After lunch, the class returned to the greenhouse classroom.
Selene stood behind a long table, a row of shimmering golden potions laid out before her like trophies.
"This," she said, holding up one flask, "is a Vitality Draught. A correctly made version will soothe muscle strain, restore minor damage, and boost natural healing for a short time."
The students leaned in, wide-eyed.
"But," Selene added, her voice razor-sharp, "a flawed version can burn your throat, shut down your kidneys, or make your skin peel off like old bark. So. Measure carefully."
That silenced the excitement.
Elara swallowed hard and reached for her ingredients, measuring with laser focus this time. No guessing. No shortcuts.
She crushed the mountain mint leaves just so. Heated the corespice until it bubbled—not boiled, she reminded herself. Stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise exactly six times.
She poured the thickened brew into her vial. It shimmered, golden-green, with no suspicious fizzing or smoke.
It looked… right.
Still, her hands trembled as she stared at it. Around her, other students sniffed and hesitated. No one wanted to go first.
"Well?" Fig prodded. "You made a mess of every potion today, and now you finally brew something that doesn't smell like dying feet. Are you going to drink it or make it a decorative centerpiece?"
Elara glanced at Selene, who simply nodded once. "If you're confident in your work, drink it."
Confident? No. But done being afraid? Definitely.
Elara took a deep breath—and sipped.
The liquid was cool on her tongue, bittersweet and earthy. A tingle spread down her throat, across her chest, and bloomed in her limbs like warm sunlight under her skin.
Her bruises didn't vanish, but they eased. The fire in her muscles dimmed, her shoulders relaxed.
She exhaled slowly, blinking.
"I think… I did it."
Fig gasped like he'd just witnessed a miracle. "She lives! She thrives! Elara the Calamity finally brewed something on purpose!"
Selene approached silently, lifted the vial, and studied the remaining liquid. She gave a small, rare smile. "Correct proportions. Well done, Elara."
A soft stir of pride moved in Elara's chest. For the first time that day, she felt like she belonged.
She glanced around the greenhouse—sunlight filtering over racks of healing herbs, students still struggling with their own mixtures—and smiled faintly.
It was a long way from home. A long way from fate.
By the time classes ended, the sun had dipped low behind the Academy walls, casting golden light through high stone archways and gilding the halls with tired warmth. Elara's body still ached, but the potion she'd brewed had taken the edge off. More than that—she felt capable for the first time since arriving.
She didn't head to her room.
Instead, she made for the west wing, where the library loomed like a quiet fortress of ink and dust. Inside, the air was cool and fragrant with old paper and dried flowers. Lanterns hovered above the shelves like sleepy fireflies, casting soft glows on thick tomes and hand-bound scrolls.
Elara wandered through the aisles until she found the herbology section, plucked a book called The Subtle Arts of Green Magic, and slid into a cushioned alcove beneath one of the stained-glass windows.
She'd barely cracked the spine before a familiar voice broke the silence.
"I was hoping I'd find someone here who also thinks sleeping is for the weak."
She looked up to find Teryn standing there, a few books under one arm and his usual easy grin on his face.
"Herbal botany too?" Elara asked.
He shrugged, then nodded. "Figure I'll need every edge I can get. Besides, the plant that exploded near me yesterday was… unsettling."
"That was me," she said with a smirk.
"I figured." He sat beside her without asking, spreading his books across the desk. "Still impressed."
They settled into a companionable silence, flipping pages, occasionally muttering notes to each other or pointing out diagrams.
Fig, stretched out across Elara's open book like a limp, judgmental scarf, sighed dramatically. "Riveting. Truly."
"You could help, you know," Elara murmured, nudging him with a quill.
"I am helping," he grumbled. "By ensuring no one gets too smug in their success."
Teryn raised an eyebrow. "Is he always like this?"
"Yes," Elara said, deadpan.
"Wonderful."
They worked until the candles flickered lower and the library grew still as breath. Teryn closed his book and leaned back, stretching with a quiet grunt.
"Not a bad way to end a brutal day," he said.
Elara closed hers too, smiling faintly. "No. Not bad at all."
She wanted to ask him more about the sigil but knew he would not give her any answers. She would have to wait for the right time to ask more questions.
Fig yawned, curling into a tiny ball on the desk. "Wake me when you decide to break rules or start a fire."
----
The corridors of the upper tower were quieter at twilight, with only the occasional flicker of robes or the distant hum of enchanted sconces breaking the stillness. Professor Selene moved swiftly but without haste, her boots echoing against the polished stone as she ascended the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's study.
She didn't often request personal audience. When she knocked, it was not out of nerves, but duty.
"Enter," came the voice from within—measured, low, and unmistakably firm.
Selene stepped inside.
The Headmaster's study was lined with ancient tomes and scrolls, more than a few bound in materials the average student would not dare to identify. Candles burned in iron sconces, and an enchanted quill scribbled silently in the background, recording correspondence. Headmaster Thorne sat behind a desk of pale wood that shimmered faintly with protection wards, his long fingers folded over one another.
"Professor Selene," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. "To what do I owe the visit?"
Selene sat, hands resting neatly in her lap. "A matter of concern regarding yesterday's session in Herbal Botany—specifically, my student Elara Ashwood."
The Headmaster's brow rose just a fraction, but he remained silent, inviting her to continue.
"I believe someone attempted to sabotage her assignment," Selene said plainly. "The ingredients placed at her table—well, I noticed them just before class concluded. The firethorn was spoiled. The duskroot had been replaced with bloodvine root. Harmless to the untrained eye, but enough to twist the potion beyond recognition—and dangerously, if she hadn't hesitated to complete it."
The Headmaster leaned back slightly, his expression darkening.
"I see."
"Today," Selene continued, "I paid more careful attention to her station. No irregularities. I watched her measurements closely, and she performed admirably. Which suggests yesterday's failure was not due to incompetence."
"You are confident it was intentional?" he asked, voice low.
"I am," Selene said. "There's no plausible way the switch could have occurred by accident. Not with our inventory checks and sorting charms. Someone would have had to swap them at the table itself."
A long silence stretched between them. The enchanted quill halted its motion.
At last, Headmaster Thorne spoke.
"That is a serious accusation, Professor Selene."
"I know."
"And a deeply troubling one." He stood and moved to the arched window behind him, gazing out over the darkening grounds. "I will not have this Academy become a breeding ground for petty jealousies and cruel rivalries. Sabotage is not only a violation of our ethical code—it is an act of aggression."
He turned back to her, eyes sharp.
"If a student is willing to endanger another's life over class rankings or bruised pride, they do not belong here."
Selene inclined her head slightly in agreement.
"I will investigate," the Headmaster said. "Quietly, for now. In the meantime, I want you to remain vigilant. If you notice any further tampering or suspect any particular student—report it immediately. Discretion is critical."
"Understood," she said.
He studied her for a moment longer. "You've always run a disciplined classroom, Professor. But now more than ever, our students need eyes on them. They may not see the war coming, but I suspect some already feel the tremors."
Selene's jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I'll watch them carefully."
"And Elara?"
"She shows promise," Selene said. "More than I expected. Especially today."
"Good," Thorne murmured. "Then we will make sure she isn't crushed before she has the chance to grow."
Selene stood, taking that as her dismissal. She turned to leave, but paused as she reached the door.
"One more thing," she said. "If it was sabotage—and if the culprit is who I suspect—it will not stop at Elara."
The Headmaster nodded slowly. "Then we'll stop it here."
With that, Selene stepped out into the quiet halls, her robes whispering against the stone. The torches had begun to dim for the night, but her mind was wide awake. She had names in mind. Patterns she'd seen before. But she would not accuse without certainty.
Still, one thing was clear.
Someone wanted Elara Ashwood to fail.
And Selene would not allow that to happen again.