Alya and I walked side by side through the academy halls, the late morning sun slanting through the tall windows and striping the stone floor in gold. Students flowed around us in loose clusters, robes brushing, voices overlapping—complaints about early classes, gossip about rankings, speculation about instructors. It all blurred together into a familiar noise I was starting to get used to.
Magic theory was held in one of the older lecture rooms, the kind with tiered seating and a chalkboard that never quite lost the faint glow of old runes carved into its frame. Alya was already half-talking, half-complaining as we walked.
"I swear, if Professor Helbrecht spends another hour talking about mana circulation diagrams without actually letting us do anything, I'm going to lose it," she said, tail flicking. "I get it. Mana flows. It pools. It does the thing. Please let me cast something."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "You say that every class."
"And every class I am correct."
We stepped through the doorway together.
My foot barely crossed the threshold before I saw her.
Rian.
She was already seated a few rows down, posture straight, hands folded neatly atop her notebook. Her brown hair was tied back today, revealing the sharp line of her jaw and the calm focus in her soft blue eyes as she skimmed through her notes. She looked perfectly at ease, like she belonged there—as if she hadn't carried me to the nurse's office while lying straight to my face.
My steps faltered.
The memory slammed into me without warning: the dizziness, the sudden collapse, the way the world had tilted. Her voice saying her name. The black fog curling briefly from her mouth.
A lie.
"Mavis?"
Alya stopped beside me, brows knitting together. "What's wrong?"
I forced my feet to move, guiding us down the aisle toward an open bench. "Nothing," I said too quickly. "Just… thought I recognized someone."
Alya glanced around, curious. "Oh? Who?"
"No one important," I replied, sitting down and dropping my bag at my feet. "Really."
She eyed me for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, but the arrival of the instructor cut off any follow-up questions. Alya sighed and pulled out her notebook, already resigned.
Professor Helbrecht swept into the room like a stormcloud held together by robes and irritation. "Settle down," he snapped, rapping his staff once against the floor. "If I hear a single conversation after this, you will be dismissed."
The room quieted immediately.
As the lecture began, I tried to focus. I really did. Helbrecht launched into a discussion about mana density variance and spell stability—important things, things I needed to understand—but my attention kept drifting forward.
To Rian.
She listened attentively, occasionally jotting something down, her expression thoughtful. At one point, she frowned slightly, as if considering a flaw in the explanation. Then she raised her hand and asked a precise, insightful question that made the professor pause before answering.
Smart. Composed. Careful.
And lying.
I clenched my fingers around my quill.
Jerry stirred faintly in my sleeve, his presence brushing against my awareness. You are tense, he murmured.
She lied to me, I replied silently.
A lot of people do.
Not like that.
I didn't look at Rian again for the rest of class. Or at least, I tried not to. Every time my gaze drifted forward, I forced it back to the chalkboard, to Alya's scribbled notes, to anything else.
When the lecture finally ended, chairs scraped and voices rose again. Alya stretched, arms over her head.
"That was painful," she declared. "If I never hear the phrase 'mana equilibrium' again, it'll be too soon."
I managed a weak smile. "You did fine."
"I always do." She glanced at me. "You sure you're okay? You were quiet."
"Just tired," I said. It wasn't even a lie. Not entirely.
As we gathered our things, I felt a presence pause near our bench. My breath hitched despite myself.
"Mavis."
I looked up.
Rian stood there, a polite smile on her face, blue eyes warm and concerned. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better," she said. "You scared me the other day."
The black fog didn't appear this time.
That almost made it worse.
"I'm fine," I replied evenly. "Thank you for helping me."
Alya blinked between us. "Oh, you know each other?"
Rian nodded smoothly. "Briefly. We met when Mavis wasn't feeling well."
Her gaze flicked to mine, searching—careful, measured.
I met it without flinching.
"Yes," I said. "Briefly."
For a moment, something unreadable passed through her eyes. Then she smiled again, flawless. "If you ever feel unwell again, please don't hesitate to ask for help."
"I won't," I said.
She inclined her head politely to Alya. "Count Van Buqeat's daughter, correct? I'm Rian. Baron of Ipse."
Alya brightened immediately. "Oh! I've heard of your family. Nice to meet you!"
"The pleasure is mine."
With that, Rian excused herself and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of students leaving the room.
Alya watched her go, impressed. "She seems nice."
I didn't answer right away.
Jerry shifted against my wrist. Careful, he warned.
"Yeah," I said finally, voice quiet. "She does."
But as Alya started talking again—about homework, about upcoming practical lessons—I stayed silent, my thoughts circling back to that fleeting curl of black fog, to the way my head had ached, to the realization that not all dangers announced themselves loudly.