They opened the door to the Headmaster's office. Inside, the Headmaster sat behind her polished wooden desk, scribbling across a piece of parchment with fluid grace. Her office was masterfully crafted, its aesthetic a seamless reflection of the academy's grandeur and the era's refined elegance. Two towering bookshelves flanked either side of the room, brimming with tomes and relics. Behind her, a large arched window bathed the chamber in light, its stained glass bearing the emblem of the Academy—a shield with a star, within which rested a crescent moon. The floor beneath their feet was adorned with intricate floral patterns, winding and blooming like a frozen garden of artistry.
Sylvia halted her writing and lifted her head, her eyes locking onto the figures who had entered. Setting down her quill, her expression softened into one of pleasant surprise as she recognized Amelia. A warm smile curved across the Headmaster's lips.
"Amelia… What brings you here, my dear girl?" Sylvia inquired with a voice that exuded both authority and affection.
"I've come to deliver your newest students," Amelia responded coolly, stepping aside to reveal the boys behind her.
Sylvia rose from her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of Tristan and Garfield.
"Ah, yes. Them," she murmured with faint recognition.
Amelia crossed her arms, her expression sharpening with disapproval. "Don't tell me you've forgotten them already?"
Sylvia let out a gentle, amused chuckle and returned to her desk with measured grace. Once seated again, she replied smoothly, "I could never forget those who exhibit such promising potential. I welcome you both—Tristan Merigold and Garfield Frutia. And, of course, you as well, Synthia."
Synthia and Garfield offered respectful bows. Tristan, however, remained still, his eyes subtly narrowing. He could feel it again—that same unsettling, formidable presence emanating from Sylvia. It was like standing before a coiled serpent—massive, ancient, unmoving. Not out of mercy, but because ants were beneath its notice.
"You may all sit," Sylvia instructed, gesturing toward the two sleek black leather couches flanking either side of the room, separated by a modest gap. "However, my primary conversation will be with Tristan and Garfield."
The four took their seats, their attention fixed intently on the Headmaster.
"Now that we're all comfortable, let's begin," Sylvia said, her tone shifting to something colder, graver. "I brought you two here because, unlike the others, you haven't yet been corrupted by the Academy."
Tristan raised an eyebrow, his ever-confused expression deepening. "What do you mean… 'corrupted by the Academy'?"
"Allow me to explain," she said. "Lately, strange occurrences have plagued these walls. Students have gone missing. Some have fallen inexplicably ill. I don't yet know the full extent of the rot within this institution—but I suspect you two might help uncover it."
"Why us?" Tristan asked, his voice edged with skepticism. "Is it wise to place such weighty responsibilities upon the shoulders of lesser bloods?"
"It is because you are of lesser blood that I've chosen you," Sylvia replied without hesitation. "I have reason to believe the Disciplinary Committee is behind these events… and they're all nobles."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the gravity of her words sank in. The group exchanged stunned, uncertain glances.
"But… what are these suspicions based on?" Garfield asked cautiously.
Sylvia rose once more and moved behind her desk. She pulled open a drawer, retrieving a bundle of papers, each bearing the photograph of a student.
"Who are they?" Tristan asked as she spread the images across her desk.
"These are the victims. Fifteen students have vanished. Five have fallen sick. Of the twenty, only three were nobles."
Tristan and Garfield stood and approached the desk, scanning the images with solemn curiosity.
"But nobles were affected as well, why would the culprits harm their own?" Garfield asked, holding one of the photos closer to his face.
"To deflect suspicion," Tristan answered before Sylvia could. "If a few nobles suffer, the blame shifts away from them entirely. People would sooner suspect someone from the Lower Districts for the state a noble is in rather than a the perfect nobles."
Sylvia nodded slowly. "Exactly."
"But why assume it's the Disciplinary Committee? It could be any group of nobles," Garfield suggested.
"Because, according to multiple witnesses, each of the victims met with at least one member of the Committee shortly before falling ill or disappearing," Sylvia replied, her tone firm as she sat back in her chair.
Amelia looked ready to interject but held her tongue, realizing this business was not hers to meddle in. Tristan studied the images for a moment longer, then turned to face the Headmaster.
"Apologies, but I don't do anything unless I'm compensated well," he said coldly. "So, I'll have to decline."
Garfield turned to him, visibly alarmed, confusion and concern etched across his features. "Brother, we have to help."
"No," Tristan replied, his eyes hard and unmoving. "You have to help. I don't have to do anything."
Sylvia cleared her throat gently, silencing the tension. "There's no need for dramatics. You will be compensated—handsomely, if you succeed. But only after the task is complete."
A faint smirk crept across Tristan's face, like a blade unsheathing just slightly. "Now we're speaking the same language. When do we start?"
Amelia sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead. "You're deplorable."
Garfield, though perturbed, smiled slightly, comforted by the fact that, in the end, his brother was willing to act—even if bribery was the catalyst.
"So how are we supposed to join the Disciplinary Committee?" Garfield asked, turning to Sylvia. "They're not just going to let us in."
"Leave that to me," she said. "I will handle your entry. All you need to do is get close enough—earn their trust, learn their secrets. Or, if you prefer, observe from a distance. Watch their every move. The approach is yours to choose. Just uncover the truth."
Tristan nodded. "Understood. Is that all?"
Sylvia paused for a moment, then remembered one last detail. Reaching into a drawer, she withdrew two small wooden plaques and handed them to the boys.
They examined the plaques with mild confusion.
"These are your dormitory identifiers," she explained. "They grant you access to the boys' residence halls. That will be your home for the duration of the academic year."
"Oh," the boys said in unison.
Sylvia drew a deep, steady breath, then smiled faintly. "With that, our meeting is concluded. I officially welcome you to Constella Academy."