The music carried on, a smooth waltz threading through the air like silk, filling the Grand Hall with a glittering haze of elegance.
At a corner near the edge of the dance floor, Marcus, Clara, Roberto, Elena, Laziel, Garron, and Noel gathered, laughing and teasing each other between bites of food and sips of sparkling drinks.
Marcus elbowed Clara gently, a wide grin on his face.
"Come on, it's just a dance. You survived finals. This should be easy."
Clara's cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red. She nearly dropped her glass trying to set it down.
"I'm not— I'm not good at it!" she stammered.
"You'll be fine," Marcus said, clearly trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Garron leaned forward, nudging Laziel. "Bet five silvers she trips in the first thirty seconds."
Laziel grinned lazily. "Ten if she takes Marcus down with her."
Clara buried her face in her hands as everyone laughed good-naturedly.
Even Noel allowed himself a small smirk.
He stood slightly apart from them, arms folded loosely, his posture relaxed but his mind anything but.
'Where's Elyra?'
The question gnawed at the back of his mind now.
He hadn't seen her reappear since the banquet started.
And the longer she stayed missing—
The worse his instincts twisted.
"Alright, alright," Marcus said, clapping his hands once, loud enough to make Clara flinch. "Enough hiding. Clara, let's at least try to survive one song."
Clara peeked out from behind her hands, wide-eyed and pink-faced. "But—"
"No buts," Marcus grinned, extending his hand dramatically like a knight offering a duel.
Around them, the group chuckled and encouraged her. Even Elena gave an elegant little nod of approval, arms crossed loosely over her chest.
"You better not step on her dress," Elena said dryly, an amused glint in her golden eyes.
"You better not trip and take half the dance floor down with you," she added, lips twitching with a restrained smile.
"Go, champ," Roberto said, elbowing Marcus.
With a theatrical groan, Clara took Marcus's hand, and he led her toward the dance floor, both of them stumbling a little before they found the rhythm of the slow waltz.
Roberto turned to Noel next, a crooked smile on his face.
"And what about you, Thorne?" he said, voice low enough that only their group could hear. "Gonna find yourself a partner tonight? Or you just gonna lurk in the shadows like a ghost?"
Noel forced a dry chuckle.
"Think I'll stay lurking," he said casually.
But inside?
His stomach churned.
'Where's Elyra?'
He scanned the hall again, more deliberately this time, masking it by pretending to glance lazily at the dancers.
Still no sign of her.
She wasn't with the Student Council anymore.
Wasn't among the students by the buffet.
Wasn't at the tables, or on the balconies above.
'Not good.'
Not good at all.
Roberto, noticing his distracted look, laughed it off.
"Don't worry, man. The night's young. Plenty of time for awkward dances and broken toes."
Noel smiled faintly, giving a short nod.
But his hands had curled slightly tighter behind his back.
Noel couldn't stand still anymore.
The conversation around him blurred into background noise—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the distant notes of the orchestra.
'Where are you, Elyra?'
He muttered an excuse to Roberto—something about grabbing another drink—and peeled away from the group, weaving into the crowd.
His pace was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
He moved along the buffet tables first, scanning each face carefully.
No Elyra.
He made a slow circuit near the dance floor, stepping between twirling couples, sidestepping stray laughter and clumsy dancers.
Nothing.
He moved toward the far side of the hall, where groups of students gathered near the carved stone balconies, sipping wine and whispering in excited tones.
Still nothing.
A thin thread of cold crept up his spine.
The music played on.
The lights shimmered overhead.
But Noel's world narrowed to the steady thud of his heartbeat and the nagging sense that he was already too late.
He was circling back toward the far right of the hall when he heard it—
A crash.
Sharp and sudden.
Noel's head snapped toward the source—near the drink tables, where a young third-year student stumbled backward, a wide slash torn across his formal jacket, blood splattering across the polished floor.
Standing over him—
A figure in a black mask, blade already dripping red.
For a heartbeat, the Grand Hall held its breath.
No one moved.
No one screamed.
It was as if the entire room froze in place, caught between disbelief and horror.
Then chaos exploded.
Students screamed, chairs toppled, glasses shattered.
The music cut off mid-note with an ugly, discordant shriek.
Noel didn't waste a second.
He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the side corridors.
'The bombs—need to make sure—'
His feet pounded against the marble as he tore through the Hall's edge, slipping past the first fleeing students, heart hammering harder than ever.
He had to move.
Fast.
Or it would all be too late.
Noel tore through the panicked edge of the Grand Hall, slipping between the surging crowds, ignoring the chaos erupting around him.
He reached the far corner of the hall—the one masked by crates and velvet curtains—and dropped low.
Hidden there, tucked perfectly out of sight—
The trapdoor.
Exactly where he remembered.
He yanked it open with a sharp tug, slipped inside, and pulled it shut behind him, sealing out the noise of the collapsing celebration.
The tunnels beneath the hall were colder, darker.
The air was stale, heavy with the smell of old stone and abandoned spells.
He sprinted through the narrow maintenance corridors, his footsteps echoing in the confined space, heart hammering in his ears.
He didn't slow down.
Didn't dare.
Every second counted now.
He reached a small, reinforced storage room—the one he'd prepared weeks ago—and burst inside.
There, lying in wait, exactly where he left it—
Revenant Fang.
His sword.
Still sheathed, still humming faintly with mana, like it had been holding its breath for him.
Noel snatched it up, feeling the familiar, solid weight settle into his palm.
'Good. At least some things haven't changed.'
He strapped the sword across his back and turned immediately toward the bomb site.
The plan wasn't to fight yet.
First, he needed to check the explosives.
He sprinted through the side tunnels, deeper into the network where the hidden devices had been installed.
And as he ran—
His mind raced faster.
'This isn't how it started in the novel.'
In the book, the attack had begun with a massive explosion—blasting open the western wall of the Grand Hall, allowing the invaders to swarm in.
Not tonight.
Tonight, it started with a single masked attacker in the middle of the party.
'Because of me.'
Noel tightened his grip on Revenant Fang.
He'd changed the future just by being here.
Not all of it was good—but not all of it was bad either.
'The Director's here tonight.'
In the original story, Nicolas Von Aldros had been away, leaving the students helpless.
Tonight?
He was present.
Prepared.
The casualty count would be lower.
It had to be.
Noel skidded to a halt in front of the main bomb chamber.
He slipped inside—
And relief flooded through him.
The mana circles he had sabotaged still pulsed weakly, harmless.
No one had repaired them.
No one had noticed the interference.
'Good. The bombs won't kill anyone tonight.'
But that relief lasted only a second.
Because as he turned toward the far side of the room—
He froze.
Lying crumpled against the wall, hands and feet tightly bound with glowing rope, a cloth gag over her mouth—
Elyra.
Her black and silver dress was torn at the sleeves, her braid disheveled, dust clinging to her pale skin.
Unmoving.
Breathing shallow.
Noel rushed to her side instantly, dropping to his knees, ripping at the knots binding her wrists.
'Damn it. They planned for this too.'
'They knew.'
Panic gnawed at the edge of his mind—but he pushed it down.
Focused.
Fast.
He needed to get her free.
Because whatever was happening above?
It was only just beginning.