The tour was officially over, but Arila Vellion was nowhere near done wreaking havoc. No, her glowing white-and-gold divine cloak—a radiant artifact that looked like a wedding dress on fire, if the wedding were in outer space—fluttered behind her as she marched straight into the heart of the Divine Royale Academy: the kitchen.
Ninko, perched on her shoulder like the furry overlord he was, gave a slow, unimpressed blink. Here we go again, he seemed to think, tail flicking with the supreme judgment only a many-tailed kitsune could muster.
The kitchen looked like a high cathedral to magical cuisine—gleaming counters that practically begged for disaster, enchanted ovens humming with suspicious eagerness, and every utensil you could imagine floating lazily through the air, probably ready to escape if things went sideways.
Arila's eyes gleamed with the sort of determined insanity that says, I'm about to set a small portion of this place on fire, but hey—art!
"Chocolate lightning lava cake, assemble!" she declared, wielding a spoon like a battleaxe.
Lira appeared at the entrance, hands firmly on her hips and an expression that perfectly mixed "I'm trying to remain calm" with "I'm definitely going to lose this battle."
Arila glanced over with a grin full of I'm definitely going to cause chaos.
Ninko scoffed—a tiny puff of frost curling from his nose as if to say, You're hopeless.
Within moments, Arila's station became a swirling storm of elemental magic and culinary recklessness.
Lightning? Crackle! Blue sparks zapped through the batter.
Fire? Flick! Tiny flames licked the edge of the mixing bowl, singing the spoon.
Wind? Whoosh! Flour and sugar twirled in spiraling clouds, coating every surface, including Arila's eyebrows.
Water? Mist shimmered in delicate arcs, threatening to turn the floor into a slip-and-slide.
Earth? A faint rumble made the countertop vibrate as if the kitchen floor wanted to join in the madness.
"Hey, I said assemble, not implode," Arila muttered, dodging a rogue rolling pin that seemed intent on her forehead.
This is exactly what my life has come to, she thought bitterly. Running from wyverns, surviving royal tea, now battling my own baking.
Ninko, of course, was busy stealing half-finished marshmallows, licking them with a smug grin that screamed, I am the true star here.
Lira's voice, quivering but determined, cut through the chaos.
"Lady Arila, please don't turn the kitchen into a war zone before dinner. The staff would not appreciate it."
Arila waved a scorched whisk in Lira's direction. "War zone? This is a masterpiece in progress."
Lira raised a perfectly arched brow. "A masterpiece is supposed to be edible."
Before the chaos could escalate into what looked like a magical kitchen apocalypse, the heavy door creaked open.
Enter Prince Lucien Alaric and Darian Volt, looking like they had just stepped off a silver platter at a royal banquet—Lucien in his flawless robes, hair shimmering like moonlight, Darian with that perpetually "ready for anything" knightly stoicism.
Lucien's eyes danced with amusement as he took in the scene: flour dust in Arila's hair, sparks flying, and a glowing cloak that looked ready to announce itself with trumpets and fireworks.
"Well, this is… certainly something," Lucien said dryly, stepping carefully between a levitating rolling pin and a rebellious bag of sugar.
Arila grinned wildly. "Welcome to my kitchen! Where explosions are optional but encouraged."
Darian glanced around, deadpan. "I count at least three laws of physics being broken. And also some health codes."
Ninko gave Lucien a slow blink, then a pointed side-eye that said, Don't get any ideas.
Lucien smirked. "I have no doubt she's the only person who could make baking look like a battle."
"Why, thank you, Your Highness," Arila said, wielding a spatula like a rapier. "I prefer to keep things… dynamic."
Lira hovered nervously beside a stack of enchanted cookbooks. "Please try to keep the airborne flour to a minimum. And no spontaneous combustion."
"Spontaneous? You wound me," Arila said with mock offense, as a burst of flame briefly singed her sleeve. "This is all very controlled chaos."
Lucien shook his head, amusement twinkling in his silver eyes. "So, how exactly do you manage to control all five elements at once without accidentally setting the academy on fire?"
Arila's grin turned devilish. "By pure dumb luck and sheer stubbornness."
The air hummed with electricity and warmth as she lifted a spoonful of the glowing batter, sparks crackling around it. "Behold—lightning and fire dance in perfect harmony, stirred by the winds of destiny and watered by my tears of frustration, all grounded with a pinch of earth's hearty magic."
Ninko gave a theatrical yawn and promptly stole a marshmallow from a nearby tray. Show-off.
Lucien and Darian exchanged looks. Darian muttered, "You know, it's impressive, but the chaos factor is high."
Lucien nodded, eyes still on Arila's swirling magic. "She's a force of nature, no doubt."
Lira sighed. "And a walking disaster zone."
Just then, Arila's concentration broke as a rogue puff of flour caught her in the eye. She swatted at it, knocking a small cloud of sugar onto Darian's polished armor.
"Apologies!" she said, voice equal parts embarrassed and proud.
Darian just gave her a long, unamused look. "You're lucky I like you."
Arila laughed. "Lucky me."
Suddenly, the batter bubbled ominously, lava cake magic reaching critical mass. Arila took a dramatic step back—right onto a slick patch of spilled magical mist.
Her foot slipped. Time seemed to slow as she flailed, arms windmilling, while Ninko gave a sharp, alarmed meow.
Lucien was faster. Like a lightning bolt himself, he caught her by the waist in a smooth motion that sent sparks flying and her heart hammering with equal parts surprise and embarrassment.
"Careful," he murmured, eyes softening as he held her steady.
Arila blinked, cheeks flaming. Why does he always have to be there to catch me?
She gave a sardonic smile. "Thanks for the rescue. I was just rehearsing my grand entrance into the emergency room."
Lucien smirked. "You're quite the spectacle."
The moment hung for a heartbeat, then was shattered by the shrill call of the dinner bell echoing through the halls.
"Dinner!" Lira announced, desperately hoping to drag Arila away before the kitchen exploded entirely.
Lucien released his hold with a reluctant sigh. "Let's get you cleaned up before you bring down the whole building."
Back in the dorm room, Lira took charge like a general preparing for battle, rifling through Arila's wardrobe.
The outfit selection was a challenge: black skirt, blue blouse, divine cloak, and—because some things never changed—black sneakers.
"Are those really necessary?" Lira asked, eyebrow twitching at the sneakers.
Arila struck a pose. "If I'm going to survive noble dinner politics, I need footwear that lets me run."
Lira just shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
Dinner was held in the grand hall, a place dripping with opulence, glittering chandeliers, and the faint hum of whispered gossip.
Arila, of course, claimed a seat at the very back, eyes scanning for escape routes and snack opportunities.
Lucien slid in beside her with all the subtlety of a royal storm. "Mind if I join you?"
Arila's inner monologue went through a million panicked scenarios. Out loud, she said, "Sure, the more eyes the better for spotting dinner disasters."
One by one, the others joined: Darian, silent but watchful; Julian, grinning with a sparkle of mischief; Vincent, cold but intrigued; and Felicia, shining with kindness.
The conversation quickly turned into a rapid-fire exchange of sarcastic remarks, witty jabs, and quiet moments of camaraderie.
"So, Arila," Julian teased, "how many kitchens have you demolished this week?"
"Just one," she shot back, "and it was mostly consensual."
Vincent snorted. "You call that destruction? You should see what my magic does to the ice rink."
Felicia giggled. "I'm just glad I'm not the one who has to clean up after."
Clarissa Blackbrook made her entrance with the subtlety of a royal decree, flanked by two followers and eyes locked on Lucien like a hawk spotting prey.
She sashayed over, venom dripping from every perfectly manicured finger. Lucien, however, remained completely focused on Arila, handing her a delicate dessert as if to say, I'm not interested.
Arila raised an eyebrow at the gift. "Trying to bribe me with sweets? Bold."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Only the best for you."
Clarissa's face twisted in fury, and with a dramatic huff, she stormed away, trailing her hapless friends.
The dinner ended with laughter and light-hearted chaos—the kind only Arila could create, and somehow survive.
Back in the dorm, Arila checked tomorrow's schedule with a mix of dread and determination.
Lira poured tea with a smirk. "Ready for round two?"
Arila plopped onto her bed. "I'll need reinforcements, magical fire extinguishers, and a vacation."
Ninko curled up beside her, purring contentedly.
In this chaotic life, one thing was clear: Arila Vellion was just getting started.
To be continued…