The moment I stepped into the Grand Hall, I knew I didn’t belong.

  Not because I was underdressed—though I absolutely was.Not because I didn’t recognize a single face—because I didn’t.But because everything in that room screamed “This is where the real game begins,” and I had no idea what the rules were.

  The hall was ridiculous. Giant chandeliers that looked like frozen lightning hung from a ceiling etched in golden runes. Long tables overflowed with food so colorful it felt offensive. Musicians pyed softly from the upper balconies, and servants in crystal-trimmed uniforms walked in perfectly rehearsed patterns, like they had been trained by obsessive choreographers with control issues.

  Everyone around me shimmered. Robes of spellwoven silk. Dresses that glowed faintly. Capes. Gloves. Jewelry that probably cost more than my entire life.

  And then there was me:Pin bck-and-silver Ethera uniform, boots barely dusted off, hair only mildly tamed by Selene’s st-ditch effort at grooming me. I looked like the understudy for the background extra.

  Luna stood beside me in her humanoid form—silver-haired, dressed in simple flowing robes stitched with air-thread. She looked regal, severe, and entirely unimpressed by everything around her.

  “They’ve polished this pce to a shine,” she muttered, scanning the crowd. “But the air stinks of old egos and scented lies.”

  “Don’t hold back,” I said, eyes on the dessert table. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  I gravitated toward food, because that was familiar. Ptes of spiced meat, gzed fruits, pastries so delicate they probably had names in four nguages. I stacked my pte like a starving animal—which, to be fair, I technically still was.

  No one spoke to me at first. Not directly. They gnced. Whispered.

  “Is that the wild one from the border?”

  “Half-elf? The one House William pulled out of nowhere?”

  “Why would they even send him?”

  Same script. Different actors. New stage.

  It only really escated when I passed by a group of human noble students clustered around a golden-haired boy with a smirk too sharp to be sincere. He wore a red-trimmed version of the uniform and a brooch shaped like a sun.

  He was saying something loud enough for people to hear and pretend not to hear.

  “I just think it’s insulting, really. Letting anyone with a pulse enroll. Especially ones that can’t even dress properly for an event like this.”

  The jab wasn’t subtle. Eyes turned toward me. A few humans ughed nervously. Elven students nearby chuckled in that polite, venomous way they always did.

  I took a bite of something fluffy and sweet before answering. “You should be more specific, really. There's a lot of people here not worth dressing up for.”

  The golden boy’s smile cracked a little.

  “Careful,” he said. “Your pce here is borrowed. Don’t act like you earned it.”

  I tilted my head. “You’re right. I didn’t. But I’m still standing here. Eating your tuition in pastries.”

  A few commoner students behind me stifled ughs. Elven ones? They looked… annoyed. But not at him.

  At me.

  One, a highblood from Duskmere House—probably reted to Arvalen—actually scoffed and turned away from me, choosing to engage the human noble instead. Elves siding with humans? Color me shocked.

  “Why would they support him over you?” Luna whispered, tone like cracked ice.

  “Because I remind them of what they abandoned,” I replied. “He reminds them of who they want to manipute.”

  I was about to find a quiet corner to finish my conquest of the dessert tray when the room abruptly shifted. The soft music stopped. The air seemed to bow.

  A presence entered.

  She didn’t walk. She arrived.

  Vera Ashthorn, the Headmaster. The Archmage of Ethera.

  She looked exactly like someone who could politely destroy you with a single finger and still make you thank her for the experience. Bck robes shimmered like oil under firelight. Her silver-streaked hair was bound back in a tight knot, eyes like twin voids that assessed you once and remembered everything.

  She raised her hand. The room silenced instantly.

  “Students,” she said, voice calm, sharp, echoing through the enchanted acoustics. “Welcome to Ethera. The cradle of civilized magic, diplomacy, and survival. For the next three years, you will learn not only to wield power—but to understand its price. You are not children here. You are heirs. Pawns. Pieces. Pyers. Some of you may rise. Some may fall. This is not a story. This is your story. Make it worth reading.”

  The appuse that followed wasn’t loud. It was controlled. Respectful. A little terrified.

  Then came the second wave of theatrics.

  The doors at the far end opened. A hush fell so sharp it could cut stone.

  The Student Council entered.

  Because of course there was one.Because every academy like this had to have one.

  They wore their own set of uniforms—embroidered with gold, long coats and sashes. The leader, the one at the front, wore a dress coat of pale white and crimson, her dark blonde hair falling in curls that somehow managed to be regal and intimidating.

  Whispers ignited.

  “That’s her.”

  “The youngest princess…”

  “Lady Seraphina of Ethera.”

  Princess. Of course.

  She walked like a queen in training, chin lifted, posture perfect. Her eyes flicked across the room—and for a moment, they nded on me.

  Only for a second.

  No reaction. No flicker.

  I could’ve been a chair.

  She stepped onto the dais beside Headmaster Ashthorn, then turned to face us.

  “I welcome you on behalf of the Student Council,” she said. “While the academy offers shelter and structure, it is we who uphold its order. Those who seek conflict, cruelty, or carelessness will find no quarter here. Prove yourselves not by blood, but by fire. You have three years to show us your worth. Or step aside.”

  More polite appuse. Controlled.

  I stood near the back, beside Luna, watching it all like a background character in a cliché light novel.

  Royalty. Speeches. Social dders taller than some buildings.

  Meanwhile, I was just proud I hadn’t gotten tomato sauce on my uniform.

  Luna leaned in. “She speaks well.”

  “She looks like she’s never eaten something that wasn’t gold-pted.”

  “She noticed you.”

  “Yeah. The same way you notice a fly before swatting it.”

  The party continued. People mingled. Nobles plotted. Servants stood by like well-trained furniture.

  And me?

  I found a second pastry. Sat in a corner. And savored it like a petty little victory.

  Because if I was going to be a background character in someone else’s story……I was at least going to eat better than the protagonist.