A Covenant?

Cecilia waited on the high balcony for what felt like an eternity, her fingers lightly tapping against the cold stone railing until the final, echoing remnants of the crowd had completely cleared out of the room.

The sharp, mocking whispers of the first-years still lingered in the air like a heavy mist, pressing down on her usual cheerful spirits.

She let out a soft, quiet sigh, smoothing down the flared hem of her coat-dress before turning on the heel of her riding boot to step back inside the academic spire.

When she slid through the doors of the amphitheater, she expected to find an empty room.

Instead, Professor Nieva still stood there.

The woman was frozen in the exact same spot in the center of the massive, vacant evaluation hall, her tall frame draped in her midnight black coat as she clutched her clipboard tightly against her dark indigo corset.

She didn't move her body at all when the door creaked.

Only her eyes turned toward Cecilia with a slow, unnaturally rigid rotation that felt chillingly mechanical.

Then her head snapped to look at Cecilia, her long, wild white hair rustling slightly as her blue-glowing frostbite patterns caught the light.

“Did you mean to leave through that door?” Nieva asked, her voice echoing sharply against the empty tiers.

“No, I was just waiting for everyone to clear out,” Cecilia said, her voice dropping into a small, quiet tone, still feeling a little down about what the other students had said.

“Since you are here, would you be a dear and help me with something?” Nieva said, instantly pivoting and walking right out of the room, completely expecting Cecilia to follow her without a second thought.

“Yes, sure!” Cecilia said, her child-like persona instantly bouncing back as she ran a few quick paces to catch up with the tall professor’s sweeping stride.

They made their way down the high-ceilinged stone corridor in silence until they reached Class 1.

Cecilia followed her straight inside, her mind too occupied by her own thoughts to look at the etched brass nameplate sitting above the guide owl outside the door.

The classroom was magnificent, built with an expensive, traditional academic prestige.

Rows of dark wood student desks rose in a gentle, semi-circular incline toward the back of the room, each seat immaculately polished.

But the most striking feature of the room was a massive, rich carpet that stretched seamlessly from wall to wall across the entire front floorboards. The fabric was heavily embroidered with deep navy patterns, acting as a rigid, literal border that separated the teacher's grand desk from the students' territory.

Nieva walked behind her desk, her leather-gloved hand gesturing toward a towering stack of leather-bound textbooks resting on the polished wood.

“See these books?” she said, her icy gaze locking onto Cecilia. “Could you take one to each seat, but don't walk across the rug there? I just cleaned it.”

Cecilia blinked, looking down at the massive fabric border.

The rug was far too wide to step over with a normal stride, and she had no desire to dirty the pristine fabric with her boots.

Moving by pure, playful reflex, her hand plunged into the leather pouch at her waist, her fingers snapping around a low-grade training Diamond.

She funneled a rapid stream of Alké into the Sky Stone, expanding the pale light with her touch.

The heavy pull of gravity grew distant, and Cecilia casually levitated into the air, flying smoothly over the wide carpet to glide down the aisles.

As she landed lightly near the upper row to slide a textbook onto a desk, the faint sound of voices drifted through the cracked window from the courtyard below.

It was a group of first-years, their muffled chatter still carrying that critical, judging tone regarding the "Pale Blue Peasant" who had ruined the capacity test.

Cecilia's shoulders slumped slightly, her fingers lingering on the leather cover as her sadness crept back in.

Even though it wasn't entirely clear what was being said through the thick door, her heavy thoughts were instantly pushed out by the sharp, ringing clarity of Nieva’s voice from across the room.

“You should pay no mind to them,” Nieva remarked coldly, her unhinged gaze tracking Cecilia's movements. “People with Faint Alké can’t fly, after all. And yet... you flew.”

Cecilia turned around.

“Tell me, did you check your selection slip yet?” Nieva asked, tapping her clipboard.

“I nearly forgot I had it,” Cecilia answered, utilizing her Diamond one more time to glide back over the rug to grab another armful of books from the grand desk.

After setting the textbooks down on the next row of desks, Cecilia reached into the folds of her coat-dress and pulled out the crumpled silver slip of paper. She carefully flattened the edges, reading the elegant, flowing script written on the inside:

Professor Nieva Crevasse, Class 1.

Cecilia held the slip in her small hand, a sudden wave of confusion washing over her.

She didn't know any of the academy teachers' names yet, but the designation of Class 1 surprised her immensely.

“Isn’t Class 1 meant for the strongest projected students of the freshmen class?” Cecilia asked, her voice turning nervous as she looked at the white-haired woman. “Wouldn’t the other students take it wrong if they saw someone registered with Faint Alké in their class?”

“Teachers pick their students, no matter the reason,” Nieva stated, stepping out from behind her desk.

The branching ice cracks beneath the skin of her jaw flared with a sudden, faint blue luminescent light as she leaned down slightly, her posture shifting into a deeply ominous, predatory tilt.

“The judgement of the teacher is what is correct in these halls. Do you doubt my judgement, Miss Voss-Thorne?”

Cecilia answered quickly, her hands flailing defensively as she tried to back away from the sudden drop in temperature. “No! Not at all! Sorry... I just didn't know you were my Professor.”

“So, if you had known... would you have said that out loud?” Nieva pressed, her sharp eyes boring into the young girl.

Cecilia opened her mouth to defend herself again, desperately trying to get out of the conversation so she wouldn't get on her scary new professor's bad side on day one.

But before she could trip over her own words, Nieva suddenly broke her rigid posture, letting out a sharp, delightful giggle that shattered the dark tension of the room.

“I’m only teasing,” Nieva said, smiling, her unhinged cheer returning in an instant. “You and I both know the Moonstone did not correctly assess your baseline Alké levels. It shined every single color in the spectrum before stopping at something far past the boundaries of white. That tells me that the iridescent color we saw isn’t a mechanical error... but something much more.”

Without moving a muscle, Nieva funneled a precise current of her Ice Zoë into the room.

Shshhh-crack.

Multiple, beautifully sculpted hands made of solid, crystal-clear ice manifested directly out of the floorboards behind the desk, smoothly lifting the remaining textbooks into the air and skating across the room to place them perfectly onto every single remaining seat that needed them.

The ice hands dissolved into a fine mist as Nieva looked back down at Cecilia.

“I’ve been intensely interested in you since I first saw you at the gates,” the professor remarked softly, her crystalline voice holding a deep, certainty. “I have a highly specific feeling about you, Cecilia. You’ll be a very promising Lapidary under my care.”

Cecilia's blue eyes sparkled, her hyperactive curiosity completely taking over as she clutched her Opal necklace. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Nieva nodded regally, gesturing toward the classroom doors. “Very well. Thank you for your help, Miss Cecilia. Be sure to be on time to my class tomorrow morning.”

Cecilia gave an awkward, yet intensely apologetic smile as she backed toward the exit, her boots clicking against the frame.

“I won't be late! I am so sorry about today!” she said quickly before turning to leave the room completely, the heavy timber door closing behind her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Cecilia stepped out of Class 1 with her thoughts drifting toward the quiet aisles of the Great Archive, hoping the calm rows of books would let her escape the sting of the morning.

But her boots had barely crossed the intersection of the main hallway when a sharp shadow fell across her path, forcing her to halt.

Approaching from the terminal gallery was Lurella Von-Steph Harold.

Her tall frame moved with a heavy, deliberate elegance, her spiky blonde hair shifting aggressively around her shoulders.

Walking a half-step behind her was B’iorn D Goldstar, his hands stuffed lazily into the unbuttoned pockets of his loose Imperial Blue uniform.

As they intercepted her, B’iorn gave a quiet, uninterested snicker, smoothly sliding away from the pair to lean his weight flat against the corridor wall, crossing his arms just to watch.

“Ohohohoho!” Lurella sneered, her signature bratty princess laugh echoing brashly off the polished marble surfaces as her sharp, mismatched grey-and-red eyes locked downward. “If it isn’t the freshman class kobold.”

Cecilia instinctively tightened her fingers around the leather pouch at her waist, her child-like persona fracturing under the immediate pressure.

Lurella stepped directly into her personal space, her chin tilted upward with immense, unyielding pride. “I saw you walking out of Class 1 just a few moments ago, peasant. Why?”

“I was only helping Professor Nieva,” Cecilia answered softly, keeping her voice low and non-confrontational as she looked at the tall girl. “She asked me to help carry textbooks.”

“A weakling like you should never step foot in a class meant for the elites, even if it was just to carry textbooks,” Lurella scoffed, her voice rising with an aggressive tone that drew the attention of a few passing first-years.

Her spiky blonde hair snapped as she leaned in closer. “Your kind makes me sick. This institution isn’t a playground for peasants. You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

Cecilia blinked, a strange, confusing sentiment rising from the friction of the words. Beneath the fierce, arrogant insults, there was a frantic, desperate weight to Lurella’s tone that felt entirely out of place, almost as if she were desperately commanding her to stay away from the fire.

“You... you don’t have to look out for me,” Cecilia murmured, her blue eyes wide with an innocent, honest clarity. “I don’t need it.”

Lurella’s jaw tightened violently at the response, her eyes flashing with a sudden, deep-seated rage. “Look out for you? Look out for you?! If that is how your empty mind wants to interpret my warnings, you are just completely, utterly stupid!”

She struck her leather-gloved hand against the stone pillar next to Cecilia’s head, the concussive thud vibrating through the wood and stone.

“I’m telling you that you don’t belong within these walls!” Lurella snarled.

“Faint Alké... a pathetic Pale Blue, and you want to convince yourself you can become a registered Lapidary? Don’t get your hopes up, girl. You’ll never be anything more than common filth sleeping on an elite mattress.”

Before Cecilia could even take a step back, Lurella reached out, her fingers aggressively grabbing Cecilia’s navy coat-dress, pulling her forward until they were face to face. The proximity was suffocating.

“Protect yourself!” Lurella commanded, her voice dropping into a tight, trembling whisper that vibrated with a hidden, agonizing grief. “Talk back! Fight me! Don’t just stand there like a useless, talentless doll waiting to be broken!”

Cecilia tried to speak, her throat tightening as her breath caught in her chest.

She looked into Lurella's red and grey eyes, and for a fleeting, terrifying millisecond, she didn't see an enemy; she saw desperate barrier of armor trying to keep a fragile world from shattering.

Cecilia didn't want to break into a physical fight; she had no desire to use her massive, hidden reservoir to hurt Lurella, nor did she want to get herself hurt on her very first day.

Her hands remained perfectly still at her sides.

“I’m sorry,” Cecilia whispered softly, her honest blue eyes holding the noble girl's gaze without a single hint of malice.

Lurella’s fingers began to shake violently against Cecilia’s uniform.

The silent, gentle apology a trigger.

✦ ✦ ✦

I heard his voice again, apologizing for the thirtieth time.

I never truly understood why he apologized so much.

Even when the fault lay entirely with the world, the word always slipped past his lips.

“I’m sorry, sis,” his small voice murmured right against my ear, his tiny hands clinging to my shoulders.

I was carrying him inside the grand manor, my ten-year-old boots dragging heavily across the stone courtyard after he had tumbled out of the high branches of a tree.

I had scowled, shifting his light weight on my back as I kicked the heavy oak doors open.

“Mother is going to be furious again,” I had grumbled back then, my tone already sharp and defensive. “She’s told you countless times to stop getting yourself hurt.”

Even though we were twins, I had always seemed to be the lucky one.

I was noticeably taller, my frame sturdier, and even though the high proctors had tested our bloodlines and determined that we both possessed a pathetic, faint reservoir of Alké, I had always controlled the frequencies better than he ever could.

The moment our boots cleared the entryway, Mother instantly came rushing down the grand staircase as if she had sensed the displacement of his energy.

Her youthful face was entirely full of worry. She was a profoundly kind and gentle soul, the opposite of the harsh armor I wore.

“Oh, dear... are you okay?” Mother gasped, her robes rustling as she knelt before us. “You have got to stop getting hurt all the time. Please, my sweet boy.”

But his smile never left his face. Even with his clothes stained with dirt, he simply gave her a small thumbs-up, letting out a bright, child-like giggle. “You worry way too much, Mom. I’m completely fine; look, it’s just a tiny scratch.”

Once I placed his frail frame down onto a chair, Mother moved directly in front of him to examine his swollen ankle. Her breath caught. “Dear god, it’s redder than a ruby.”

She aggressively called for a maid to fetch a specific green Peridot from the family vaults, immediately funneling her own Alké into the stone to initiate a healing frequency.

As the soft, soothing green light expanded across his bruised skin, his eyes never left that stupid crystal.

He watched the glowing light with an unshielded infatuation.

“Whoa, Mom...” he had whispered, his face lighting up with pure wonder. “It’s cooler every single time you do it.”

I never truly knew why I came to hate Līthostērs so fiercely back then. Or rather, I didn't understand the root of my own disgust.

To me, Līthostērs weren't symbols of prestige; they were a cruel, agonizing curse given to humanity by the goddesses.

If we just didn't have Alké... if our family hadn't been bound to high sorcery... or if the two of us didn't have to share our very life source, things would have been different.

God, he was such a stupid, helpless little kid. Yet, back then, he was the light of my life.

“Hey, Lurella,” my twin brother had said to me later that afternoon, swinging his healed legs from the edge of the mattress. “Could you show me your Zoë again?”

I had crossed my arms, my spiky blonde hair falling into my face. “Mother would be the best person to ask. I have Faint Alké just like you, dork. The light won't even last long enough to shape a spell.”

“I know that,” he had answered softly, his smile wide and honest. “But your Zoë is just so beautiful, Lurella.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

I reached down and snatched the Līthostēr from his small palm.

It was a raw garnet, his favorite stone.

I cleared my mind and funneled every single ounce that was possible before my limit into the crystal, holding the reins with a desperate force to get a visible result without letting the frequency break.

And for a short, brilliant moment, a wave of vibrant, fiery red energy flew gracefully in front of our faces.

His face lit up instantly, the red glow reflecting in his wide eyes. And in that single split-second, looking at his joy, my deep distaste for Zoë completely disappeared.

“Did you see it?!” he cheered, bounding up from the bed. “It was so pretty! The red! I love it when you do it, Lurella, when Mom casts, it never takes that exact deep of a red!”

Those were the last words I ever heard from him with a real smile behind them.

Later that evening, as I was walking out of the study, he had called out to me from the dark hallway. “Hey, Lurella.”

“What, dork?” I had replied casually. Why did I have to call him that? Why couldn't I have just used his name?

“Thank you,” he whispered.

I paused at the door frame. “What for?”

“Everything, I guess,” he said, looking down at his boots.

“That’s completely out of the blue,” I scoffed, turning my back to him. “Stop being so mo—”

“I mean it, you know,” his voice cut through the dark, steady and quiet.

“It’s just basic Zoë, and it doesn't even last a single second,” I muttered, stepping through the hallway.

I shouldn't have walked away.

I should have stayed in that dark hallway.

I should have talked to him more during that final hour, held his hand, or stayed by his side.

But how could a ten-year-old girl have known that she would never look into his living eyes again?

How could I have possibly known?

Why did the elders not tell me the truth?

Was it just because I was a girl?

If one of us had to die from the very start, why did it have to be him?

The curse of twins in this world was a grim part of Gaia’s Laws.

When two souls are born from the same womb, they do not receive separate gifts; instead, they are forced to share a singular, interconnected Zoë Core.

The international greed of human biology cannot sustain the split.

In the end, nature decides the shared pool is an anomaly, a weakness. And because of that, neither twin can ever use the power efficiently.

To save the family lineage, one half must always be severed to grant the full reservoir to the other.

Mother was never the same after her boy disappeared.

She stopped talking entirely, her gentle soul withered by grief.

She tried her best to care for me in the empty manor, but every single time she looked at my face, she would see my brother’s features in my eyes and break into violent tears.

So, I built my armor. I distanced myself entirely.

It was only much later that I discovered the truth: my father had been the one who engineered the sacrifice.

On our eleventh birthday, the ritual had been designed to harvest my soul to empower him.

But my brother... my stupid, weak little brother just couldn't let it happen.

I don’t hate the weak.

I hate what weakness is.

It causes far too much pain, and it leads to nothing but pointless, silent death.

If he had been the stronger one, he would be standing right here in my place.

But here I stand looking at his dead body in a casket with a bruise around his neck.

The curse of weakness took him away, leaving me with nothing but his favorite stones across my chest.

✦ ✦ ✦

B’iorn’s yellow-red eyes narrowed as he leaned against the corridor wall.

From a distance, he noticed the sudden, shake in Lurella’s fingers.

He tracked the heavy, suffocating pause that had completely stopped her posture the exact second Cecilia whispered her gentle apology.

Recognizing the dark, defensive wall breaking beneath her skin, his lazy demeanor vanished instantly.

He pushed off the polished stone, his boots clicking with a sudden, purposeful pace as he walked directly toward the two girls.

“Lurella, my love, don’t waste your breath on this one,” B’iorn said softly, his boisterous tone dropping into a smooth, comforting cadence as he reached out, his hand gently resting on her leather-gloved forearm.

“As much as she clearly doesn’t belong in these halls, the peasant plans to stay.”

Lurella violently yanked her hand out of Cecilia’s space, her fingers releasing the uniform with a sharp twist.

“Get your hands off me, B'iorn!” Lurella snapped, her bratty princess demeanor forcefully rushing back to the surface as she stepped away, frantically adjusting her custom sleeves to hide the residual shaking in her hands.

Her eyes flared with a desperate, prideful anger as she glared down at Cecilia’s unbothered blue ones. “I wasn't wasting my time! I was simply reminding this pathetic trash of her proper place before she ruins the prestige of our entire freshmen rank!”

“Of course, my lady,” B’iorn chuckled lazily, flashing a mocking grin at Cecilia as he gently stepped between them, guiding Lurella back toward the main pathway. “But standard insults won't force a stubborn bird to fly away. If you truly want to purge the trash from anything, you use the rules of the institution.”

Lurella stopped in her tracks, her spiky blonde hair tossing as she fixed a lethal, calculating gaze onto Cecilia.

Her fingers brushed against the raw Garnet buttons at her chest, her ego cementing back into place.

“Very well,” Lurella announced loudly, her voice booming through the corridor with immense pride. “If you refuse to pack your bags and leave this kingdom willingly, peasant, then I shall bind you to a formal challenge. A covenant sworn under the twin names of Hel and Gaia, our goddesses of the sky.”

Cecilia blinked, her child-like curiosity briefly flickering despite the heavy tension. “A covenant?”

“Listen intently, commoner, because if you do not accept the terms, you will be forced to fight me right here and now in this hallway,” Lurella threatened, her ego radiating outward like a physical shield.

“The parameters are absolute. If I win the upcoming freshmen tournament, your registration is permanently revoked, and you must return home to your bin. If you somehow manage to win the tournament yourself, I will grant you whatever single request you desire, no matter the cost. And if neither of us takes the crown... nothing happens.”

Cecilia stood perfectly still, her long brown hair swaying slightly as she weighed the words.

She was deeply hesitant.

She looked at the spiky-haired noble girl, and everything inside her gentle core resisted the terms.

Cecilia didn’t believe in unnecessary violence, and she had absolutely no desire to engage in a bitter, personal feud just to prove her existence to the school.

But looking at the tight, anger in Lurella’s face, she knew the girl wouldn't let her walk away unless a drop of blood or ink was spilled.

If she refused, a physical brawl would erupt right outside the library doors.

To protect them both from a senseless conflict, Cecilia let out a small sigh and gave a soft nod.

“Fine,” Cecilia murmured, her blue eyes holding a quiet, peaceful determination. “I accept the challenge, Lurella. But I’m not going home.”

“Ohohohoho! We shall see about that, you talentless peasant!” Lurella let out one final, piercing princess laugh, turning sharply on her heel as her coat-dress flared beautifully around her knees. “Come, B'iorn. Let us leave the trash to wallow in her books.”

B’iorn offered a mocking salute with a lazy smirk, falling into stride behind her as their heavy footsteps finally faded down the hallway.

Left entirely alone in the high-ceilinged corridor, the heavy silence of the academy rushed back to greet her.

Cecilia stood there for a long time.

A quiet minute.

Her hand rising to gently grip the warm, multi-colored Opal necklace hidden beneath her collar.

The weight of everything began to hit her.

Needing a sanctuary to clear her racing thoughts, Cecilia turned toward the massive double doors.

She pushed through, stepping into the vast, sunlit embrace of the Great Archive, letting the comforting scent of old parchment and the peaceful, endless rows of miles-long bookshelves swallow her completely.