Of all the people Feralynn expected to run into, Miria held the very last spot on the list. She watched her from the corner of her eye as the noble girl walked ahead, her pace slow and perfectly measured, and a part of her shrank.
Her hands, always flawlessly manicured, showed not a single splinter on the fingertips. She held her palms together behind her back, as if hiding a secret—or a dagger of guilt—that she unknowingly drove into her companion’s presence. The polished shoes struck the tiles in rhythm with Feralynn’s muddy boots, each sound underlining the distance between them.
They hadn’t exchanged a single word since stepping out through the main gate. Finding a topic felt impossible.
Hi, how are you? Oh right—you almost died by my fists the very first time we trained together. They erased your memory, but today I remembered everything, and on top of that I had to dig through the darkest corners of my childhood. Lovely day, isn’t it?
Sarcasm wasn’t in the mood to cooperate; bitterness had decided to nap, and resentment was being harassed by butterflies of confusion fluttering in her stomach.
didn’t help either: a soft breeze, a walk alone, and in the distance the clowns Chappi and Choppi busy sweeping leaves—or chasing squirrels with unnecessary seriousness.
The silence slipped between the trees like an invisible judge.
She wanted to talk normally. She wanted to run away. She wanted to apologize for everything. All at once. This new life was collecting experiences like stones in her pocket: having to relate to girls, learning to be a girl, understanding social codes that still felt foreign.
Seeing Miria screamed in her head: you don’t belong. You’re an intruder. You don’t have painted nails, or loose hair that smells nice; you can’t even comment on the handsome third-year boys. What kind of girl can’t tell violet from purple, or a sweater from a cardigan? Spending your childhood trained by an assassin and then among men with faces smudged by tank smoke and mud wasn’t exactly the best school for learning femininity.
The albino girl walked ahead, cheeks pale as pearls with a blush of cold, her hair cascading silver, eyes sky-blue and bright like stained glass. Annya smelled of warm vanilla, and that scent already tickled Fer’s nose; Miria’s perfume, however, was another flavor. More refined, more hypnotic.
“Lavender…” Fer murmured, almost by accident, her voice stuck in her throat.
Miria stopped short and tilted her head slightly.
“Hmm? Did you say something?”
Fer let seven seconds stretch into eternity before looking at her. She cleared her throat; her shoulders tensed and her stomach twisted. She could recognize it. Working in the flower shop had its small perks.
“Your perfume… it’s lavender.”
Miria blinked, puzzled, as if her fragrance had suddenly become visible. A small laugh escaped her, and that sound stole Fer’s breath. Why do you laugh like that? Why are we walking together, and why do I still feel so damn nervous?!
“Seems it is.” She pretended to smell herself with exaggerated grace, her smile bending in courteous mockery. “Yours is nicotine. Mmm, esophageal cancer. Quite disgusting, if you ask me.”
Fer rolled her eyes with a growl. They took the path leading into the garden woods, where tiles blurred into soil and a carpet of golden leaves crunched beneath their feet.
“You’re quiet,” Miria noted. “More than usual. Though you tend to be quiet anyway. You only open your mouth to throw sarcasm or state the obvious.”
Feralynn exhaled sharply, her face hardening into defense.
“Give me a damn break. It’s been a hell of a long day for me. Besides I’m not in the mood for that.”
Even so, their steps fell in sync—two different rhythms slowly marching in the same cadence.
“Why… did you want to talk to me now?”
Miria lifted her shoulders, closing her eyes for a moment, trusting her walk like someone guided by instinct.
“Because it’s strange seeing you without your beloved freckled baker following you around like a puppy.”
“Hey! Watch it!” Fer stopped short; her voice came out louder than she intended. “Don’t talk about Annya like that.”
Her companion blinked, then smiled with that familiar mischief, crossing her arms as if enjoying the fire she’d just started.
“I wouldn’t dare speak ill of Miss Oak. She’s kind to everyone in class, even to me.” She leaned closer, her smile softening. “I actually envy you. I wish I had a best friend like her. I hope you treat her well, as she deserves it.”
Fer stepped forward, teeth clenched, irritation pushing from within like a beast pounding at the door.
“You couldn’t care less what I do or don’t do,” she said, her voice low and tight. “You think she’d be my friend if I didn’t treat her well, huh?”
It took a few critical seconds for her to realize how close they were. Too close. Their breaths nearly mingled; the warm air between them trembled. Miria looked at her, startled, and color crept up both their faces, slow and inevitable.
Fer backed away abruptly, as if the invisible contact had shocked her. She looked aside, searching the ground for something to anchor her, trying to calm the pulse roaring in her wrists.
“Tsk. Just tell me what you wanted to talk about. I’m not good at this kind of… thing.”
Miria exhaled through her nose, a small smile escaping despite herself.
“I know. You’re antisocial. The loner of the class. The black sheep of the flock.”
“Uh-huh.” Fer rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Anything else?”
“You’re also the most stubborn. Rude. Ill-mannered.”
They slowed their pace, circling the nearby fountain. Miria savored each word with barely hidden delight.
“Okay… are you done or are you gonna keep—?”
“Lazy. Impulsive. Arrogant. Thoughtless. Machiavellian—”
“Yes, okay! Thanks a lot, Frosty. Got the point—”
“Cynical. Violent. Malicious. Clumsy. Brute. Rough. Childish—”
“MIRIA!”
The white-haired girl burst into pure, ringing laughter that shook the air. Her laugh bounced between the trees, scared birds into flight, even made the clown-butlers in the distance lift their leaf-covered heads in curiosity.
It was the first time Fer had heard her laugh like that—free, unmasked, stripped of her usual composure. She swallowed hard, watching Miria wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
In class she would never have allowed herself that; she would’ve hidden her smile behind a hand, lowered her voice, feigned decorum.
But here, far from everyone, among the leaves and the wind, there were no rules. And before her, that laughter proved it: manners are useless when you’re facing a hunting dog.
“You’ve gotten more arrogant than before,” Fer remarked, fighting the smile tugging at her lips to keep from betraying her irritation. “Tell me, does your army of painted dolls make you feel that good?”
Fer mimicked in a mocking tone, exaggerating gestures as if surrounded by an invisible crowd.
“‘Wow, Lady Miria! You’re so smart and proper, you have the right answers to everything! Wow, Lady Miria! Would you invite us to your luxurious mansion for tea~?’”
Miria snorted, smiling to avoid taking the bait.
“Heh, you should join the theater club with such fabulous acting.” She sighed, blowing air in weary amusement. “It’s the first time I’ve had normal friends.”
The teasing dissolved. The wind lifted their hair slightly, and silence fell like a blanket between the trees. The sun began sinking behind the castle wall, tinting the garden with a weary gold soon to yield to dusk.
“It’s nice, most of the time,” Miria went on, softer. “I know they talk to me and hang out with me only because of my name. But… it helps not to feel so lonely. They’re good girls, though I admit they get a bit silly when gossiping about celebrities.”
The confession was so honest they both smiled. Fer lowered her gaze, almost embarrassed to have struck a real chord.
Miria tucked a white lock behind her ear, a small, elegant gesture that Fer found dangerously familiar. It was the same move Annya made. And every time Annya did it, Fer’s body reacted as if an internal alarm had gone off.
She swallowed. Her mind whispered, “Uh oh. Get ready.” Her stomach tightened. Her shoulders tensed. Miria opened her mouth slowly; the silence between them turned eternal, unbearable, as if the air itself waited for something momentous and important to be spoken.
“You’re an idiot.”
Fer blinked. Funeral silence. She’d been expecting an intimate confession, an emotional turn, something requiring tact or empathy. Instead, she got a blunt, gratuitous verbal punch. She was left gaping—disappointed.
“AH?!—”
“But that’s not all.” Miria crossed her arms, looking at her without malice. “You’re an idiot, and you don’t care about being an idiot.”
Fer frowned. She definitely wasn’t following. She thought Miria was teasing her, judging by the almost gentle way she said it.
“You sleep through classes; you don’t care if nobody talks to you. In the last alchemy lesson you… you nearly blew your damn cauldron to bits for adding too much mandrake essence.”
She let out a breathless little laugh. “You were covered in that green slime. The professor failed you and yelled at you in front of everyone.”
Fer let out a mischievous smile.
Yes, she remembered. The teacher’s face red with fury, his hair dripping the same greenish liquid that splattered the floor, and Annya (especially her) trying not to laugh from the back row at seeing his hair changing color. The rest of the class half-choking with laughter as she was dragged to the correction room.
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“And you didn’t care.” Miria swallowed, her voice growing quieter. “You just… laughed. Everyone did, actually. But no one made fun of you after that.”
Fer raised a brow, the smile still hanging.
“So we’re just gonna spend the whole day talking about my failures or what—?”
“Shut up,” Miria cut in. “I think what I mean is that… no one was disappointed, because they never expected anything better from you.”
The silence stretched, uncomfortable. The words hung between them like melting ice.
“…Ouch.” Fer placed a hand over her chest, feigning drama. “You know, that kinda hurts.”
Miria smiled for real this time, clasping her hands behind her back.
“You’re the only girl in the whole castle who doesn’t care if I insult her.”
Fer sighed, massaging her temples with both hands, frustrated for not understanding what the hell her classmate was trying to say from all of this.
“Look, I’m not gonna be your damn punching bag for jokes—”
“I want us to be partners.”
As if struck by lightning, Fer looked up, completely stunned. Miria was holding out her hand, blushing, with a trembling smile she clearly wished she could erase.
“You… what?”
“I said: partners.”
“I heard you, damn it. I’m not deaf.”
“So? What do you say?”
She kept staring at the offered hand, noticing it trembled slightly. Probably from the cold. Probably…
“But… why me?”
Miria took a deep breath, still holding her hand out, trying to keep it steady.
“After our demonstration in front of the headmasters, I observed the rest of our classmates during duel lessons. Turns out we’re the two strongest in all of the first year. And I know you’re also interested in joining the Tournament.”
“How do you know—”
“Because you’re not even remotely subtle when you stare like an idiot at the flyers on the hallway walls.”
Fer bit the inside of her cheek at the unnecessarily accurate observation.
“To enter, we have to go through a series of physical and theoretical exams. Honestly, I don’t want to take them. But, if we eliminate the competition and stack the best grades in combat classes, we can skip them entirely.”
“…If we’re the strongest of all, why do you need my help?”
“Because I know you like to play dirty.” She smiled, bolder now. “And because I don’t want to miss the chance to defeat you in front of the whole school.”
Fer went still, expressionless, like a statue. The silence dragged long enough that Miria grew uneasy, afraid she’d crossed a sensitive line. She extended her open hand closer, anxious to see her response to the excuse of cooperation that doubled as a way to get near her.
“What do you say, Blackwood—?”
SLAP.
Miria gasped when Feralynn’s hand suddenly struck hers in a sharp, powerful clap, sealing the deal with a snap so loud it sent birds flying. The sound cracked like a whip through open air. Fer shook her hand up and down with force.
“Damn, finally you say something good in all fucking afternoon!”
That laugh—half relief, half war—shattered the tension like glass. She finally had something tangible: a goal, an excuse to light her fire for something other than pain. It was the perfect chance to prove to the headmasters, to Romina, and most of all to herself, that she could control it. That she could get better. That she wouldn’t hurt anyone again the way she had hurt her.
Winning or losing the tournament didn’t matter. She just wanted to feel alive again, to exist without that scar burning on her abdomen every time she remembered what she’d lost. Helping Miria was, unknowingly, a form of redemption. And also, the perfect excuse to get close to her without having to face the awkward silence or words she wouldn’t know how to say. Combat was her native language. Her way of speaking. And this time, she would make it understood.
Miria’s heart went wild at the sight of that smile before her—the manic, restrained smile that radiated warmth. Their joined palms burned.
Fer’s skin was firm, rough, marked with calluses and scars that told a lifetime of training. No polish or shine, only fire and memory. The cold night’s mist mixed with their breath, and Miria couldn’t look away from those red eyes. So hypnotic, so alive, so dangerous. So—
“F-Fine.” Miria stammered, struggling to keep her composure as she pulled back, her palm still tingling from that invisible fire. “We’ll need to stay in contact to make this work. Give me your mirrorphone number.”
A heavy, almost comical silence followed—the kind even the wind refused to break.
“…I don’t have one—”
“What?! What do you mean you don’t have a phone—?!”
“I don’t have that much money, alright?! And my mom’s fat aunt hasn’t lent us much since we started working at the damn flower shop!
“Then how the hell do you communicate with your parents?!”
“…I, uh—use Annya’s! When she lets me borrow it at school.”
Miria let out a strangled groan, facepalming in disbelief. She swung her white backpack off with a thud, rummaged through the pockets in quick, practiced motions, and finally pulled out a small black pocket mirror—elegant, with a metallic lid that caught the white glow of the garden lamps.
“Here. Take it.” She sighed in resignation. “I’m giving you my spare. You can keep it.”
Fer froze, staring at her like a startled cat. That white hand, casually extended, was offering her something worth more than everything she owned combined.
She took it slowly, as if holding a relic. Her thumb brushed the lid, opening it, and she saw her reflection projected on the polished surface before the screen flickered to life with a soft blue glow.
“This thing… this thing must cost two hundred larens,” she muttered, unable to tear her eyes away. “Are you giving me this…for real?!”
She turned it on. Her reflection faded, replaced by floating menu icons.
“It’s the one I use to talk to Gloria,” Miria explained casually. “But I’m just sick of her messaging me every hour asking if I need anything.”
Fer pressed a couple of keys, and a front light suddenly blazed on, blinding her completely.
“Augh—!” she shrieked in the tone of an electrocuted hamster, rubbing her eyes in panic. “Why does it shine so much?! What the hell—?!”
Miria let out a dry laugh.
“It’s got a front flashlight, you moron.”
Fer kept rubbing her eyelids while Miria watched, shaking her head somewhere between disappointment and amusement.
“It already has my number saved. So…” She cleared her throat, looking away. “I guess… well. See you after classes.”
When Fer finally opened her eyes without seeing light spots, she saw her blushing, tucking a white lock behind her ear in a distracted gesture. She was about to say something, but Miria cut her off before she could form the words.
“No one must see us together.” Her tone was serious, a blade in the mild air. “If they find out we’re cooperating, they could disqualify us before we even try to get in.”
In a heartbeat, she stepped in close—dangerously close. Close enough for their breaths to meet. Fer felt the heat in her cheeks before she could think.
“Don’t tell anyone… especially Annya.”
Miria’s sky-blue eyes locked onto hers, dropping briefly—just for a second—towards her mouth. “Is that clear?” she whispered, with an intensity that burned hotter than Fer’s fire.
Blushing to the tips of her ears, Fer placed both hands on her shoulders and shoved her back hard.
“Y-Yeah, damn it!” she shouted, pulse racing, her tone cracking between anger and nerves. “Ugh, don’t get that close out of nowhere. What the fuck’s wrong with you?! You want me to punch you in the face or something?”
Miria straightened, masking her own blush as she caught her breath. Fer glanced up at the sky: the orange of sunset had deepened into dark blue. Despite the chill, neither girl seemed bothered at all by the cold. One was born in it, the other carried it in her veins.
She pulled the mirror-phone from her pocket and checked the time.
“Fuck, missed the bus,” she sighed, snapping it shut. “Guess I’ll get home late…”
Miria exhaled and, without any hesitation, offered.
“I can take you.”
Fer lifted her head, the reflection of the lamps glowing faintly in her red eyes.
“Take me… how?”
Miria smiled sideways, carrying that noble air that always made her seem like she knew something others didn’t.
“In my carriage, duh. Did the flash fry what few neurons you had left?”
Fer looked up, incredulous.
“Carriage…?” she repeated, still processing what she’d just heard.
Without bothering to reply, Miria turned on her heel and began walking back along the tiled path toward the castle. The echo of her steps bounced off the walls.
Noticing Fer hadn’t followed, she stopped and looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
“Blackwood?” she asked, tilting her head slightly with exasperating elegance. “Aren’t you coming?”
Fer clenched her jaw and followed, hesitant. Her boots echoed uncertainly beside Miria’s perfectly measured steps. They walked in silence through the school corridors, now steeped in twilight. The enchanted lights flickered on as they passed and faded behind them, as if the building itself watched them leave.
“By the way,” Miria said without looking at her, “stop smoking. You’ll be useless to me if your lungs are full of phlegm.”
Fer just huffed, unable to find a comeback that wouldn’t make her sound even more pathetic.
She kept walking.
When Chappi and Choppi opened the main doors with an exaggerated bow, Fer blinked, confused.
At the edge of the illuminated courtyard waited a black carriage engraved with silver patterns, drawn by two pegasi with sky-blue wings that burned like liquid fire. Their manes moved like flames in the wind, casting blue reflections across the ground.
The driver, a man of impeccable posture, stepped down to open the door. And from inside descended Gloria, the young maid, with her pink ribbon and kind expression.
“Lady Miria, please allow me to carry your backpack–” she greeted with a courteous bow—and then, upon seeing Fer, her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh…”
Feralynn, for her part, froze. Her pupils reflected the fire of the beasts. She had never seen anything like it up close—not even in the stories her father used to read at the camps.
Gloria smiled, as if she understood without the need for words. She took both of their backpacks, stowed them inside the carriage’s compartment, then stepped aside to let them enter.
Fer climbed in with slow, almost reverent steps. Every detail hit her—the carpeted floor, the soft scent of polished wood, the gentle sway of the wheels. Her heart pounded hard, a mix of vertigo and childlike wonder. When Gloria pointed to the safety belt, Fer barely managed to obey, clumsy and cautious, as if it were some sacred device.
Miria took her seat with the ease of someone who did it every day. She settled by the window, resting her elbow on the sill and her chin in her hand. Only this time, her eyes didn’t wander toward the view.
They looked at Fer.
At that girl who, for the first time, seemed completely free of her iron mask and sarcasm. The smile that escaped her when the carriage began to rise was so genuine that even Gloria had to stifle a laugh.
The driver tugged the reins. The pegasi neighed, and with a radiant roar, lifted into the sky.
The carriage jolted and Fer screamed instinctively, like a frightened little girl, clutching the emergency strap tight.
“W-We’re falling—we’re gonna fall!”
Miria laughed loud. Not mockingly, not smugly. A short, sincere laugh that filled the carriage more than any luxury ever could. With joy.
From the opposite seat, Gloria watched from the corner of her eye as her Lady continued to gaze at Feralynn. There was tenderness in her expression—a faint light in her eyes that didn’t exist back at the palace.
Fer, meanwhile, pressed herself against the window, completely entranced. Her breath fogged the glass, her fingers smudged it as she tried to touch the sky. Zero points for etiquette. A hundred for knowing how to feel alive.
They flew through the clouds, night draping its cloak over them. Below, the city lights glittered like an ocean of fireflies, and for the first time in a long while, Fer didn’t think about surviving. Only… about floating.
The carriage kept cutting through the sky, leaving a trail of blue light behind. The pegasi beat their wings as if tearing through the clouds. From inside, the noise was soft—a hum almost melodic.
Miria watched her in silence. Fer had her forehead pressed to the fogged glass, her red eyes wide open. Every flicker of the city below reflected in them with a childlike brightness that seemed impossible for someone like her. The same girl who’d fought a giant like Bonnie with her bare hands, who could turn rows of training dummies to ash in seconds. And yet there she was: amazed, vulnerable, laughing without realizing it.
As if she was still a child despite all.
Miria turned her head, studying her profile. She thought of her own reflection. Of her bed draped in silk sheets. Of breakfasts served at the exact hour. Of private lessons, expensive dresses, greetings wrapped in false courtesy. Everything so perfect. So empty.
Fer, on the other hand, had scars on her knuckles, soot under her nails, smoke in her breath, and fire in her gaze. She answered to no one. She didn’t have to smile if she didn’t want to. She didn’t have to be kind, or graceful, or pretend charm to please anyone. She was free. Truly free. As wild and broken as the world that had shaped her. And for that, Miria felt a deep sting of envy.
Beside her, Fer smiled against the window, whispering almost to herself.
“This… this is incredible.”
“You’ve never flown before?” Miria asked, unsure why her voice came out so gentle.
Fer shook her head, black strands brushing her scarf.
“Never even rode an elevator until a month ago. All I had before was… snow. Lots of snow.” She chuckled softly. “And smoke.”
Miria felt a knot tighten in her stomach. That simple confession, said without self-pity, weighed more than any tragic story told through tears. Fer wasn’t speaking of pain: she was describing a habit.
For a moment, neither of them said another word. The clouds parted briefly, letting the moon bathe them both. Fer looked out at the horizon again, where the blue fire of the pegasi lit the edges of the carriage.
The two girls were reflected together in the same glass. One born among gold, the other among ashes. Two extremes that, without realizing it, shared the same crack. The silence that followed was no longer uncomfortable. It was… the beginning of an understanding yet to come. Yet to wait for.
Lights continued gliding beneath them, and Gloria thought that maybe, at last, her Lady might finally have found someone who could become a true friend.
…
…
…
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