The stone portal closed behind them with a sigh, and silence returned to the Academy's forgotten corridor. Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by the five Queens stepping back into the mortal world.
Velharon's warmth still clung to their skin, but the air here was colder, thinner, as if reality itself was watching them—uneasy.
Avenya took a breath, eyes scanning the long-forgotten arches and sealed stone doors. "We're back."
"Time…" Kaelara whispered, touching the mossed wall. "It hasn't moved much here."
"Two days, maybe," Calla murmured. "And yet it felt like we lived a year in Velharon."
"We don't tell anyone," Avenya said, her voice steady. "Not until we understand what this means. We blend in. We watch."
"And we prepare," Zerina added, firelight flickering in her eyes. "Velharon wasn't the end. It was the beginning."
They parted before dawn, slipping into their dorms like phantoms. No one saw them return.
But the Academy… noticed.
Morning light broke over the alabaster towers, warm and bright as if to mask the strangeness curling in the air. Students roamed the courtyards, laughter echoing—but it was thinner, brittle.
The five queens met again at breakfast, sitting at separate tables but exchanging glances that told stories the others couldn't hear.
"There are new students," Calla whispered later in the gardens. "Four at least. I asked one of the Head Prefects—he didn't remember enrolling them."
"They carry no magical sigils," Serenya added. "No family emblems. Strangers in a place of secrets."
And the professors… they were distant, frowning into their cups of tea, whispering between classes. Some stared at the wards as if waiting for cracks.
Then came him.
Professor Solren.
New to the faculty. Tall, lean, dressed in black with silver-threaded runes woven into his sleeves. His voice was soft, almost melodic—but his eyes were too sharp. Too knowing.
He smiled at Avenya during their first advanced arcana lecture.
"Ah," he said, pausing mid-discussion, "the Black Queen returns to a world that forgot her. Fascinating."
She froze. He moved on as if he'd said nothing at all.
Zerina's fists clenched. "I don't like him."
"He sees too much," Avenya murmured, heart racing. "And he knows things he shouldn't."
That evening, the moons rose over the Academy's east tower, casting long shadows over the spires. Avenya wandered toward the old dueling hall, heart pounding for reasons she couldn't name.
He was waiting.
Cassien.
Cloaked in midnight blue, his eyes like storm clouds—noble blood, forbidden affection, and memory etched into every look he gave her.
"You've changed," he said as she stepped into the training ring. "You carry something heavier now."
She approached, stopping just before him. "Do you still want me?"
His gaze burned. "I never stopped."
Their kiss was searing, urgent. His hands in her hair, her fingers on his bare chest as she tugged his shirt open.
Magic sparked between them, charged and wild.
He laid her down in the training ring, runes glowing faint beneath them. Her back arched beneath his touch, her name a prayer on his lips. She pulled him in, claiming his mouth again.
There was no silence between them—only moans, sighs, whispered names.
When it ended, she rested her forehead to his. "I've seen things no one here knows. I carry shadows now."
"Then let me carry them with you," he whispered.
Meanwhile…
Serenya found Calla on the temple bridge, moonlight glinting off the sacred waters below.
"Do you believe in fate?" Serenya asked, resting her hand on the rail.
Calla didn't answer immediately. Then, softly: "I believe in you."
Their hands met, then lips. The kiss was slow, reverent.
"It's not just destiny anymore," Calla whispered. "It's love."
Serenya pressed her forehead to hers. "And love is worth fighting for."
Avenya was summoned to the Headmistress's tower the next morning.
The elder mage stood by the stained-glass window, face pale. "The stars shift," she said. "Old dreams return to me… of five Queens rising."
Avenya kept her expression calm.
"Wards are failing," the Headmistress continued. "And the Council has called a Convergence. Royal observers will arrive in days. They suspect something."
"What do they want?"
"Control," the woman said flatly. "Or destruction. If they sense the return of Velharon—if they believe the Queens walk again—war will follow."
Outside, thunder rumbled though no clouds marked the sky.
Night fell.
A student disappeared.
Her cloak was found on the steps of the observatory, blood spattered across the marble. No one could trace her.
Kaelara's wolf howled low into the night. "She didn't run," she said grimly. "She was taken."
And Serenya… she dreamed of shadows whispering her name. Not in the language of men—but the old tongue. The tongue of queens.
When she awoke, her mirror was shattered, and a single sigil was drawn in ash upon her pillow.
Avenya returned to her chambers to find a note tucked beneath her pillow.
We see you, Black Queen.
Your crown will not protect you from what's coming.
The rooftop was quiet, lit only by the swirl of stars above. Avenya stood at its edge, arms crossed, wind tugging her hair free.
Cassien joined her, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. "You're watching the sky again."
"I see things up there," she said softly. "Things others don't."
He pulled her close. "You don't have to face them alone."
She turned to him, kissing him once—then again, deeper. Desire surged again, urgent and raw. She pushed him against the tower wall, unfastening his robe, hands hungry, lips trailing his neck.
He groaned her name as her hands slid beneath his belt.
They lost themselves again, bodies tangled beneath the stars, ancient magic singing in her veins. She gasped as energy surged through her—old power, raw and vast.
But as dawn crept across the horizon, a sharp cry escaped her lips. She turned her gaze to the east.
A sigil had burned itself into the sky.
A spiral of shadows, visible only to her.
Avenya pulled back, breath catching.
"What is it?" Cassien asked.
"The storm," she whispered. "It's coming."