Cale made his way down the long, cold staircase toward the courtyard, each step sending a fresh complaint through his empty stomach. He wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, trying to look like he belonged here even though everything inside him screamed the opposite.
The moment he stepped outside, the winter air hit him like a slap - but so did the sight before him.
Clusters of noble boys strutted across the courtyard like overly decorated peacocks, their cloaks embroidered in gold and silver threads that shimmered under the weak sunlight. Their boots weren't even wet, as if the snow avoided touching people of their status. They laughed loudly, trying to outshine one another with exaggerated gestures and bragging voices.
Nearby, noble girls stood in small groups, giggling behind gloved hands. Their faces were powdered, cheeks dotted with tiny jewels, hair braided into impossible shapes. They laughed at jokes so painfully unfunny Cale felt second-hand embarrassment seep into his bones.
He tightened his jaw.
This wasn't his world.
He had barely taken five steps when a sharp male voice sliced through the chaos.
"Silence!"
The courtyard fell quiet instantly. A ripple of whispers followed.
"That's the principal," someone murmured.
Cale turned to see the man: tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a sharply tailored black coat lined with fur. His presence was heavy, commanding. A scar ran from his jaw to the edge of his eyebrow - not hidden, not decorated, simply there, like a warning.
"Welcome, everyone," the principal announced, his deep voice carrying easily through the cold air. "You have had a week to get used to this place. Tomorrow, your lessons will officially begin."
A chorus of groans rose from the nobles, but the principal raised his hand and the sound died instantly.
"You will meet your lectors then. But today..."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...one last feast to celebrate the start of a year full of-"
He lifted his hand dramatically.
"Elements."
The great doors to the eating hall swung open, and students hurried inside like a colorful, noisy river of silk and arrogance.
Cale followed slowly, hoping nobody would notice him. The hall was massive - tall vaulted ceiling, chandeliers glowing warm gold, long tables stretching endlessly in every direction. The smell hit him next: roasted meats, herbs he'd never smelled before, hot bread, spiced vegetables, something sweet and sticky he couldn't even name.
His stomach growled so loudly he winced.
He grabbed a plate, filling it with food he didn't recognize. Some leaves stung his nose with their sharp scent, some glowing berries looked almost enchanted, and the meat was far too tender to be anything he'd eaten back home.
He found an empty spot near the corner and sat down quietly, trying to make himself small. People around him talked loudly, laughed, joked, complained. They all seemed to know one another.
He didn't know a single soul.
He was halfway through a bite when a group of boys marched toward him. They shoved students aside with careless force until they reached the seats beside him.
One boy - tall, blond, groomed within an inch of his life - leaned close.
"So what's your deal?" he demanded.
Cale pretended not to hear and kept eating. That seemed to anger them even more.
The blond boy slammed his palm onto the table, making the plates jump. Another boy smirked and, with a swift swipe of his arm, knocked Cale's plate to the ground.
It shattered instantly, shards skittering across the stone floor.
The hall went dead silent.
Cale felt his face heat with humiliation and fury. His breath came faster. His fingers trembled. He tried to swallow it down - tried to be calm - but the boy leaned closer, smirking like he owned the world.
"You're a commoner, aren't you?" he sneered. "You were looking at your food like a pig seeing his first apple."
The words sliced deeper than they should have.
Anger pulsed through Cale, scorching hot.
The world dimmed around him.
Sound faded.
Everything turned black.
-----
"He is different... you know he is different," Ingrid insisted, pacing in front of the principal's desk like a caged wolf.
The principal leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Where is the boy now?"
"In his room. There's a servant watching him. He's stable. Just - please - give him another chance."
"Another chance?" the principal barked a humorless laugh. "Ingrid, I can't keep a non-noble student who nearly burned the face off Lord Cedric's son."
"He started it!" Ingrid snapped. "I saw it with my own eyes. Cale only reacted."
The principal sighed heavily and stood, turning toward the frost-covered window. "That doesn't matter. Cedric's father is a lord. He'll demand punishment."
"They need him," Ingrid said suddenly.
The principal turned, frowning.
"Who needs what?"
"The generals at the eastern borders," Ingrid said quietly. "You know very well we're losing this war. They need every powerful elementor we have."
"And he can't even control himself," the principal argued.
"He just arrived," Ingrid countered. "He didn't even know what an elementor was until yesterday. Give him time. Give him guidance. He's strong - stronger than any student I've seen in years. Maybe decades."
The principal pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. The room fell silent except for the crackling fire.
Finally, he let out a long, frustrated breath.
"Fine," he said. "But this is on you. If anything else happens - anything - the consequences are yours to bear."
Ingrid nodded sharply.
"Understood."
-----
When Cale opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was brightness - painful, searing brightness that stabbed straight into his skull.
He groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead.
"Someone woke up," a familiar voice teased gently.
He blinked, turning his head.
"...Chloé?"
"That's me," she said, sitting in a wooden chair beside the bed, legs curled underneath her.
Cale tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his ribs and shoulders. His knuckles throbbed under tight bandages.
He caught himself studying her again - the way her clothes hung a little too loosely, the sharpness of her collarbones. She looked underfed, almost neglected.
Cale made a silent decision right then: he'd sneak some food back to his room for her, no matter what it took.
"Why are you here?" he muttered.
"To keep an eye on you after your little... incident." She lifted an eyebrow. "Or rather, your dramatic explosion in the dining hall."
He tried to remember, but everything was blurry - fragments of anger, fire, shouting, the smell of burning fabric.
"I... got in a fight?" he guessed.
Chloé snorted. "You got him pretty good. Burned off half his fancy sleeve. Honestly? I'm impressed." She leaned closer with a mischievous grin. "Nice to see someone stand up to those noble pricks. Or at least try to."
Cale groaned again and flopped back onto the pillow.
"You should be careful, though," she added, her tone softening. "His father is powerful. Nobles don't forget when someone embarrasses them."
She gently checked the bandages on his hands, her touch surprisingly careful for someone who walked like she was constantly late for something.
After a moment, she stepped back.
"You should rest," she said firmly. "You'll meet your lectors for the first time in the morning. And trust me - you don't want to look half-dead in front of them."
She walked to the door, stopped, and glanced back with a small, warm smile.
"Good night, Cale. And dont be late!"
The door clicked shut, leaving him alone with nothing but quiet, flickering firelight and his swirling thoughts.
He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment - the nobles, the fight, the burning anger. The loss of control.
And the fear.
Hours passed. The room grew colder. His eyes grew heavier.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under.
And Cale finally surrendered to sleep.