A Fire Undimmed

The aftermath of the Tribunal echoed across the kingdom like a struck bell. Though no official ruling had been passed, the image of Princess Seraphina standing beside a common-born scholar had spread beyond the palace walls like wildfire.

The press was divided. The nobles were livid. The commoners were stunned.

And the Academy... was a battlefield.

Within days, red ribbons began appearing on doorways and uniforms — a quiet symbol of solidarity with Seraphina and Elian. Some students wore them proudly. Others tore them down, claiming they polluted tradition.

A week after the Tribunal, a group of nobles attempted to form an exclusive “purity alliance” — a student council faction designed to preserve what they called "cultural order." Their leader, unsurprisingly, was Darius Mavelle.

Elian watched it all unfold with a strange mix of exhaustion and determination. He had never asked to lead anything. But now, it seemed he had no choice.

Seraphina was not allowed to return to her full royal duties. The Queen had not exiled her, but she had “suspended” her from public appearances. She remained at the Academy, technically still a student, but under constant watch by royal aides.

They met in secret again. Not because they wanted to — but because they had to.

One such meeting took place beneath the observatory tower, in a disused storage corridor that still smelled faintly of herbs and parchment.

Seraphina leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"She’s turning the nobles against me one by one. My mother’s waiting for an excuse to strip me of my title."

"You mean she's afraid to do it while you’re still this popular," Elian replied.

Seraphina nodded grimly. "She thinks my favor with the people will fade. That I’ll lose the momentum."

Elian met her gaze.

"So we don’t let it fade."

The plan began that night.

Elian met with a group of scholarship students, then a few professors, and finally, a cluster of tradesmen from the city who had been following the events with increasing interest.

Together, they drafted the beginnings of a charter — one that proposed a council of mixed heritage and class backgrounds to be seated at the Academy and, eventually, at court. They called it the Unified Voice.

It was bold. Unprecedented. Borderline treasonous.

And it was spreading.

Posters appeared across campus. Copies of the charter were mailed to noble houses and guild halls alike. For every letter of protest the Crown received, two arrived in support.

Within ten days, over a hundred students — nobles and commoners both — had signed it.

Darius tried to sabotage the movement by calling for a debate.

"Let the people hear the truth," he said, smiling before the gathered students. "Let them decide if the princess has been bewitched."

Elian took the stage beside him.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shout.

He spoke calmly. Sharply. And with conviction.

He talked about the boy who read by candlelight beside a sick mother. About the girl who sat in a palace and still felt caged. About the thousands who had been told they were less.

And about the simple, terrifying power of choosing to say: no more.

When he finished, no one clapped. Not at first.

But someone whispered, "He's right."

And then the applause came — quiet, then roaring.

Darius left without a word.

The Queen, of course, responded.

Two days later, she ordered all political activity within the Academy grounds to be suspended. All flyers, banners, and public meetings were banned.

In defiance, red ribbons reappeared — not just on students, but on faculty, on messengers, even on one of the palace guards.

Elian and Seraphina knew what was coming.

They would have to choose: submission… or escalation.

And they both already knew their answer.

That night, beneath the stars, Seraphina stood in the hidden garden behind the library. Elian joined her, breath fogging in the cool air.

"You lit a fire," she said, looking up at the moon.

"So did you."

She turned to him, eyes sharp.

"We can’t do this quietly anymore."

"Then we get loud."

She reached for his hand.

"Together?"

"Always."

And in that moment, beneath a sky thick with clouds and consequences, they didn’t feel like student and princess.

They felt like revolution.