The council chamber hadn’t changed.
Sa stone walls polished by decades of quiet argunts. Sa high windows filtering in thin, filtered light. Sa long table carved from blackwood, its surface engraved with the sigils of the Ten Seats.
But the people around it had changed.
Myriel von Astralis sat at the head, sharp-eyed and silent, her presence more ceremonial than functional now. She had spoken once at the start of the eting—"Keep it civil"—and hadn’t said another word since.
Nine other mbers sat spaced around the table.
And the air between them was thin.
One noble spoke first.
"Dior represents continuity. He understands how things work—how they’ve always worked."
Another, noble, nodded in agreent.
"He has the backing of tradition. That should an sothing in this room."
Across the table, a young mage from the outer provinces frowned.
"And Seraphina represents everyone else."
"This academy isn’t a royal court," soone muttered.
"No," ca a calm voice from the far end. "But it’s starting to look like one."
Eyes shifted to Elyra von Estermont.
Just sipped her tea and let the silence tighten.
Myriel didn’t interfere.
She just watched them—her successors—drawing their lines.
And she knew: This wouldn’t be decided in one room.
Or by one vote.
But the battle had begun.
The chamber emptied slowly.
Chairs scraped back one by one. Cloaks swished as nobles exited in pairs. Whispers lingered longer than the people who spoke them.
Elyra didn’t move.
She remained in her seat, fingers gently tapping the rim of her empty teacup, her eyes fixed on the map of sigils carved into the table’s center.
Ten houses. Ten seats.
And now, two futures.
She didn’t need to write anything down. It was already sorted in her mind.
Three nobles firmly with Dior. Two undecideds pretending neutrality. Three quiet allies leaning toward Seraphina—likely to follow her lead. And then her.
And Myriel, still watching from her seat at the head, like a ghost fading with dignity.
Elyra stood at last.
Myriel’s voice broke the silence before she reached the door.
"You’ve already decided, haven’t you?"
Elyra looked back.
"Of course, I told you yesterday."
"Then why haven’t you declared it?"
"Because the timing matters more than the decision."
Myriel smirked faintly.
"You learned that here."
Elyra gave a slight nod.
"That’s why I’m not letting it fall into the wrong hands."
She stepped out of the room.
And didn’t head back to her quarters.
She turned down the east hallway.
Toward a quiet, unused chamber she knew well.
She had one more piece to move.
And she knew exactly who she needed.
The room hadn’t changed.
Dust still clung to the upper shelves. The long velvet curtain was still tied back with a strip of fraying silver thread. One of the lanterns flickered every now and then, like it couldn’t decide whether to stay lit.
Elyra sat where she always did—second chair from the window, back straight, fingers folded in her lap.
Noel entered without knocking.
His boots didn’t echo. He made sure of that.
He leaned against the doorfra, arms crossed, and let the silence stretch just enough before speaking.
"Heard you’ve been looking for ."
Elyra didn’t glance up.
"I knew you’d find your way here."
Noel stepped in, letting the door click shut behind him.
"Not that hard when you’ve only got one hiding place."
"Hiding implies sha," she replied. "This is just... strategic distance."
He smirked slightly and walked to the window, glancing outside before turning back to her.
"So. What’s the favor?"
Elyra finally looked at him—eyes sharp, but not cold.
"I need you to help Seraphina win."
Noel raised an eyebrow.
"That’s it?"
"That’s it."
He tilted his head.
Then shrugged.
"Keep your favor."
"I was going to do that anyway."
Elyra’s eyes didn’t widen. But the pause before she responded said enough.
"...That so?"
Noel sat on the edge of the old desk near the wall.
"She has to win. You know it. I know it, every person with more than two fingers of common sense know it."
"Dior gets that seat, and this place goes straight to hell, it will be like we go back in ti."
Elyra’s lips curved faintly.
Not in amusent.
In recognition.
"I hoped you’d say that."
But she wasn’t done.
Not even close.
Noel stretched his legs slightly, hands resting on the edge of the desk behind him. He looked relaxed—Elyra knew better than anyone that it was nothing more than a facade.
"So that’s it, then?" he asked. "Favor cleared?"
Elyra tilted her head.
"No."
Noel narrowed his eyes, just slightly.
"Didn’t I just agree to your cause?"
"You did."
She stood, smoothing the front of her uniform with absent fingers.
Then t his gaze.
"Which ans I need to use the favor on sothing else."
Noel exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Alright, I don’t think that is fair, but go ahead."
She didn’t smile, but there was sothing behind her eyes. A glint. A calculation half-hidden beneath composure.
"I want a date."
The room went quiet.
Noel blinked once.
"...Co again, I don’t think I heard you right?"
"A date," she repeated. "With you."
He stared at her, as if waiting for the punchline.
When it didn’t co, he leaned forward a little.
"And the reason for this madness?"
Elyra turned to the window.
Didn’t look at him when she answered.
"I need to confirm sothing."
That was all.
No elaboration.
No explanation.
Just that.
Noel stared at the back of her head for a mont longer.
Then looked up at the ceiling.
"Fucking hell."
Elyra didn’t move.
"Is that a yes?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
The air in the room settled again, quieter now.
Noel leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, watching Elyra with sothing between amusent and resignation.
She, on the other hand, remained standing by the window, one hand resting on the fra, the other hanging loosely at her side.
"You always twist things," he muttered. "You don’t even sound surprised when I agree to help."
"Because I know you," she said without turning.
"And I know you wouldn’t stand by and let Dior win."
Noel snorted softly.
"I’ve heard this story before—and I already know the ending."
Elyra looked back at him.
"Then you understand what’s at stake."
He nodded.
"The council changes everything. Budget, the policy and public influence."
"If Dior takes over, it’s back to nobles first. The foreign-born students, the beastkin—they’ll be the first to pay the price. Then the rest will follow."
Elyra stepped away from the window, her voice calm but weightier.
"Seraphina is the only one who can maintain the balance. Maybe even shift it for good."
Noel didn’t argue.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared at the floor for a mont, thoughtful.
Then:
"You ever do anything without a second layer of aning?"
"Not since I was ten."
"That explains a lot."
She sat in the sa spot he’d once rested on her lap.
"You think Seraphina can actually pull this off?"
"With the right pieces?" Elyra said. "Yes."
Noel shook his head slowly.
"Right. One step at a ti, then."
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