The princess and the heroine

The entrance hall of Hero Academy stretches like a cathedral built for giants. Inside, polished stone floors that reflect sunlight in fractured patterns, tall archways etched with ancient oaths, and pillars so wide they seem carved from mountain roots.

The air hums with hundreds of noises layered atop one another: boots scuffing against stone, the clatter of weapons and armor, clipped greetings between strangers, laughter that’s not too loud nor too soft.

Arthur straightens up instinctively. His boots still carry dust from the road, and his scarf hangs a bit too loose around his neck. He adjusts it to look as casually as possible, as if he is just one of the competitors.

Near the main building, students part, leaving a wide space open like roads where carnivals pass. At that moment, the courtyard falls silent as the crowd’s gaze shifts as one, landing on the figures by the gate.

One walks like he hopes no one notices him. A heavy dark gray robe curls around his neck, sleeves hiding his hands even though it’s the middle of summer. His silver hair is so long it spills over his face, hiding any expression.

The other’s uniform is unapologetically customized: high heels that click like punctuation marks, gloves glittering with unnecessary gems, and a cape just long enough to flutter dramatically without becoming impractical. Her smile is sharp and deliberate, eyes sweeping the room as if auditioning her audience.

Most people murmur, some cheer, a few even bow as the group walk by.

Even Arthur, still rubbing the soreness from his earlier fall, can’t help but straighten his back slightly.

The two rows remain in their position as if they are waiting for someone else. But after almost ten minutes of nothing happening, the tension begins to decrease. The perfect formation dissolves into awkward murmurs and shifting feet.

“Should I be surprised you’re here?” A sharp, metallic voice scrapes the air just behind Arthur’s ear.

He flinches and turns around, only to find Spidaract standing there, as if he had always been part of the room’s shadow.

Arthur squints. “You… That’s quite a jumpscare, considering your voice and appearance. No offense.”

“What’s a jumpscare?” Spidaract replies, voice soft and lower than usual. “I was wandering around for a while. It’s just…not many people want to have a conversation with an Arachna.”

Arthur gives him a sideways glance, then jerks his thumb toward the front of the hall. “Those three who walked in earlier. Are they…important?”

Spidaract tilts his head slightly, a faint click sounding from somewhere in his joints as he follows the direction.

“Yeah,” he says. “Those are kind of the most powerful first-years here.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “And what exactly are they? Like, titles or…?”

Spidaract answers evenly, “The first one is Prince Enger, the firstborn of the royal family. The others are Uta Valen and Carrie Salter, his closest allies, both are first-tier nobles.”

Arthur lowers his voice slightly, nodding toward the front.

“So…they’re the strongest ones here?”

Spidaract’s hood shifts just enough for one eye to glint.

“They think they are,” he replies, his tone like stating something obvious. “But I can slap any of them into next week…if that’s how you use the phrase.”

“I do hope you’re planning to slap gently. We royals bruise so easily,”

a soft, teasing voice loops into their conversation with a little chuckle at the end.

Spidaract jolts - not visibly, but his limbs draw tighter beneath the cloak, and one of his back legs clicks faintly against the stone.

Arthur blinks, turning just in time to see a girl standing behind them as if she had always been there.

She’s dressed plainly: travel boots, a soft blue tunic, and a coat that wouldn’t stand out in a farmer’s market. Her hair is tied back loosely, a few strands curling over her cheek. There’s not a trace of jewelry or insignia on her, but her clothes are spotless, like they were never worn through dirt or distance.

“Who’s she?” Arthur whispers, glancing sideways.

Spidaract does not look away.

“That,” he says, voice low, “is Princess Asa. Younger sister to Prince Enger, and a magic caster recognized from birth.”

“It’s rude talking about someone when they’re right in front of you,” Asa says, gently rocking back on her heels. Then she tilts her head, letting a lock of hair slide down the side of her face. “Though…sneaking up on people isn’t very polite either.”

Spidaract lowers his head and upper body a fraction, not quite a full bow, but enough to show intent.

“Your Highness,” he says, his tone more formal than usual, “I apologize for my earlier disrespect.”

“Come on, do I look that petty?” Asa says, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. “Besides, saying things like that would blow my cover.”

Spidaract straightens slowly, limbs still drawn close beneath his cloak. Arthur glances between the two of them, frowning slightly, then leans forward just a bit.

“If you’re…uh, really the princess,” he says, “then why aren’t you up there with your brother and those nobles?”

“I told them I’d sleep in through the opening ceremony,” Asa replies breezily. “Little did they know - I snuck out and arrived early enough that no one noticed.”

She pokes her cheek with a finger, tongue peeking out in exaggerated innocence.

Before Arthur can come up with a reply to Asa’s shameless confession, a low chime echoes through the hall. It’s subtle at first but it builds quickly, joined by the sound of mechanical gears shifting beneath the marble floor.

The rows of students fall quiet again as spotlights all shine at one man on the top.

From the raised platform, Prince Enger steps forward.

His crimson-lined coat ripples as he raises one gloved hand, his voice booming through the enchanted acoustics with all the subtlety of a war drum.

“Let this mark the beginning of the Party Formation Event!”

Murmurs ripple across the hall.

Enger scans the crowd like a general before a campaign.

“Every candidate present today will have one week to form a party of three to five members. Those who fail to join a team by the end of the period will be disqualified from the Hero Academy.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Your future is yours to carve. Choose wisely.”

…

Prince Enger stares at the names on the parchment like they’re a joke written on a dramatic script.

“…This is your team?” he asks, his voice is dry with exhaustion, but he doesn’t seem to be surprised.

Asa stands with her hands folded neatly behind her back, face composed, but there’s a playful lift to one eyebrow. “It is.”

Enger’s eyes flick down to the names again: Asa Rithiel, Arthur, and Spidaract.

He looks up slowly.

“That boy was probably beaten up just this morning,” he says, pointing directly at Arthur.

“And that thing should not even be here,” he gestures at Spidaract, voice lowering as if he is apologizing.

Spidaract raises one limb, about to say something until he stops. Arthur takes half a step behind Asa before catching himself and puffing his chest in defiance.

Asa, meanwhile, only tilts her head.

“You said it yourself, brother. ‘Every student has one week to form a party.’ I formed one in a minute.” She says with visible pride.

Enger exhales sharply, like someone trying not to shout in public. “You know you are the most sought-after one in this academy, don’t you?”

“I’ve chosen people I believe in,” she replies, smiling just enough to irritate him further.

Enger crosses his arms. “Being your brother is embarrassing.”

Asa shrugs. “Being your sister is boring.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence in the room. The scribe beside the registration table freezes mid-quill. Uta, the only assistant in the room, doesn’t even dare to interrupt the conversation.

Enger leans in close, just enough that only Asa truly hears it.

“You’re making a mistake.”

She meets his gaze, unflinching. “So were you, when you assumed I’d follow.”

Behind her, Arthur fidgets, unsure if what he should do now. One of Spidaract’s limbs slaps his face, like an adult when annoyed by the kids arguing.