain.
Before I could think too hard about it, a voice burst through the fog of my thoughts.
"MAVIS!"
"AH—!" I screamed, grabbing the sheets in terror.
"AH—!" Alya screamed back, slamming her hands on the edge of my bed.
We stared at each other, chests heaving, mutual panic suspended between us.
"…Don't do that," I croaked.
She pressed a hand to her heart. "Don't you do that! I thought you were still unconscious and then you bolted upright like a corpse—"
"That's not what happened—"
"That is EXACTLY what happened!"
We glared at each other until my vision steadied and the room stopped spinning. Alya collapsed into the chair beside my bed, shoulders sagging.
"You scared me," she muttered.
"I scared myself," I muttered back.
After a moment of silence thick enough to choke on, I swallowed and asked the question that had been gnawing at me through the haze of pain.
"What… happened? Besides me getting stabbed, obviously."
Alya brightened at the familiar sarcasm—but only for a second.
"Well," she said slowly, "not much. You only slept for a few days."
I blinked at her. "…Few?"
"Three."
My jaw dropped. "THREE DAYS?"
Alya flinched. "I said don't scream!"
My hands flew to my hair. "Alya! Why didn't you wake me up!?—"
"You were unconscious!" she said, throwing her arms up. "You don't wake up someone who's—who's—dying!"
Her face softened. "You scared everyone, you know. I kept coming to check on you. You wouldn't budge. It was just… sleeping. Deep sleeping. And you wouldn't wake up."
Guilt twisted inside me.
But then urgency replaced it.
"Alya, I can't— I can't just lose days. I have—" I tried to swing my legs out of bed.
She shoved me back down. "Stop moving!"
"Why—"
"Your wound! You're still—"
We both froze.
Because there was no wound.
Alya's eyes widened, her voice nearly a whisper. "Mavis… the healers never treated you."
I looked down, feeling my stomach churn. Well that was one way to confirm that Hel's "modification" wasn't a fever dream.
Before I could reply, a sharp knock hit the door.
An instructor entered—tall, stiff, with the expression of a man who disliked emotions and sickrooms equally.
"Van Buqeat," he said. "Good. You're conscious."
"Unfortunately," I muttered.
"Come with me."
Alya gave me one last worried look. "I'll visit later. Don't do anything reckless."
"Can't make any promises," I said weakly.
Alya pointed a threatening finger. "Mavis—!"
But the instructor was already turning on his heel, leaving me to scramble off the bed and follow.
We walked through long stone corridors, the kind that swallowed footsteps and amplified silence until my own heartbeat sounded too loud.
"You missed the written examination," the instructor said without looking back.
I groaned. "I gathered that."
"You will take it tomorrow. Four sections. Placement results will be issued afterward. You also missed orientation, instructor briefings, and dorm assignments. See that it does not happen again."
"…I'll try not to be stabbed next time, then?"
He didn't laugh. Not even a twitch.
We finally stopped before a wooden door engraved with the Academy crest—two wings wrapped around an open book. A metal plate read:
Dormitory – East Wing, Room 221
"Your roommate is already inside," the instructor said. "Your belongings were moved earlier. Classes resume at dawn."
He pivoted and left.
Just like that.
I stared at the door.
"Are we ready?" Jerry whispered from my shoulder, sounding more like he was preparing for war than a dorm entrance.
"No," I whispered back. "Absolutely not."
I pushed the door open.
Warm light spilled out from the windows, illuminating a tidy room with two beds, two desks, and shelves lined with books and potted plants. Everything smelled like parchment and lavender.
And at the nearest desk, her back turned towards me, sat a girl.
Long brown hair cascaded down her back like silk. She wrote with fluid precision, posture straight, her figure outlined by the afternoon sun. She radiated poise, calm, and something else—something almost polished.
She turned.
And my breath caught.
Seraphina.
Hazel eyes framed by long lashes. Soft features that belonged on portraits. A presence both warm and distant, like a fire burning behind frosted glass.
Jerry whispered, "Oh no."
She blinked at me—surprised, then smiling with polite warmth.
"Oh," she said, voice gentle. "You must be my new roommate."
I nodded too fast. "Yes. I'm—uh—Mavis. Hi."
She closed her book, rising with graceful ease. "Seraphina. Though you may call me Sera if you'd like."
My heart started beating a little faster.
She continued speaking. "I didn't realize I'd be receiving a roommate today. Someone delivered your things earlier."
Her gaze flickered to my collar—where the Van Buqeat insignia sat fresh and pressed.
Understanding dawned in her eyes.
"You're Alya's sister," she said softly. "That explains that."
I swallowed. "Explains what?"
"That I hadn't seen you before," she said with a small tilt of her head. "Your family is… private."
I nodded.
Sera hesitated—just for a heartbeat—and then bowed her head slightly.
"…Im sorry about the tournament. I'm glad you're recovering. And I'm sorry. On behalf of… well. Everything."
Her sincerity punched me in the ribs harder than the injury had.
"Thank you," I murmured. "I, uh… I plan to survive the next one."
Her lips quirked—the faintest smile. "A wise plan."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. Just… charged. Like the room held its breath.
Then she nodded toward the other bed.
"Your things are there. If you need anything, let me know."
She returned to her desk, the quill gliding across paper again as if nothing unusual had happened.
I stood frozen.
Jerry whispered, "We are so fucked."
I elbowed him.
But he wasn't wrong.
Because Seraphina was kind, composed, gorgeous, effortlessly noble—and I was a walking disaster with a cursed kingdom, three days of missed classes, and a god-inflicted eye problem.
This was going to be… complicated.