Chapter Title: Whispers in the Shadows
A pale moon hung low in the night sky, bathing the city in a cold, silver light. Shadows stretched long across the alleyways of the academy's old district, where the cobbled paths twisted into narrow mazes of stone and silence. The city seemed to hold its breath, the usual buzz of magical energy now reduced to a whisper.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the dark alley. A single figure dashed across the dim passageways, heels clicking rapidly against stone. Her cloak swayed with each step, a rhythmic swish breaking the dead quiet of the night. Every few strides, she turned her head sharply, her eyes scanning the darkness behind her. Fear lived in those eyes—controlled, masked, but unmistakably present.
Then the figure stopped. Her breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell as she stepped into an even darker passage, shrouded in deeper shadow. A faint glimmer of moonlight revealed her face—it was Amara, prefect of Class B2, the fourth seat of the Student Council. Her crimson eyes darted, confused. She was supposed to meet someone here... but what she saw froze her in place.
Leaning against the cold brick wall, arms crossed, stood Elijah.
The third seat of the council. The prodigy of Class B1. A walking enigma.
His eyes were calm, but the coldness in them was unmistakable. As Amara caught her breath, Elijah slowly pushed off the wall and stepped forward, casting a long shadow behind him. His eyes narrowed with a deathly calm.
"So," Elijah said, his voice soft but biting, "you're betraying the council?"
Amara's back stiffened. Her fingers twitched at her side, barely resisting the urge to summon a defense spell. But she held her ground.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.
Elijah smirked. "That's not an answer."
"I would never betray the council," Amara responded, steel entering her voice. "Whatever you think you've seen—"
"Oh, Amara," Elijah interrupted with a chuckle, walking a little closer, "you've always been a poor liar."
She stepped back instinctively.
He didn't stop. His voice dropped. "I've been watching you. Every meeting, every motion of your hand, every flicker of hesitation in your voice. You've been acting strange. Distracted. Secretive."
"You don't know anything, Elijah."
"Don't I?" he tilted his head. "Hope you're not doing what I'm thinking."
Amara glared. "I'm never in your head, so I wouldn't know. But maybe you should watch yourself, Elijah. I'm watching you, too."
There was a tense silence. Then, Elijah smiled—a thin, wicked curve of the lips.
He turned, as if to leave. But in a single breath, he released a sharp burst of his pain magic—a sigil flaring behind him as the cursed energy shot toward Amara's back.
She spun instantly, countering with a defensive arc of light magic. The two forces collided with a thunderous crackle that lit up the alley in a blinding flash.
Smoke billowed between them. When it cleared, Elijah was already walking away.
He called over his shoulder. "I'm watching you."
Amara stood still, but her legs trembled. The expression on her face—fear. Not of Elijah's magic. But of the truth he might already know.
She turned and walked away, faster than before.
Unseen to either of them, Paul crouched atop the roof of a nearby building, eyes narrowed, watching everything. He had followed Amara out of suspicion, but what he discovered was more than he had expected.
He whispered to himself, "So even the council isn't united..."
---
Scene Transition: The Morning After
A golden sun rose slowly over the academy, casting warm light across the campus. The previously tense energy seemed subdued, replaced by a typical school morning. The courtyards buzzed with students pouring in from various dorms.
Some walked in pairs, whispering rumors from the night before. Others huddled in groups, casting illusion spells, practicing levitation tricks, or comparing enchanted trinkets. A few loners sat on the grassy fields, meditating or scribbling runes into notebooks. Laughter echoed from a corner where students played a magical board game that hovered mid-air.
The school was alive, unaware—or pretending to be unaware—of the tension simmering beneath its peaceful surface.
Paul walked silently across the stone hallway, his mind elsewhere. His footsteps carried him to the underground confinement wing, where Peterson was being held. The door was enchanted—etched with anti-teleportation sigils—and guarded by a pair of junior staff.
Inside, the air was cold, the room lit only by a single hovering orb of dim light. Peterson sat on a bench, his arms bruised, but his spirit not yet broken.
Paul entered, his voice low. "Why did you make such a harsh decision, Peterson?"
Peterson looked up slowly. "I lost it. I just... I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I couldn't let them keep stepping on Class E."
Paul sighed, placing a hand on the wall. "I told you to cause a distraction, not a disaster. You went too far."
Peterson smirked slightly. "I can't stand Class B. You know that. I just couldn't stop myself."
Paul nodded. "Still, if you had stuck to the plan, you wouldn't be in this cage."
Peterson looked up, more serious now. "So... what now? You have a plan, right? What's next?"
Paul opened his mouth to reply, but the door swung open with a magical hiss.
Liorion walked in. The sixth seat prefect. A tall figure with cold green eyes and a heavy presence.
"Your time is up," he said to Paul, with a glint of suspicion.
Paul gave a subtle nod to Peterson and walked out. As the door shut, Liorion turned to the confined boy.
"Was it Paul who told you to do what you did at the meeting?"
Peterson didn't answer.
Liorion's jaw clenched. Without warning, he slammed his fist into Peterson's stomach, sending him to the ground. Then another strike. And another.
Blood smeared the stone floor.
Liorion crouched, grabbing Peterson's face. His voice was a whisper of venom.
"Your life is mine now. If you don't talk, you'll rot here for the rest of your school days."
Peterson's eyes widened in horror.
---
Scene Transition: Class E
Paul walked slowly toward the classroom. As he neared the door, a figure passed him—a girl with pink hair and sleek glasses. She was alone, absorbed in a magical novel. Paul paused for a moment, staring at her. Something about her felt oddly significant.
He shook the thought and entered the classroom.
He barely made it through the door before Robin blocked his path.
"You really think we can win this case?" Robin growled. "Because of your decisions, our classmates are suffering. Peterson is locked up, Felix is barely alive, and Cain's reputation is in shambles."
Paul said nothing.
Robin shoved him hard. "You just walk around like some damn strategist while the rest of us bleed. I hate that face of yours!"
He grabbed Paul by the shirt and threw him into a chair. The class roared—
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Prisca looked up, alarmed. Deborah stared, confused and trembling.
Cain sat in his corner, head lowered, and then—
"It's all Cain's fault!"
A few students surrounded Cain.
"You brought this on us!"
"Why didn't you speak up in the hearing?"
"You're the thief, right?!"
Cain didn't respond, flinching with each word like a blade to the chest.
Robin threw another punch at Paul. Blood trickled from Paul's lip. He still didn't retaliate.
Then—
"STOP!"
Prisca's voice sliced through the chaos.
"This isn't helping Class E! We're falling apart. If we don't stand together, we lose everything. Fighting won't fix this. Only unity will. Please... let's work together."
The class fell into a stunned silence.
Just then, the teacher entered, looking sternly around. Chairs scraped, papers shuffled, students straightened in silence.
Paul sat quietly, wiping his bloodied mouth. His hand reached for the magical communicator on his desk.
A message flashed: Incoming call from Father.
He stared at the name for a long second. Then, without a word, he flung the communicator out the window.
Prisca gasped. "What was that?!"
Paul looked at her, eyes unreadable. "None of your business."
Deborah turned to him, guilt in her voice. "I'm sorry I didn't defend you."
Paul nodded faintly. "It's fine. One day, Class E will understand why this case matters."
And with that, he turned his gaze toward the window, where the sun had begun to rise just a little higher.