As they stepped into the corridor, Azlin still scribbling notes mid-walk, Nagara suddenly stopped short.
A familiar silhouette turned the corner ahead, robes swaying with each graceful step.
"…Is that Rania?" Nagara muttered, brows furrowed.
Sure enough, it was her—Rania Thysia, the elusive enigma of House Mennefer, gliding through the hall like she hadn't skipped half the week's classes.
She looked almost regal, a book in one hand, a polished wooden box tucked under the other.
Nagara blinked. "She actually goes to class?"
Azlin glanced up, then nodded as if it wasn't strange at all. "Crafting class. She goes to that one."
"…Why?"
"Tea," Azlin said simply.
Nagara turned to him slowly. "Tea?"
Azlin gave a small, almost apologetic smile. "It's one of the few places with open access to rare herbs and ingredients. She said it improves the taste and 'spiritual resonance' of her blends."
Nagara stared as Rania disappeared around the next corner. "So let me get this straight… She skips combat, strategy, elemental lectures, history—but she goes to crafting class so she can make fancier tea?"
Azlin nodded again.
Nagara ran a hand down his face. "She's stranger than any of the lunatics in this academy."
Azlin gave a soft laugh. "And yet, you're stuck with her."
"Don't remind me."
Still, curiosity gnawed at him.
They quietly followed the hallway, arriving just in time to see Rania slipping into a warmly lit chamber, filled with bubbling cauldrons, metal tools, and shelves of powdered crystals and dried leaves. A faint scent of jasmine and lemon balm drifted from within.
Rania had already claimed a table by the window, carefully laying out a porcelain teacup, an engraved kettle, and a handwritten recipe that looked more sacred than a magic scroll.
"Unbelievable," Nagara murmured. "She's got a tea altar."
Azlin smiled. "To her, that's more sacred than a sword."
Nagara just shook his head.
Still… he couldn't help but lean against the doorway a little longer, watching as Rania moved with quiet focus—elegant hands selecting herbs, adding a precise drop of crystal-infused water, steam rising in lazy tendrils.
She looked… content.
And for the first time, Nagara wondered if there was something in her lazy detachment that wasn't laziness at all—but choice. Deliberate, sharp, and hidden under velvet sarcasm.
Maybe she wasn't just strange.
Maybe she was dangerous in a completely different way.
Rania didn't look up right away.
She measured the crushed jasmine root with eerie precision, added a sprinkle of moonseed dust, and swirled the mixture in her porcelain teapot, a faint glow pulsing at the edges.
Steam curled gently around her like a spell—and then, without even turning—
"You know," she said airily, "if you two are going to spy on me, at least try not to breathe so loudly."
Nagara stiffened like he'd been slapped by a spell. Azlin simply blinked.
Rania finally looked up with a smirk, golden eyes catching the light. "Or did you think I couldn't sense gawking amateurs from across the hallway?"
"We weren't gawking," Nagara muttered, stepping forward, arms crossed.
"Oh? So you just happened to loiter outside a crafting class—the most un-Princely class of them all?" Rania tilted her head, pouring the tea with an almost ceremonial grace. "Did detention scramble your brain that badly?"
Azlin opened his mouth, but Rania held up a finger, still smiling sweetly. "No need to answer, Azlin. I know you're just being dragged around."
"Hey!" Nagara snapped. "He's not—I'm not—ugh."
Rania took a sip, sighed with satisfaction, then patted the seat beside her with mock generosity. "Well, come then. Sit. Let your eyes feast on greatness. You might learn how to survive without trying to fight every prince with a chip on his shoulder."
"I'm not sitting," Nagara grumbled, though he still stepped closer.
Rania peered into her tea with amusement. "Pity. This blend was especially calming. Might've helped your bruised pride."
Nagara's mouth opened—then closed.
Azlin, fighting a grin, gently nudged him. "You did kind of walk into that one."
"Don't take her side."
"I'm always on her side when she has hot tea," Azlin replied.
Rania raised her cup like a queen offering a toast. "To being strange and underestimated. It's much easier to burn the world when no one's watching."
Nagara stared at her, wondering if she was joking.
Then again… he wasn't entirely sure she was.
Nagara leaned against the edge of the crafting table, arms still crossed, frustration simmering behind his pale eyes.
"So let me get this straight," he muttered under his breath to Azlin, keeping one eye on Rania as she precisely stirred her shimmering tea. "I defend myself from some arrogant earth prince and get detention for three days… meanwhile she skips half her schedule, rolls her eyes at every teacher, and walks free?"
Azlin didn't look surprised. He just offered a quiet sigh and scribbled something in his notes. "Yes."
Nagara stared. "That's it? Just—yes?"
Azlin adjusted his glasses. "Rania's not exactly known for following rules. She used to get detentions all the time when she first arrived—early classes, first and second year. I heard it didn't change anything."
"So they just… gave up?" Nagara said flatly.
"More or less. You have to understand," Azlin continued in a low tone, "Rania is from House Thysia. The richest noble bloodline in all of Aroken. Probably older than most royal families. Her father controls half the coastal trade routes. Her mother's a direct cousin to the Queen of Dathé."
Nagara's expression didn't change, but his silence deepened.
Azlin glanced toward Rania, who was now humming softly, adding a pale flower petal to her brew with a painter's finesse. "If she weren't from that bloodline… she would've been expelled years ago."
"Great," Nagara muttered. "So she's basically a nepo brat who skips class, mocks everyone, and gets away with it."
Azlin shrugged. "That's what the gossipers say. Most of House Mennefer tolerates her, but… no one's really close to her. She's always been distant. Polite when she wants to be, sarcastic most of the time. Not exactly likable."
"But still famous," Nagara muttered.
Azlin nodded. "Her name does that on its own."
Rania suddenly looked up, golden eyes narrowed slightly as if she'd heard every word—though her smile never faltered.
"Talking about me again?" she said smoothly, blowing over her teacup. "Careful. I might start charging for my presence."
Nagara didn't answer.
Rania tilted her head. "Judging me, are we? For surviving the system while you charge headfirst into it?"
"I'm judging the system," Nagara muttered, then added, "And maybe a little bit of you."
Rania chuckled. "Good. It means you're still thinking. Keep doing that, and maybe you won't get yourself killed before winter."
Azlin watched them both with a flicker of interest—like a reader watching two very different characters forced into the same plotline.
For better or worse, this was House Mennefer now.
A disgraced prince, a silent scholar, and a distant heiress who only came to class for tea.