The lunch bell rang at last, its bright chime spilling through the classroom and loosening the tension that had gathered over the morning. Chairs scraped back. Bags opened. Voices rose in sudden, cheerful waves as the Academy students were granted an hour and a half to eat, relax, and enjoy themselves before lessons resumed.
Cur, however, quickly realised he would not be allowed to leave so easily.
Professor Slaine had barely left the room before the first curious student drifted towards Cur's desk. Then another followed. Then three more. In less than a minute, the space around him had filled until he felt as though the whole class had closed in like a hungry pack of lions.
Cur sat very still beneath all those eyes, hands resting stiffly on the edge of his desk. The attention made his shoulders tighten, but he was grateful that Markus stayed beside him, half-turned towards the crowd as if his own body could keep them from pressing too close.
"You're an El? Really?"
"Your parents sit with Her Highness, right? What's she like?"
"If you're in our class, does that mean you're a combatant too?"
"Could you introduce us to Lady El?"
The questions came one after another, overlapping until they were no longer separate voices but a single restless noise. Cur opened his mouth, closed it again, and tried to decide where to begin. Every face seemed eager. Every question seemed to expect an answer first. Then Markus spoke up like a saviour in shining armour.
"Would you guys give him some room?"
For one hopeful breath, Cur thought it might work.
It had the opposite effect. Instead of calming down, the students turned on Markus with grins that were far too pleased with themselves.
"Trying to keep him to yourself, Markus?"
"Oh, I see. Just because your families know each other, you get first pick?"
Markus's eye twitched. His jaw tightened first, then his fingers curled at his sides. Cur had only known him for a short while, but even he could tell that Markus was reaching the end of his patience.
"How about you all pipe down? Give him space—and time to answer one question first!"
The students froze, then shuffled back by inches. A few laughed awkwardly, scratching their cheeks or looking away as they finally seemed to realise how they had been acting. Cur let out a small breath and managed a smile. It was overwhelming, yes, but there was something warm in it too. They were curious about him. They wanted to know him.
Then a flash of white slipped between two shoulders near the door. Cur's gaze followed it before he could stop himself. Calliarna was already leaving the room, her steps quiet and unhurried, as if none of the commotion had anything to do with her.
He tried not to dwell on it. Still, part of him wished she had stayed long enough for him to speak with her.
Before Cur could answer a single question, a voice sounded in his head.
I recommend we leave. I feel a bigger headache coming…
The warning had barely settled in Cur's mind when the classroom door slammed open hard enough to rattle in its frame.
"CUR! LET'S GET LUNCH TOGETHER!"
The painfully loud voice belonged to Hariel, who stood in the doorway as if he had every right to announce himself to the entire Academy.
Annoyed students turned on him at once.
"Get out of here, Hariel! We got here first!"
"Don't you have your own friends? Get lost!"
"Yeah! Cur's having lunch with us!"
Cur glanced between Hariel and the students surrounding him, worry prickling beneath his ribs. For a moment he thought Hariel might back down under so many angry stares. Instead, Hariel only looked more irritated than anyone else.
A sharp grin spread across Hariel's face. Golden-yellow flames sparked from his hand, small at first, then brighter, licking over his knuckles like they were eager to be used.
"Hoo, so you've chosen to fight? Bring it, morons. You might entertain me."
Hariel's challenge only made the others double down.
One by one, flames began to rise from several students around Cur. Heat gathered in the tight space between desks. Shadows shook against the walls. Cur felt the air grow dry in his throat.
"Come on, then! We'll take you here and now!"
"Can't beat all of us, doofus."
The tension kept rising, stretched so thin that even a single careless word might have snapped it.
Then one calm voice cut through the heat and silenced the room.
"You'll do no such thing. This is a classroom. If you idiots want to fight, use the proper facilities."
Calliarna had spoken from near the doorway.
She had not raised her voice. She had not even stepped fully back into the room. Yet the flames faltered, and no student dared oppose her.
A fragile silence settled over the classroom. Cur could hear the last faint crackle of fading fire, the scrape of someone's shoe against the floor, the uneasy breath Markus released beside him. It gave Cur his chance.
"I-if it's okay with everyone... could we all just eat together?"
Markus looked at him first. Then the others followed, their expressions shifting from annoyance to realisation as if Cur had pointed out the most obvious solution in the world.
"Yeah... we could do that," Markus said aloud.
The pressure around Cur eased at last. A few students muttered agreements. Hariel lowered his hand with a dissatisfied huff, while Calliarna turned away again as if the matter had already become boring. Cur watched them all for a moment, then allowed himself a small, relieved smile.
--- Meanwhile at the Throne Room of Grand Castle Hielo Palacio ---
The two immense doors of metal and dark wood began to open with a deep, resonant groan. Their sound rolled across the floor before the throne room itself was revealed—a hall so vast it seemed less built than carved from the heart of a mountain. Evenly spaced pillars rose on either side, climbing towards a ceiling so high that anyone looking up would have to crane their neck to follow them to their end. Red and gold cloth softened the stone beneath the feet and hung in heavy folds along the walls, catching the light that poured through the great shield-shaped stained-glass window behind the throne. At the centre of that light stood the throne itself, a great seat of stone draped in red, gold, blue, and black cloth down to its padded cushion, where a beautiful woman sat in still command.
Her crimson hair fell with a regal shine, framing rust-coloured eyes that watched the hall with a patience sharpened by authority. Mature beauty marked her face, though she appeared no older than thirty. She wore a white-and-gold fit-and-flare dress that balanced grace with power, and a flame-shaped pendant rested against her chest like a quiet symbol of the throne she held. Upon her head sat the royal crown, its ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amber jewels arranged into a diamond at the centre, while smaller diamonds lined the intricate band. Gold and silver bracelets circled her wrists, delicate but unmistakably royal, and beneath the throne her violet wedge heels caught a faint gleam from the stained glass.
To the Queen's left stood Cur's mother, Evelyn Ynha-El. Though undeniably beautiful, she had softened her appearance with deliberate care, refusing to draw more attention than the woman seated beside her. A grey tulip dress fell neatly over her frame, accompanied by light ceremonial armour at the shoulders and hips—elegant enough for court, but still carrying the memory of battle. Her hair was arranged in a textured bun, her fringe tucked behind her ears, and knee-high black stilettos completed the formal image. The fitted dress hinted at the strength beneath it, the toned lines of a warrior hidden beneath courtly restraint.
For a long moment, the throne room remained still. Then a large group of footsteps approached, each step echoing against the stone and growing clearer as the procession drew near. To any outsider, the absence of guards might have seemed careless. To anyone with sense, the reason was obvious. Evelyn Ynha-El stood beside the throne. With the city's greatest living combatant within arm's reach of the Queen, steel-clad guards would have been little more than decoration.
The procession halted at the proper distance. Cloth whispered. Armour settled. Only then did a lone voice rise through the hall, clear enough to reach every pillar.
"Presenting to Her Majesty, by her grace: Grand Commander Adurn Ynha-El and the Lord Commanders of the Three Legions—Miriam Lassensal of the First, Narthal Heldew of the Second, and Bronham Dohus of the Third. Bow before Her Highness Vanessa Flamberge, Queen of Fire and rightful ruler of King's Rose."
The five entrants, the announcing squire among them, placed their right hands over their hearts with practised precision. Evelyn did the same beside the throne. For a breath, no one moved. Then, as one, they bowed before Vanessa Flamberge, Queen of Fire and reigning monarch of the Human Kingdom.
The silence that followed was not empty. It pressed down on the hall like judgement, filled with everything no one wished to say too soon. Queen Vanessa allowed it to linger. Only after the pause had become almost unbearable did she lift one hand, granting them permission to rise. Evelyn straightened first, composed and watchful, while the commanders followed in order of rank. The young squire crossed the vast floor towards her with the sealed message held carefully in both hands, and Adurn stepped forward behind him, carrying the heavy air of a man who had returned without the answer his sovereign needed.
Cur's father looked nothing like the man who had stood with easy warmth on Cur's first day at school. His slate-coloured hair, usually wavy and relaxed, had been slicked back for court, exposing the severe lines of his jaw and the hollowness beneath his cheekbones. His dark blood-red eyes did not burn with anger alone; they carried exhaustion, restraint, and the bitter discipline of a soldier who had been forced to count losses before speaking them aloud. The suit was gone. In its place, dark plate armour overlapped chainmail like scales, the grey metal marked by a faint red stain beneath the throne room's light.
"Your Highness," Adurn said, his voice low and formal, "your Grand Commander returns with unfavourable news."
By then, the squire had reached Evelyn. He bowed once, offered the sealed parchment, bowed again, and withdrew with quiet haste to Adurn's side. Evelyn broke the seal with care rather than urgency. Her eyes moved across the first few lines, and though her expression barely changed, the room seemed to notice the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth. Without a word, she passed the parchment to Her Highness, whose waiting hand remained still and pale beneath the throne's shadow.
Queen Vanessa read slowly. No one interrupted her. The commanders kept their heads lowered, and even the banners seemed to hang heavier along the walls. When she reached the final line, a small flame kindled at the edge of the parchment. It consumed the message in silence, leaving no ash, only the memory of what had been written. Vanessa's expression darkened—not with anger, but with the recognition of a ruler watching every easy path close before her.
"How long?"
Adurn answered without hesitation, as though the number had already been carved into him during the journey home.
"At their current pace, Your Highness, Radius and Umo may fall within five years. Rianova may endure behind the Naturian Barrier, but even that certainty weakens by the month."
Vanessa's fingers rested against the arm of the throne. "And Dragoon?"
"The Harbinger King will not move," Adurn replied. "The Dragons consider this Teiria's rebellion. Unless Dragoon itself is threatened, they will not commit their forces, nor will they lend their name to any coalition."
The answer settled heavily among them. In a court, refusal rarely needed to be spoken twice.
"Pointless to ask, perhaps," Vanessa said at last, each word measured, "but Palmas?"
Adurn lowered his head. It was answer enough before he spoke.
"No contact was made. Their envoys would not receive ours."
Vanessa rested her temple against her hand. For a moment she looked less like a queen upon a throne and more like a woman forced to hold an entire map together with her fingertips. Her gaze moved to Evelyn. Before she could ask the question, Evelyn answered the look.
"Your Highness, we should seek a Peace Pact through the First Cord Agreement," Evelyn said. "Even if the chance is thin, it must be offered before steel is drawn. At the same time, the eastern forces should be prepared quietly and without public declaration. The quill may still serve us, but whoever guides this coup may already be counting on our hesitation."
Vanessa turned her attention to the commanders. She did not need to summon their opinions by name. In matters such as these, silence was permission to speak.
"Your Highness, I agree with Lady El," one of them said. "Peace must come first, if only so history cannot accuse King's Rose of choosing war too eagerly. But to ignore the worst case would invite disaster."
Bronham Dohus stepped forward next, his voice carrying the grim certainty of a commander who preferred honest weakness to comforting lies.
"Bronham," Vanessa asked, "if the eastern coast is tested, could our defences withstand it?"
"No, Your Highness. Braga, Gallivant Spring, and Listlast would be exposed—Braga most of all. As our weakest eastern port, it would be read as an open gate by any commander with ambition. We lack the manpower to patrol the coastline properly, and shifting troops there would leave the inland roads vulnerable."
Narthal stepped in after him, his expression darkening before he even spoke.
"Nor can we rely on our neighbours," Narthal said. "After the Travellers Incident with the vampires—and the dispute over fishing rights and patrol lines in the Gamean Waters—Savanna has made its position clear. They will leave the demonkin to deal with us alone, and they will call it neutrality."
Vanessa's gaze shifted to the young female knight behind Adurn. The movement was slight, but in the throne room it carried the weight of a summons.
"Miriam?"
Miriam bowed deeper than the rest, her hand still over her heart.
"My apologies, Your Highness…"
She offered no defence, no hopeful exception, no hidden ally waiting beyond the border. Vanessa needed no more. In politics, an apology from a commander could be more damning than a report.
Alone, then. Truly alone.
The thought seemed to pass through the hall without being spoken. Vanessa lowered her hand from her temple and looked to Evelyn once more, not as a friend seeking comfort, but as a sovereign placing the first stone of a difficult decision.
"Eve," she said, her voice quiet enough that the hall had to listen, "summon the Council of the Nation."
--- Back at Fire Arts Academy ---
"Alright, everyone," Professor Slaine said, waiting a moment for the last traces of lunchtime chatter to fade. "Lunch is over. Settle down and eyes to the front."
The class did not quieten all at once. Chairs scraped back into place, bags were nudged under desks, and a few students finished whispering behind their hands before Slaine's steady look brought them properly to order. Only when the room had settled into a softer hush did he turn towards the board.
"Today, we're returning to the Aspects of Fire," he began. The chalk touched the board with a dry tap. "You covered the basics last year, but names alone are not enough. If you want to understand your fire, you need to understand what each Aspect represents—and what it asks of the person who carries it."
Notebooks opened across the room in a small wave of rustling paper. Quills dipped into ink. Cur copied the title carefully at the top of his page, keeping his letters neat even as several students around him were still settling themselves. Slaine waited until the last scratch and whisper had softened before continuing.
"There are six Aspects of Fire," Slaine said, writing the number slowly, "though only four are known to us today. We'll start with Flamberge." He underlined the name once. "This Aspect is shaped by vision, imagination, and will. It was named after Fire King Azar Flamberge, and those born with it usually have remarkable control over their flames. Because of that, Flamberges often excel in work that demands precision—blacksmithing, fine craft, and even medicine."
He let the class finish writing before moving to the next line. "Next is Starscourge. As the name suggests, this fire draws its strength from the Sun. Starscourges are known for their heat, accuracy, and sheer output. They tend to be strongest during the day, which is why many are trained for combat or military service."
A few students shifted with interest as Slaine wrote the third name. "Third, we have Dragonscale. This one is extremely rare and traces back to the War of Survival. With enough training and control, a Dragonscale can take on traits—and, in some cases, the power—of our fire ancestors. In this class, only one of you carries that Aspect."
Slaine glanced briefly at Markus. The look was brief enough not to embarrass him, but not so brief that the class missed it. A few heads turned before Slaine faced the board again.
"Finally, there is Reactor." His tone slowed a little on the word. "Reactors are the most difficult to define, because no two are quite the same. Their fire is believed to come from suggestion, belief, or faith. Some develop only simple abilities, while others may, in rare cases, reach a level close to the Monarchs." He paused, looking back at the class. "The truth is, we still understand very little about them."
While Slaine continued the lesson, Cur kept writing. He copied each point into neat, careful notes, pausing only when the professor added a detail that seemed important enough to underline. The lesson was familiar—almost too familiar—but Cur forced himself to listen anyway.
Then, quietly and without warning, a voice inside him tugged at the edge of his focus.
Cur. I see no reason for us to be here. We already studied this at home. Our time is better spent elsewhere.
Cur's quill slowed. A faint smile touched his mouth before he could hide it.
You never know, Era. We might learn something about our situation.
Not here. We need knowledge even your parents lack. Leave. Ask the Uls woman; she knows more than anyone in this room.
We can't just leave. That's not how this works.
Then why come at all?
Cur's shoulders dropped. He sighed before he realised the sound had escaped him.
Professor Slaine stopped writing. The chalk remained against the board for a moment, then lowered. Slowly, he turned.
"Am I boring you, Cur Ynha-El?"
Cur jolted upright so quickly that his chair gave a small scrape against the floor.
"No, sir! My apologies!"
A few students snickered as Cur sat back down, heat rising to his face. He lowered his eyes to his notebook and pretended to study the words there, though for several moments he could barely read them.
--- A few hours later ---
The bell rang at last, its clear sound carrying through the classroom and drawing the long afternoon lesson to an end. For a moment, the students simply breathed, as if released from a spell. Then the room stirred all at once—books closing, chairs scraping back, satchels being lifted from beneath desks as everyone began gathering their things.
Cur had just finished tucking his notes away and was about to follow Markus towards the door when Professor Slaine's voice stopped them before they could join the stream of students leaving the room.
"Markus. Cur. A moment, please."
The boys exchanged a quick look. Markus lifted his brows as if to ask whether Cur knew what this was about, but Cur could only give the smallest shake of his head. Together, they left their desks and walked down to the front of the classroom.
Professor Slaine waited beside his desk with a file of parchment already gathered in his hand. The edges had been tied neatly with a thin cord, and a small seal marked the top page.
"Could you take these notes to Headmistress Uls for me?" he asked, holding the file out between them.
"Us, sir?" Markus asked, glancing at the parchment as though it might explain why they had been chosen.
Slaine nodded. "I have other matters to attend to and won't be able to see her today. Would you do me that favour?"
Cur accepted the file carefully with both hands. The parchment felt heavier than he expected, though whether from its contents or from the simple fact that it was meant for the Headmistress, he could not tell.
"Of course," he said with a small nod.
Slaine looked to Markus. "Go with him, would you? Cur is still new, and the Headmistress's office can be tricky to find."
Markus straightened at once, his grin returning with easy confidence.
"Leave it to me, Professor!"
Slaine gave them a faint smile and a nod of thanks before gathering the rest of his materials. A few moments later, he left the classroom, and the boys followed after him into the quieter corridors of the Academy.
Markus led the way through the Academy's inner buildings with the confidence of someone who had gotten lost there often enough to finally learn from it. Cur followed beside him, the file held securely against his chest, and soon realised just how large the school really was.
They passed stone stairways that turned sharply out of sight, narrow bridges overlooking inner courtyards, and long corridors lined with painted crests Cur did not yet recognise. The afternoon light slanted through tall windows in warm strips, but the deeper they went, the quieter everything became, until the lively sound of students was left far behind them.
Eventually, they reached a quiet hallway ending in a single wooden door. A fogged window sat near the top, clouding whatever lay beyond it, and a bronze handle gleamed beneath. Lavish chairs lined the walls outside, their polished arms and padded seats making it clear that visitors were expected to wait here before seeing the Headmistress.
Cur slowed as they approached. Voices drifted from inside the office—low at first, then sharper, rising and falling behind the door. The words were too muffled to understand, but the tone was enough to make him hesitate.
Markus seemed to understand without being told. He glanced once at the door, then sat in one of the chairs and gestured for Cur to do the same. Cur obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the seat with the file resting across his lap.
He leaned back only a little, eyes fixed on the fogged glass. The voices inside clashed again, one calm and firm, the other softer but no less forceful. Cur's fingers tightened around the edge of the parchment.
They're loud... are they arguing?
Neither boy spoke. The hallway felt too narrow for questions. The muffled discussion continued for several breaths, then stopped so suddenly that the silence seemed louder than the voices had been.
The door opened.
Both boys sat straighter at once.
A tall man stepped out first—unlike anyone Cur had ever seen. His coat was white, blue, and green, layered and travel-worn, crowded with belts, straps, and small pouches that made him look more like a wandering mage than anyone from the kingdom. At his waist hung a chained book, the metal links wrapped around its cover as if something inside needed to be kept from opening.
He was slender, almost elegant, but there was nothing gentle in the way he carried himself. His black eyes were sharp and searching, his features narrow, and his sage-dark hair fell around his face in uneven strands. Pendulum earrings swayed faintly at his ears as he paused in the doorway.
His gaze dropped to the boys.
It settled on Cur.
For one long second, the hallway seemed to grow colder. Cur could not have said why the stare frightened him. There was no flame, no raised hand, no threat spoken aloud. Even so, he felt pinned beneath those black eyes, as if the man had recognised something in him that Cur himself had not yet understood.
Then Headmistress Uls stepped out after him.
"I told you to leave."
Her voice was quiet, but it carried an edge that made Markus stop breathing beside Cur. Uls noticed the boys properly then. The moment she saw where the man's attention had fallen, her expression changed.
She stepped between him and the children, one arm lifting without hesitation, protective and absolute.
"He is not here. Leave."
The man lingered on Cur for one last breath. Cur felt that look pass over him like the shadow of something too large to name. Only then did the stranger turn his attention back to Uls.
"Then I hope the stars bless you, Rhea," he said softly. "Our luck is running out."
He walked away without another word. His footsteps receded down the hall, slow and measured, until even they were swallowed by the quiet of the Academy.
Only then did Rhea let out a long, exhausted sigh. Relief crossed her face first, followed by something heavier Cur could not name. When she turned back to the boys, however, she had already gathered herself into the familiar shape of the Headmistress again.
She offered them a small smile and opened the door wider.
"Come in, boys."
The boys stepped inside, and Uls closed the door behind them with quiet care. The click of the latch sounded unusually final in the small office. For a moment, she remained with one hand resting against the wood, listening to the stranger's footsteps fade completely down the corridor before she crossed to her desk.
Her office was warmer than the hallway, lined with bookshelves, framed certificates, and small curiosities Cur did not recognise. Yet the room did not feel comfortable just then. Uls sat behind her desk, reached for a small object near the papers, and slid it smoothly out of sight before either boy could see it clearly.
"Is everything all right, Headmistress?" Markus asked after a careful pause. His voice had lost some of its usual brightness. "That looked… intense."
Uls looked at him, and the practised smile returned to her face by degrees, as though she were putting it back on piece by piece.
"Everything is fine, Markus," she said. "You children don't need to worry yourselves over adult matters." She folded her hands neatly on the desk, the image of a calm headmistress restored. "Now then, what brings you here?"
Cur lifted the file from against his chest and placed it carefully on the wooden desk. The tied parchment landed with a soft tap that sounded far louder to him than it should have.
"Professor Slaine asked us to deliver this to you," he said.
"Ah, yes." Rhea's gaze rested on the file for a moment longer than necessary. "I suppose he had other business to attend to." She opened a small drawer and took out two wrapped sweets, placing them in her palm with a softer smile. "Here. A little reward for bringing it to me."
She handed one to each boy. Their eyes lit up despite the strange heaviness that had followed them into the room.
"Thank you!"
They answered together, the familiar sweetness in their hands making the office feel, for a brief second, ordinary again.
"Will that be all?" Uls asked.
Both boys nodded and turned towards the door, but Cur had only taken one step before a voice inside him stopped him as sharply as a hand on his shoulder.
It's now or never, kid. We won't get many chances like this.
Cur paused. His fingers tightened around the wrapped sweet, crinkling the paper. He glanced at Uls, then at Markus, who was already reaching for the door.
"Markus," Cur said, a little quieter than he intended, "could you go on ahead?"
"Huh?" Markus looked back at him, puzzled. Then, seeing Cur's expression, he lowered his hand from the handle. "Sure… I'll wait nearby."
He gave Cur one last questioning look before stepping out and closing the door behind him. The office grew quieter at once.
Uls watched Cur with mild surprise. The smile did not leave her face, but her attention sharpened in a way that made him feel suddenly much smaller than he had a moment ago.
"Was there something else, Mister El?"
Cur stepped closer to the desk. The words he had planned scattered before they reached his tongue, and for a moment he could only hear the quiet ticking of some unseen clock among the shelves.
"Lady Uls… if you don't mind, I need some advice."
Rhea's brow rose, not unkindly. She gestured to the empty chair before her desk, inviting him to sit. Cur obeyed, settling on the edge of the seat rather than leaning back.
"What can I help you with?" she asked.
Before Cur could answer, the voice spoke first, cool and close inside his thoughts.
Careful. We want information, not a trade.
Cur swallowed. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."
"Something?"
"History, mostly," Cur said. He chose each word carefully, repeating the shape of the request Era pressed into his mind while trying to make it sound like his own. "There are gaps in what I know, and I was hoping I might be allowed to use the Academy library. The information I'm looking for isn't available in the Grand Library."
The change in Uls was slight, but Cur saw it. Her smile remained, polite and pleasant, yet her eyes sharpened as if a hidden door somewhere in the conversation had just opened.
"What sort of information?"
Cur hesitated. It felt dangerous now, though he could not explain why. The office seemed to hold its breath around him.
"The beginning of the Kingdom," he said at last. "Perhaps even further back. I'd also like to read about the other Monarchs."
Rhea fell silent. Whatever answer she had expected, it was clearly not that. Her gaze lowered to the file Slaine had sent, then returned to Cur, measuring him with a care that felt less like suspicion and more like concern.
"Quite the studious one, Mister El."
Cur blushed slightly and looked down at the sweet still in his hand.
Rhea leaned back in her chair, considering him for another moment before she spoke again.
"I am not in the business of suppressing knowledge," Uls said. "If library access is all you need, I can arrange it. However, I should warn you: the material you're looking for may be difficult, even for someone as capable as you."
"That won't be a problem!"
Cur answered too quickly. The eagerness escaped before caution could catch it, and he immediately sat a little straighter, as if good posture might make the outburst seem more respectful.
Uls sighed softly. It was not a refusal, but it was not simple approval either. She opened a drawer and withdrew a quill along with a prepared sheet of parchment. Several lines had already been written. With efficient strokes, she filled in the blank spaces, then turned the page towards him.
"Here," she said. "This should give you what you need."
Cur took the parchment carefully and looked it over. It was a full-access library pass. Normally, students could not enter the Academy library until their third year, but Rhea had authority to create exceptions for those who showed genuine initiative—or for those whose questions were too unusual to ignore.
For a moment, Cur only stared at it. The paper felt thin between his fingers, but the permission written on it seemed far heavier than the file he had brought in.
"Thank you," he said, bowing quickly. "I really mean it."
Rhea watched him rise, her expression unreadable again. "Use it wisely, Mister El."
Cur nodded, clutching the pass as if it might vanish if he loosened his grip. Then he hurried to the door and slipped out before his courage failed him, leaving Rhea alone with the file, the closed drawer, and whatever concern she had chosen not to voice.