A thousand years after the great war, the world still whispered about the Dravkins. Scholars tried to record their horrors, but no description was everclear. It was said that when the Blood Veil manifested, the sky itself turned red—Teravyn shivering under a suffocating crimson haze. Those who dreamt of it often woke screaming, or never woke at all.

  “Ma’am… is there any description about Aurelion?” a student asked, curiosity cutting through the quiet classroom.

  “Not much survives,” the teacher replied, gently closing her book. “Some say Aurelion was an ancient god who watched over all his children. When the thrones were contested, he vanished. Legends claim that when summoned, his golden aura gathers every particle in the air, forging them into a sword so bright it looks as if the sun itself has taken form.”

  A few students scribbled notes. Others stared blankly. But Aira listened. Because somehow… the word Aurelion made her heart throb, as though it remembered something her mind could not.

  The bell rang.

  The teacher stepped out. Chairs dragged. Laughter erupted. And the moment the adults vanished, the classroom changed.

  Aiva felt it immediately—quiet hostility thickening the air. She kept her eyes on her notebook, hoping today would pass without incident.

  But hope rarely worked.

  Mary and her friends approached her desk, steps heavy with intention.

  “A round of applause for our dear orphan,” one of the boys mocked, clapping slowly.

  Before Aira could flinch, a sharp tug yanked her hair backward.

  “Well, look who it is,” another sneered. “Our genius little orphan.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Aira hissed softly, gripping the edge of her desk. “Please… don’t…”

  “Ohh, Aira, who said you could talk back?” Mary whispered sweetly—a sweetness so fake it stung more than the teasing.

  Mary lifted her hand to slap her.

  But something invisible sparked.

  The moment her palm entered the space near Aira’s cheek, Mary jerked back with a cry, as if shocked by fire.

  “What the—!? I can’t… touch her?”

  The others froze.

  Fear, not pity, filled their eyes.

  “Well,” someone said nervously, “guess even fate feels bad for her.”

  Their joke sounded forced. They left quickly, almost tripping over each other.

  And once again, Aira was alone.

  She bit her lip hard to keep from crying. For years, she had endured all of it—the whispers, the mockery, the loneliness. But today felt different. There was a tremor in her chest, something restless… alive.

  Something that didn’t feel human.

  Aiva hugged her arms around herself as the last tear slipped down her cheek.

  Why does this keep happening to me…?

  Why can’t I be normal…?

  But deep within her—beneath skin, beneath soul—something vast stirred.

  Break time arrived with its usual chaos—desks scraping, laughter spilling into the corridors, and students rushing out as if freedom lay just beyond the classroom door. Mary walked with her group toward the canteen, their chatter rising above the others.

  “So, Mary, any plans this weekend?” Adi asked, adjusting the strap of his bag.

  “Nothing much,” she sighed dramatically. “I have to visit my uncle in Nolair. It’s in the countryside, right? That should be fun… if you ignore the family and the endless lectures. And my dad—” She rolled her eyes. “—he’ll probably lock me in the house until he gets back from patrolling.”

  “Patrolling?” Adi raised an eyebrow. “What, do you need protection?”

  Mary gave him a sharp glare. “You don’t understand, Adit. It’s a guarded secret. Something my dad doesn’t even tell my mom.” She crossed her arms, clearly pleased to have created suspense around herself.

  At the word secret, every pair of ears around her perked up.

  Adi laughed. “Sure, Mary. Your dad is totally hiding some mystical treasure from the king.”

  Mary’s face darkened for a moment—an expression too quick for the others to notice, but Adi caught it.

  Before he could question her, the bell rang, snapping everyone back into routine.

  “We better go,” one of the girls said. “If we’re late, we’ll be made to sit with Aiva.”

  A flicker of discomfort passed over the group, and they all silently agreed to head back early. The classroom emptied slowly as small clusters of students drifted out.