The sun dipped low over Imperial Academy of Vaelterra, casting the towers and gardens in a soft orange haze.
There were no classes today.
Only preparation.
Students hurried across the grounds in elegant suits and flowing dresses, adjusting ties, fixing hair, laughing with the kind of easy excitement that only came before a celebration they believed would last forever.
Noel watched from the edge of the courtyard, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored dark jacket, his white shirt crisp beneath it, sleeves rolled neatly just once at the cuffs.
He looked like any other student.
Calm.
Relaxed.
Ready for a night of music and luxury.
Inside, though, his mind ran like a machine.
'Everything's prepared.'
'The escape routes mapped and explosives sabotaged.
Contingencies are ready too.'
'Now it's just about timing.'
The Grand Hall loomed ahead, its massive double doors wide open, the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers spilling out onto the polished stone steps.
Crimson banners embroidered with the academy crest hung high along the walls, rippling slightly in the evening breeze.
A small group of second-years rushed past Noel, laughing and shoving each other, oblivious to the weight pressing down on the night.
'If everything goes according to plan… most of them will survive.'
He adjusted his jacket slightly and began walking toward the Hall.
Everything was prepared.
Now all that remained was for the pieces to move.
The Grand Hall looked unrecognizable.
Noel stepped through the wide double doors, blending easily into the steady stream of students arriving behind him.
The air was thick with warmth and music, the low hum of conversation rising under the polished, restrained melody of a live orchestra tucked onto an elevated platform near the stage.
Above, enormous crystal chandeliers floated like frozen stars, their lights refracted through thin mana fields to scatter colors across the towering stone walls.
Crimson and gold banners hung from the rafters.
Long tables lined the sides of the hall, each one stacked with platters of food more extravagant than Noel had ever seen before—roasted meats glazed with sweet herbs, vibrant fruits carved into intricate designs, enchanted desserts that shimmered faintly with magic.
And in the center—
A wide, polished dance floor gleamed under the shifting lights.
'If you didn't know any better… you'd think tonight was perfect.'
Students from every year filled the hall—first-years, second-years, third-years—all wearing their finest.
Formal gowns swirled against sharp-cut suits and rich cloaks.
Mana-threaded fabrics caught the light in subtle, sophisticated flashes.
Noel kept moving, drifting along the outer edge of the room, careful to keep a line of sight on the major exits.
He recognized most of the first-years immediately.
Marcus was easy to spot—laughing, animated, already surrounded by a small crowd.
Clara hovered close by, her cheeks flushed as she fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress.
Near the far side of the hall, he spotted Elyra von Estermont, standing with the members of the Student Council—radiant in a sleek black and silver dress, her expression calm, collected.
And with her—
Myriel von Astralis.
The Student Council President.
Noel knew the name from the book—and seeing her now, she was impossible to miss: short, sharp blue hair, navy blue eyes like twin knives, wearing a deep sapphire gown trimmed with silver.
She stood like she owned the entire academy—and maybe, in some ways, she did.
'There are more students here than there were at the entrance ceremony.'
Hundreds of bodies.
Hundreds of potential victims.
Noel's hands curled slightly at his sides before he forced himself to relax.
For now, it was just a party.
For now.
The music softened.
Conversations tapered off into low murmurs as the lights dimmed slightly, focusing attention toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.
There, descending with measured, almost regal steps, was Director Nicolas Von Aldros.
He was dressed sharply tonight—deep navy robes embroidered with silver patterns along the cuffs and shoulders. The crest of Valor Academy gleamed over his chest in muted platinum.
His presence commanded instant silence.
Noel straightened slightly at the sight, eyes locked on the Director's calm, composed face.
The man carried the weight of the academy—and somehow still looked as though none of it touched him.
A faint hum of magical amplification buzzed through the air as Aldros reached the center dais, standing beneath the highest floating chandelier.
He raised one hand lightly, and the hall went completely still.
Then he spoke—his voice low, warm, carrying to every corner of the Grand Hall without effort.
"Tonight, we celebrate not just the end of a term," he said, "but the beginning of what will be, for many of you, the foundation of your futures."
His eyes swept the crowd slowly—kind, measured.
"You have studied, struggled, excelled. You have built friendships, rivalries, ambitions. You have taken your first steps into a wider world."
He paused.
A soft, knowing smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"And in time, you will look back at these nights—the nights of laughter, and music, and youth—and remember that greatness is born not just from battles fought, but from moments shared."
The crowd stirred, quiet but uplifted.
Noel kept his posture neutral, but his mind was whirring underneath.
Director Aldros's words sounded ordinary.
Perfect.
Like everything was under control.
'But even he doesn't know what's about to happen under his nose.'
'Or if he does... he's playing a very careful game.'
As the speech came to a close, polite applause rippled through the hall.
Noel's eyes drifted sideways—and locked onto a figure standing casually near one of the large decorative pillars.
Professor Caldus.
Dressed impeccably in an elegant black suit, dark gloves covering his hands, his face calm, unreadable.
He blended in perfectly with the other faculty scattered around the room, laughing softly, chatting with students.
But Noel knew better.
'He's watching. Waiting.'
The real event hadn't started yet.
Not even close.
The applause faded into laughter and music.
The orchestra shifted seamlessly into a new piece—a slow, dignified waltz, fitting the grandeur of the night.
The atmosphere immediately lightened.
Students flooded toward the buffet tables, eyes wide at the sheer abundance of food: trays stacked with roasted meats and colorful vegetables, desserts enchanted to shimmer faintly with golden light, glass goblets floating gently above the tables, each filled with sparkling wines and fruit juices.
The dance floor filled slowly at first.
Pairs formed—awkwardly, then more confidently—as the first few brave students moved to the center, spinning under the gentle light of the chandeliers.
Noel stayed near the perimeter.
Blending in.
Watching.
Sipping from a glass he barely tasted.
Every few minutes, he swept his gaze across the hall—marking entrances, exits, patrols, clusters of students.
Elyra remained near the Student Council, speaking animatedly with Myriel and several older students Noel didn't recognize.
Professor Caldus had shifted closer to a group of professors by the far wall, laughing politely at something a colleague said.
Nothing suspicious yet.
'Of course. They'll wait until later.'
'Until the crowd is at its fullest. Until everyone's guard drops.'
'They want maximum chaos.'
Still, it gnawed at him—the feeling of being trapped inside a polished glass box, surrounded by candles already dripping toward the wick.
He shifted slightly, hands tucked neatly behind his back, posture calm.
From the outside?
He was just another student.
Another piece of the celebration.
Inside?
Noel counted every second.
Every move.
Every shadow.
Because soon—very soon—this music would stop.
And when it did...
He had to be ready.
The evening unfolded with polished perfection.
If you didn't know any better, you'd think it was just another prestigious academy event—dignified, grand, unforgettable.
Noel leaned casually against one of the marble pillars lining the edge of the hall, eyes constantly moving, tracking everything.
First, his gaze drifted toward the dance floor—
He spotted Marcus, the original protagonist, gently nudging Clara as he awkwardly tried to lead her through the steps of the waltz.
Clara's face was beet red, her eyes locked firmly on her feet as she stumbled along, too nervous to even lift her head.
'I'm happy for them.'
A small, genuine thought that flickered through Noel's mind.
Nearby, Garron and Laziel were up to their usual antics.
Garron looked like he was trying to dance properly, but his sheer size and stiff movements made it more comical than elegant.
Meanwhile, Laziel stood off to the side, laughing openly at Garron's "forbidden steps," his arms folded casually behind his head like he didn't have a care in the world.
'Good. The main force that will fight off the attackers is still intact, just like in the novel. That's one less thing to worry about.'
Closer to the center of the hall, the Student Council gathered in their own orbit.
Groups of students drifted close, trying to make connections, hoping for a dance with one of Valor's elites—the prestige of being seen near them was obvious.
At the heart of it all stood Myriel von Astralis, the Council President.
Short-cut blue hair shining under the chandelier light, navy eyes cool and detached as she fended off a stream of young men eagerly asking for her hand to dance.
'Poor woman. Must be exhausting being the center of attention.'
Noel scanned again—and noticed something odd.
Elyra wasn't with the council anymore.
Strange.
In the novel, during this very event, she had stayed close to the council leaders and later helped repel the attackers.
Her absence now was an unexpected variable.
'I hope this doesn't cause a problem.'
He swept his gaze across the rest of the hall.
He caught glimpses of Elena, Roberto, and other familiar faces—laughing, dancing, drinking, living in the moment.
Everything seemed perfect.
Everything seemed normal.
Except—
Noel's stomach dropped.
He couldn't see him.
He scanned the hall again—slow, methodical, not missing a single corner.
But the one person he needed to see was gone.
Professor Caldus.
Vanished.
Noel's heart thudded once, sharp.
'This is bad.'
Noel's mind raced.
He kept scanning the hall, searching every shadow, every cluster of students laughing near the buffet tables, every dancing couple swirling across the marble floor.
Nothing.
Caldus was gone.
And that could only mean one thing—
The attack was closer than he thought.
His body tensed instinctively, every muscle ready to move, ready to draw, to react—
Until a familiar, very loud voice broke through the chaos.
"Oi, Thorne!"
Noel barely turned his head before Roberto appeared at his side, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, man! Don't just brood by the wall! You're gonna turn into a statue at this rate."
Before Noel could protest, Roberto grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward a gathering of familiar faces—Marcus, Clara, Elena, even Laziel and Garron trailing behind.
'Damn it, not now—'
But he forced himself to go.
Forced his face into something close to a tired smirk.
It would be suspicious to resist too much.
He let Roberto drag him into the fold, where Marcus greeted him with a broad grin, nudging Clara teasingly as she tried—and failed—to look composed.
The group buzzed with laughter, good-natured teasing, talk about who danced the worst (spoiler: Garron), and which food at the buffet was enchanted to make your hair sparkle.
Noel answered automatically when spoken to.
Nodded at jokes.
Smiled at the right times.
But all the while, his eyes flicked constantly across the room.
Watching.
Waiting.
Counting the seconds.
Because he knew—
Underneath all this glitter, all this laughter—
Death was already moving.