The cssroom buzzed before the professor even arrived.

  Whispers, paper shuffles, subtle gnces toward the floating announcement crystal that pulsed with faint light at the front of the room. Rumors had spread — today, Professor Magnus Wyrden would be posting the results of our surprise elemental magic theory exam.

  No one wanted to be the first to look. Except me. I already assumed I passed or failed based entirely on whether Luna decided to haunt me in my sleep again.

  Magnus entered like a thunderstorm contained in fabric. His grey robes swirled behind him, the sound of his boots making the room fall silent with the grace of military dread.

  He stood before the css with his usual grim poise. “Results.”

  With a flick of his finger, the announcement crystal glowed brighter. Names floated into the air, etched in magic script.

  And just like that, the silence turned sharp.

  I saw it immediately.

  The noble names at the top rows—the ones with inherited tutors, personal libraries, and arrogance to spare—were sitting straighter a moment ago.

  Now?

  Slouched. Pale. Quiet.

  Meanwhile, the back row, where I sat with the commoners and Elira, shifted too.

  Not with shame.With subtle pride.

  I spotted familiar names halfway down, lower than expected. Then—mine. I wasn’t at the top. But I was up there. In the upper third. And Elira—she was near the top five. Her name glowed brighter than her usual expression.

  She turned to me, beaming softly.

  “I… I did it,” she whispered. “Thank you. For working with me.”

  I gave her a casual thumbs-up. “Told you. All you needed was less panic and more sarcasm.”

  Her giggle was so quiet it barely existed. But it was real.

  Professor Magnus gnced at the front-row nobles with a level of disappointment usually reserved for unseasoned soup.

  “Some of you disgrace your family names,” he said, voice as ft as steel. “And some of you with no names have earned the right to carry one.”

  That hit the room like a dropped hammer.

  He turned, letting the words linger like smoke. “Now, open your texts. Magic equation theory waits for no one.”

  One Hour Later: My Personal Lecture from Hell

  Luna was not satisfied with my test score.

  “Decent,” she muttered while I scribbled equations. “But not enough.”

  So, while Magnus talked about multi-yered glyph matrices and spell condensation through condensed magical circles, she whispered corrections into my ear. Theoretical logic. Mana flow inconsistency. Reverse runic etching.

  “Again,” she said, pointing to a line I’d just written. “Your vector flow is off. You’ll split your cast into two directions and lose 30% output.”

  “It’s a beginner’s equation,” I whispered. “Can I suffer at my own pace?”

  “You can suffer correctly.”

  I sighed and kept writing. Elira leaned over once to peek at my notes and fshed a soft, sympathetic smile.

  Later – Combat Arena, South Wing

  After a brief break (read: time in which I stared longingly at bread rolls), we reported to Magic Combat.

  Professor Tholric Bravestone, the dwarven man-mountain who believed in pain as education, stood at the front of the stone dueling field with arms folded and a gre that could shatter gss.

  “Today,” he announced, “we begin preparation for paired duels.”

  Whispers broke out immediately.

  “Two-on-two combat,” Bravestone crified. “You will fight as a team. One week from today. No assistance from spirits. You may use all spells, weapons, and strategies taught so far. Injuries will happen. If you're not willing to bleed, leave.”

  No one left.

  “You will pick partners now,” he continued. “And draws for opponents will follow. Once chosen, you may not change.”

  I didn’t move.

  Elira didn’t move either.

  We were already sitting side by side.

  Professor Bravestone noticed.

  “Cain William. Elira. Noted.”

  Elira stiffened slightly, hands folding on her p.

  I leaned closer. “Looks like we’re going to war together. Try not to let me die.”

  She turned a shade pinker. “I’ll… do my best.”

  Then came the next pair. The room tensed. Loud footsteps echoed across the stone floor as Lorran Vaircrest walked forward, fnked by another elf — tall, pale, sharp-faced, with silver braids and the same haughty expression I’d grown to hate.

  Tareth Vellin, minor noble. A cousin to the William family. Of course.

  They stood proudly as Bravestone marked their names.

  And then Lorran spoke, loud enough for the entire room.

  “I do wonder,” he said, eyes locking on me, “how long a high spirit like Luna will tolerate being bound to a half-breed with a crude bde and no legacy.”

  Tareth chuckled.

  I didn’t even flinch.

  Luna’s voice cut in, louder than thunder despite her stillness.

  “You are not worthy to speak my name, fire-born coward.”

  The css fell dead silent.

  Lorran paled, jaw tight.

  I smiled faintly. “And I’m the rude one.”

  After the pairings were set, Luna pulled me and Elira aside.

  “Show me your current state,” she said.

  Elira blinked. “Wh-What do you mean?”

  “Cores. Affinities. Skill output. I won’t have you fight if I don’t know what you can endure.”

  I closed my eyes. My bck solid core pulsed behind my ribs. Wind circled my wrist.

  “Wind affinity. Weapon-channeled enhancement. Single-direction bursts. Reflex amplification. No long-range spells yet.”

  Luna nodded. “Acceptable.”

  Elira hesitated… then held up her hands. A soft green glow formed between her palms.

  “Healing. Rapid tissue correction. Minor bone knit. Pain dampening. But… I’m not good at casting while moving.”

  Luna’s expression softened slightly. “We’ll fix that.”

  Then she stepped back. “New rule. Elira: you stay close. Heal him only when he’s in motion. Track his wounds with your eyes, not with your fear.”

  “Yes, Lady Luna.”

  “Cain. Use your bde. Your magic. Keep moving. She will not cover you if you freeze.”

  “Guess dying’s not an option, then.”

  “You’re always dramatic.”

  “And you’re always terrifying.”

  “Good.”

  We trained for hours — Luna commanding me through drills, pushing me into sparring patterns against enchanted dummies while Elira circled, casting healing spells mid-motion. Every strike, dodge, and roll was timed to test how long we could function as one unit.

  I blocked with my bde, fred wind from my feet, and yelled back instructions to Elira mid-sprint. She responded with growing confidence, her hands glowing brighter each time she cast.

  When we finally stopped, I was bruised, bloodied, but functional. She was pale, panting, but smiling.

  And Luna?

  She looked at both of us.

  And said nothing.

  But I swear… she approved.