The library’s upper floor was silent at this hour—just the occasional creak of the wooden beams and the soft rustle of turning pages. Tall shelves lood overhead, filled with tos on everything from elental theory to magical ethics. But Cordelia wasn’t here for general knowledge.
She spotted her target tucked away in the corner: the girl known by Noah as the goth girl.
Long black hair flowed freely down her back, a stark contrast to the pale tone of her skin. Dressed in the standard uniform with subtle modifications—dark stockings, silver pins shaped like bones—she sat alone at a wide table, deeply focused on a thick book with a spine etched in necrotic runes.
Cordelia took a quiet breath and approached, stopping just at the edge of the table.
"Hi. I’m Cordelia Ross," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I know you’re a year above , so senior, and since we’re both quad enchanters, I thought maybe I could ask you a few things—"
"Call Saphielle," the girl interrupted, not looking up. Her tone was smooth but cool. "I’m not into formalities. Just because I’m older doesn’t an I want to be treated like so elder."
Cordelia blinked, then nodded. "Alright. Saphielle."
There was a pause. Then, Saphielle marked her page and finally looked up—her dark eyes sharp and unreadable.
"You can sit. If you’re actually here to learn."
Cordelia smiled faintly and took the seat beside her.
’Alright... progress.’
Cordelia sat carefully, folding her hands on the table as she glanced at the book Saphielle had been reading. The title was in old runic script, but she could make out part of it: Essence of the Bound Soul. Definitely necromancy.
"I didn’t an to interrupt," Cordelia said, tilting her head slightly. "But... I’ve been trying to push my control over all four elents. I was hoping you could tell how you did it. Do you specialize in one more than the others?"
Saphielle didn’t answer right away. She closed the book slowly, resting her fingers on the worn cover.
"Necrotic," she said simply.
Cordelia blinked. "That’s your main focus?"
Saphielle nodded, brushing so strands of hair behind her ear. "Out of the four, it’s the one I’ve developed the most. Not because it’s the strongest—because it fits."
Cordelia hesitated, then asked carefully, "Is there... a reason for that? I an, I’ve seen you use the others too, and they seem just as effective."
There was a long pause.
"When I was a child," Saphielle said softly, "soone I looked up to left sothing behind. A book, a few words, and a way of seeing magic that I couldn’t ignore. I guess I’m honoring that, in my own way."
Cordelia lowered her eyes. "I see... sorry for asking sothing so personal."
Saphielle shook her head. "Don’t be. It’s not a wound anymore. Just a mory."
The mont hung in the air for a second longer than it should’ve—quiet, respectful.
Then Cordelia smiled faintly. "You’re cooler than I expected."
Saphielle gave her a look. "And you’re nosier than I expected."
But her lips curled slightly, almost like a smile.
Cordelia nodded slowly, then leaned in just a little. "Can I ask sothing else? What would you suggest for soone like ? My strongest elent is fire."
"Good," Saphielle said imdiately, her voice more certain. "Then focus on it. Fire’s got raw power—unpredictable and brutal, but also full of potential. If you get a proper handle on it, you’ll be able to overpower most people who try to fight you."
Cordelia raised a brow. "You sound like you speak from experience."
"I do." Saphielle allowed herself a brief smirk. "There’s a reason people think necromancy’s terrifying. But fire? Fire eats everything."
Cordelia gave a short laugh. "You make it sound poetic."
"It is," Saphielle said simply. "Magic is language, after all. The more fluent you are, the more dangerous your words."
The late afternoon sun bathed the academy’s gardens in golden light as Cordelia made her way to the familiar spot beneath the Cercis tree. The breeze was soft, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers, and she could already see him—Noah, leaning against the trunk, lazily sipping from a clay cup and tossing pebbles at a patch of grass like it had wronged him.
"Hey," Cordelia called out, approaching with her arms crossed. "We need to talk."
Noah raised a brow, casually setting his cup down. "That serious, huh?"
She stood before him, eyes sharp, voice direct. "I got the money for the auction. Everything’s sorted."
"Nice," Noah said, nodding. "Then we’re almost ready."
"And also..." Cordelia sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "My parents... want to et you."
Noah blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Apparently," she said, exasperated, "so rumors reached them. They think you’re my boyfriend now."
Noah choked on air. He grabbed the cup again—too late. "Pfft—WHAT?!" A spray of water shot out, catching Cordelia right in the shoulder and upper chest.
She froze. Then looked down at her soaked uniform. Then up at him, slow and unforgiving.
Noah coughed. "Okay—okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t an to—! You caught off guard!"
Cordelia wiped the water off her cheek with the back of her hand. "Clearly."
"I thought it was just a cover story!" he said quickly. "Y’know—for convenience."
"It was," she snapped. "But now my loving, curious, over-involved parents want a proper introduction."
Noah looked like he wanted to vanish. "Oh, for fuck’s sake..."
Cordelia huffed, grabbing him by the wrist. "Co on. You owe a clean change of clothes."
"Wait, where are we going?" he asked, almost tripping over his own steps.
"To my room," she said flatly. "You ruined this one. And we’ll talk there."
Noah muttered under his breath, "This feels like a trap..."
Cordelia smirked. "Follow , my dear boyfriend."
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