Several days had passed since the incident, and more eyes had begun watching them. Lior knew her companions had many questions they wanted to ask, but they chose silence instead—because they knew her well.
If she wanted to share something, she would. If not, she wouldn't. It wasn't that she wanted to hide anything—she simply didn't know the answers herself.
Now they were in the classroom for their general studies. Everyone was there: royalties, dukes, commoners—and them. All the same age.
The five of them sat at the very back, where the light barely reached, as if they feared the sun itself. The judgmental stares were unavoidable, but Lior's eyes were fixed only on one young man, chatting with a group of girls.
They wore colorful dresses, graceful and refined. Sometimes, she felt envy—not for their clothes, but for the ease with which they exchanged words with the young man.
"Why don't you cut off his head and hang it in your room so you can stare at him all the time…" her friend teased, snapping her out of her wistful thoughts. Lior glared at her.
"That would be pointless, Kira. He'd be lifeless—I wouldn't see his beautiful eyes and smile anymore…" she replied playfully.
"Then use your magic to make him look alive…" Jex chimed in, earning a pouty glare from Lior like a sulking child.
They chuckled softly, and Thorne ruffled her loose hair.
"Even when the world around us is chaotic, you never fail to make us smile with your strange little ways… princess," he said, mocking the last word with a laugh.
Thanks to the shield Lior had cast, no one could hear their conversation or see their expressions. She did it so the young man wouldn't notice her staring.
Staring was rude, she believed—but she couldn't help it.
Soon, their instructor entered the room.
"Good day to you all…" she began, breathing heavily, clearly in a rush. "It's tough when you don't have travel magic—those stairs are brutal," she joked, trying to break the tension among the students.
"Next time, Archmentor, let us know so we can summon you with our magic," teased Prince Quire of Zepherionne, prompting laughter from everyone—except Lior's group in the back.
"Alright, dear prince, I won't forget those words…" the archmentor replied playfully.
"Now, let's return to our lesson. Today's subject is Magical Ethics, where you'll learn about boundaries of power, moral dilemmas, and forbidden arts…"
She continued: "Before we begin sigilcraft, we must first discuss the ethics of magic. Not everything that can be done should be done. Power has limits—and those limits aren't always visible."
A voice from the back pierced the quiet like a thread of light through shadow. It was Lior. "If I have the power to revive a memory, but it causes pain to the person receiving it… Is it wrong if they want to remember?"
The room held its breath.
Prince Terren of Lithzaruun turned slowly, his voice steady but laced with sorrow. "Magic should never be used to alter someone's emotions. Memories are sacred. Touching the wounds of the past is not healing—it is poisoning."
Another voice followed, cold and quiet—like frost forming on glass.
It was Keal. "If magic is used to preserve life, Why is black magic forbidden? Isn't the goal the same—to control fate?"
Princess Thalmyra of Myrrhvalen responded, her eyes deep pools of grief and wisdom. Her gaze didn't accuse—it searched. "Black magic is not just power. It is magic that takes, not gives. The life it revives carries a debt— And that debt is always collected."
Then came a voice like parchment turning in a forgotten library. It was Thorne. "The question isn't what can be done, But who decides the limits. If the Academia makes the laws… Who watches over them?"
The Duke of House Eirnoxa rose, his voice heavy as stone. "Law is not always right, But it holds order. If everyone used magic based on emotion, The world would burn itself to ash."
A fiery voice joined in—sharp, defiant. It was Kira. "But what if the limits stand in the way of justice? If a spell could save a life but is banned by outdated ethics… I'd still choose life."
The Duchess of House Emberquess stood, her voice like wind in a graveyard—soft, but unyielding. "The ethics of magic were written by survivors. But those who didn't survive—they're the ones who truly deserve to speak. Magic should not be confined to the sermons of those with thrones. It is fire. And fire does not learn from sermons—it learns from burning."
Jex stepped forward, his voice a quiet echo of the group's soul. "And if magic is used to steal memories. But to protect a secret. Where does right and wrong begin?"
The silence that followed was not empty. It was listening.
The teacher knelt before the sigilflame, his voice low, reverent.
"If magic is used for anger, fear, revenge. It is no longer magic. It is a curse. And curses do not choose their victims— We all burn."
A voice from the shadows rose to respond, it was Lior "If a curse is born from oppression, who is truly at fault? Magic is not perfect. But if it's the only way to change the world, shouldn't we use it—not for ourselves, but for everyone?"
The teacher stared into the sigilflame, his voice slow but piercing:
"In the silence, the sigilflame changed form—from fire, it became a flower of light and shadow. And in that form, I heard the world's answer: Magic is not a question of right or wrong—it is a question of purpose."
With those words, Lior sat back down and let the teacher finish his lesson. Hours passed before the class ended, and the students began to rise.
But the six royals and twelve nobles didn't stand immediately. Instead, they remained still—firm yet silent—staring at the shadowed figures in the back. Those figures didn't move either, as if waiting for the echoes to fade.
"We've been classmates for so long… yet we never truly knew each other," said the Royal of Lithzaruun, his voice cold but tinged with sorrow.
Thorne chuckled softly, hiding the pain behind his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Besides, we're your enemies… aren't we?"
"Let's not dwell on the past. What's done is done," added the noble of Lysfate from Myrrhvalen, his voice hopeful. "We can change that… maybe start by being friends?"
"What's the catch?" asked Kira, her voice lifeless, like a shadow drifting between doubt and exhaustion.
"There's none," began Princess Glacielle of Thryssvessra, her voice like waves at night—gentle yet strong. "We just want respectful treatment. We all know why things became this way. But we can change it. Let's start by ending the strange distance between us.
We may not achieve friendship right away… but maybe we can begin as classmates."
The group in the back remained silent. No one responded. All eyes turned to Lior—the leader known for her strength, solitude, and refusal to show weakness. But despite her nature, she would never let her companions be harmed.
"That was a brilliant idea, Princess Glacielle," Lior replied, her eyes lifeless as she stared at them. Her response shocked her companions—they hadn't expected it from her.
They were ready to protest, until Lior spoke again:
"Then tell your people not to interfere with us. This suggestion marks the beginning of change. And with this beginning, I expect no more cruel words against my companions. As the daughter of a leader, I cannot bear to see them hurt. And if it happens again… I will face you myself."
With that, she vanished—like a shadow swallowed by dark magic.
Her companions soon followed. They found themselves at their usual spot. Lior sat quietly in her chair, while the other four stood before her.
"I thought you were going to agree to be friends…" Jex broke the silence between them.
She turned to him.
"There's nothing wrong with making friends…" she teased, causing the others to frown. She laughed softly.
"I'm just kidding. No matter how much I want to get close to the prince, I would never risk my people…"
The others shook their heads and sat down on the empty seats.
"What do you even like about that guy?" Kael asked, genuinely curious.
She thought for a moment before answering. "I don't really know… Ever since I saw him, I just found myself watching him without realizing it."
Four pairs of eyes stared at her as she spoke. "My love for him is unrequited. One-sided," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.
"Lior, does the leader know?" one of them asked. She turned to the speaker, her expression serious, and nodded.
"Yes, they know," she began.
"My father said my love for the prince is forbidden—that we're not meant to be, and I'll only end up hurt. People like us are meant to be with our own kind."
"So what's your plan? Confess it?" Jex asked, eyes wide.
"Are you crazy, Jex?" she shouted, making the others laugh.
"But… why not?" she added, suddenly serious—causing the others to freeze, which made her burst into laughter.
"Hey, I was just joking! You guys are too serious. I'd never do that. He doesn't know who I really am. He knows me as some kind of fairy-like girl."
Their teasing stopped when commotion stirred among the other black magic students nearby. They stood up and looked around. Lior frowned as she saw five royals walking toward their spot.
"What are they doing here?" Kira asked instinctively.
When the royals reached them, they were met with emotionless stares, surrounded by black magic users. No one spoke. They simply stared, with no intention of breaking the silence.
Until Lior did. "May I ask what the royals are doing here?" she said, her eyes fixed on the Prince of Ignetharion.
On the surface, Lior's expression was cold and ready to kill—but inside, she was trembling with joy to be so close to the prince, able to look into his eyes.
"There's a game in the gymnasium, and we'd like you…" he glanced at those around her, "All of you to watch and join."
Lior frowned at the invitation. "And why would we?"
"As my companions said—we want to break the strange distance between us. As a prince, I invite you to watch and participate," he explained.
She looked at her people surrounding them. She saw joy in some faces, concern in others—and she understood both. She turned back to the prince.
"Sure… Why not? This doesn't happen often."
The prince smiled at her. If Kira hadn't grabbed her hand behind her back, she might've collapsed from the overwhelming emotion.
"You go ahead. We'll follow," she said, then turned away from them.
She faced her friends and finally let out the smile she'd been holding back. Her friends gave her strange looks. She turned again—but the royals were already gone.
"You can all follow. I'll cast a spell for safety…" she said, facing her friends with joy.
"Please guide them," she added, then walked in the opposite direction.
Finding a quiet place, she took a deep breath and slowly raised her hands. Her fingers shimmered with faint light—like threads of sunlight woven into night. She pressed her palms together, then gently opened them, fingers connected at the center, forming a shape like a flower of light. She placed it on her chest—right over her heart, where her vow lived.
With a voice full of emotion, she spoke her spell:
"I call upon the god of protection
To shield my people from those who seek their harm.
I, Lioraen Shadewyn Solastra,
A child from the Unforgotten Kingdom,
Cast this spell with heart unbroken,
With light unyielding,
With love unshaken."
She continued:
"I summon the shield of stars—
Luminar Aegis, enshroud and guard.
Veyrhalem kai'thra, threnhal solastrae,
Let harm be undone, let light be unbroken."
A small circle floated in the air—unseen by the naked eye, visible only to her.
After casting the spell, she went to the gymnasium. She found her friends sitting near the royals, with only one empty seat between them. She was about to smile at the prince, but Kira gave her a look that said, don't do it. She sat in the empty chair—now seated close to the prince.
Inside, her emotions swirled—joy, overwhelming joy. Her thoughts were in chaos. She quickly held her friend's hand to steady herself.
She turned her attention to the games. She didn't recognize them, but she saw the joy in everyone's faces. Some flew through the air as if searching for something, others paired up to nurture the seeds they'd planted. She didn't know the rules, but she knew it was fun.
"Do you have any games in your place?" the prince beside her asked.
She thought… games?
Training with sharp knives, reading books, learning to control black magic, stealing from nobles, practicing her light magic—that's what came to mind. That was her childhood.
She was about to answer, but Thorne spoke first.
"We do. We call it Lantern Chase. It's fun."
Lior thought about that game—she didn't know it. Maybe she had forgotten how to be a child, always focused on becoming a full black magic wielder.
Suddenly, Lior grew serious. She saw a dark figure standing on the other side of the gym. It stood still, staring at her. She immediately stood up, calling to her friends as the figure called her name.
She seemed to lose herself, eyes locked on the figure. She began walking unconsciously, passing through the players and distracting them.
It was as if she had fallen under a spell—called by something unseen. Her friends chased after her, but couldn't catch up, even though she wasn't walking fast.
Her eyes never left the dark figure. As she drew closer, it moved farther away. She walked, then ran, but couldn't reach it—until it stopped beneath a shadowed tree, staring at her with an expression of disbelief.
She stopped a short distance away as it spoke:
"Thal'vireen, enai solaneth."
With those words, she snapped back to reality—gasping, weak, her vision fading.
Before she lost consciousness, she heard the figure's final words:
"Thren'valaen, kai'sereth. Enai veyrhalem."
And then, it vanished.
She expected to collapse to the ground—but instead, felt warm arms catch her.
As chaos erupted around them, Yrion held her quietly—like he was the last calm in the storm.
Seeing her lost in herself, he had followed without hesitation. It was as if she were chasing something—a shadow he couldn't see, a voice he couldn't hear. When he found her standing, staring into nothing, he approached just in time to catch her as she fell.
He was about to take her to Moonweaver, but her friends arrived. Keal immediately lifted her and carried her away. Yrion tried to follow, but was stopped by his companions.
"Let them, Yrion. They can handle her," Quirel said softly but firmly.
He could only stand at the edge of the chaos, watching her being carried away. He stared until their figures disappeared into the dark.
He couldn't explain what he felt—like a voice inside him, a whisper of memory, telling him they knew each other. Not by name, but by heart. By a light that once met in the middle of shadow.
Confused by his feelings, he set them aside and left the place.