Morning arrived far too early for Arila Vellion's taste. The sky was barely awake, the dew still clinging to the garden hedges, and yet she was already outside, sleep-deprived and under the cold, judgmental eye of Professor Daelen Rowe. Her cloak clung damply to her arms from the morning mist, and she could already feel the ache in her shoulders from yesterday's lightning mishap.
Ninko sat like a silent silver shadow atop a stone pillar, nine tails curled neatly around him as he spectated with the majestic disinterest of a divine beast who knew he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. A faint breeze fluttered his fur, but he remained immovable. Probably meditating. Or judging. Likely both.
"Focus, Lady Arila. You're letting your energy waver on the water flow. Again."
Arila squinted at the glowing orb of water suspended mid-air, which was supposed to remain perfectly spherical while she channeled a controlled current of lightning through it. Instead, the result was a hissing, crackling mess that vibrated like a blender about to explode.
"I am focusing," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Just... multitasking."
"This is not baking," Daelen replied, not looking up from his clipboard. "There is no recipe. There is no 'whisk until lightly electrocuted.'"
"It worked in that one anime," she mumbled under her breath.
Daelen glanced up sharply. "What did you say?"
"Nothing! Magic theory. It's a metaphor. You wouldn't understand."
With a resigned sigh, Arila adjusted her stance, drawing in her focus like she remembered from one of her old RPG spellcasting systems. Channel elemental energy through both hands, but keep them in harmony. Lightning through the dominant hand, water through the other. Stabilize. Balance. Don't explode.
"Easy," she whispered sarcastically to herself. "Just summon harmony between violently opposing elements. What could possibly go wrong?"
To Daelen's credit, he didn't panic when a thunderclap split the air, and rain began falling from a now-electrified stormcloud hovering ten feet above them. A bolt of lightning cracked somewhere in the hedgerow, and a squirrel screamed in rage.
Ninko blinked once, tail flicking in slow judgment.
"I call this one... Electrified Monsoon," Arila said proudly, soaked through but grinning like a mad scientist after a successful lab explosion.
Daelen arched a brow. "Do you ever use standard magical channels?"
"Nope."
He scribbled something furiously into his notes. Probably under a heading labeled Potential Danger to the Kingdom: Keep Eye On.
The next moment, a flurry of silk and perfume crashed onto the training field. Evelaine Vellion, Arila's mother and full-time aesthetic perfectionist, was running with all the elegance of a noblewoman trying not to break a heel.
"Arila! Darling! Where's your face? Are you smoking again?"
"It's steam," Arila said. "Mostly."
Evelaine waved a scroll with gold-pressed seals. "We've been invited to the Crown Prince's birthday ball! At the palace! In four days!"
The world froze. Birds paused mid-chirp. Even the clouds seemed to recoil in horror.
Then Arila said, flatly, "Great. So I will die young."
"Oh, nonsense. We need to go to Silk & Spire now. You can't wear one of your 'comfort capes' to a royal ball."
"It's not a cape," Arila grumbled. "It's a lifestyle."
Professor Daelen looked mildly amused for the first time that week. "I suppose training is dismissed?"
"Yes," Evelaine said, already dragging Arila by the wrist. "We must seek Velisse's brilliance immediately!"
Ninko, now fully visible for dramatic effect, leapt from his perch and trotted after them like a feline-shaped moonbeam. He clearly understood this was going to be hilarious.
Silk & Spire exploded into chaos the moment they entered. Bolts of enchanted fabric whirled through the air like elegant tornadoes, enchanted scissors snipped rhythmically to a magical beat, and Velisse Tindrel herself sparkled in the middle of it all like a human lightning strike with a fashion degree.
"DARLINGS!" Velisse shrieked. "Arila, my muse! Evelaine, my archangel of aesthetic warfare! Lira, bring tea and trauma cloth!"
Arila muttered, "Why do I feel like I'm about to be sewn into a scandal?"
Velisse zipped over. "Because you are, sweetheart. Royal balls are where reputations go to either ascend or combust. Let's make sure you ascend fashionably. Now! To the fitting room!"
Arila tried to protest but was already being measured at lightning speed. Quite literally—Velisse's measuring tape zapped as it zipped.
"No pastels," Arila said firmly.
"Of course not. You're not a macaron," Velisse replied, scandalized.
Arila squirmed as three enchanted pincushions hovered threateningly nearby.
Velisse spun around dramatically and summoned a dress form. As she conjured the final sketch, Evelaine and Lira gasped in synchronized delight.
"Oh, darling, you'll look like starlight incarnate!"
Velisse presented the final ensemble: a short designer cocktail dress with a shimmering, pearl-stitched bodice and a rich, pleated black skirt that twirled like magic. Paired with navy wedge heels that looked deceptively soft but gave regal height.
"Above the knee," Arila noted approvingly. "Scandalous. I like it."
"Dignified rebellion!" Velisse cried. "It's very you."
Ninko, hidden behind a pile of sequin-laced fabric, let out a quiet sneeze. One of the enchanted pin cushions panicked and pricked itself.
By the time they returned to the Vellion estate, Arila was carrying three boxes, emotionally dehydrated, and mentally preparing for the apocalypse. Her arms ached, her brain was full of updos, and the distinct scent of jasmine perfume clung to her like defeat.
She dropped face-first onto her bed, still in her practice clothes, while Ninko leapt gracefully onto her pillow and curled up like the judgmental cloud he was.
"Four days," she muttered into the blanket. "Four days until I walk into a ballroom full of political peacocks and anime villains."
Evelaine opened the door with a flourish, arms full of matching hair ribbons and perfume options.
"Darling, let's discuss updos!"
"I regret everything."
She could hear Lira somewhere down the hall begging the house spirits to keep the scented candles from igniting spontaneously again. There had been an incident last time involving rose oil and three scorched floorboards.
Ninko rolled onto his back.
"I'm going to get flirted with again, aren't I?"
The fox flicked one ear.
Arila groaned into her pillow. "This is going to be a main route event, I can feel it."
She imagined it already: dramatic entrances, surprise violin solos, rival noble houses, and at least three inconveniently timed magical explosions. And probably some prince-type leaning far too close with a charming smirk and an agenda.
And with that, she embraced the only solution left: denial and carbs.
She rolled to the side, fumbled open one of her bedside drawers, and retrieved an emergency shortbread biscuit. One bite. Crumbly salvation.
As she chewed thoughtfully, Ninko stretched beside her and yawned, completely unbothered by politics or peacock nobles. He lived a life of luxury and chaos. Truly, an inspiration.
"I should fake a magical injury," she mumbled around the biscuit.
Ninko narrowed his eyes.
"I know. Too obvious."
She flopped back onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling.
"Maybe if I summon a raincloud inside the ballroom, everyone will panic and I can sneak out."
Ninko's tail twitched in what was either amusement or horror.
"I'll make a checklist. Step one: sabotage. Step two: snacks."
And with that comforting thought, Arila allowed herself to sink into the mattress, her mind dancing between lightning spells and awkward small talk with dukes.
To be continued…