The lanterns had been lit at sunset, casting the academy in hues of honeyed gold and dusky rose. Colorful paper banners swayed gently above the courtyard, trembling with every breeze that passed. Music drifted on the air—bright flute trills over the steady beat of drum and bell—as students wove in and out of stalls, laughter trailing behind them.
Elias adjusted his collar for the third time and stared down at the melted smear of frosting on his sleeve. Courtesy of Theo's "experimental eclair." Courtesy, also, of Theo's elbows.
Somewhere beyond the crowd, a student in a feathered hat juggled enchanted fruit while another—possibly enchanted himself—sang a ballad about soup. Elias only half-listened. His gaze kept darting back to the performance platform.
She hadn't come out yet.
"She's not going to do it," Theo said beside him, slurping on a bright pink drink. "You know that, right? Revantra. She hates crowds. Hates attention. Hates sparkly things unless she's setting them on fire. Which she may do tonight if someone hands her a tambourine."
"She said she'd think about it," Elias replied, more to himself than anyone else. "That's not a no."
Theo gave him a look. "That's not a yes either. That's a 'maybe if I'm feeling unusually merciful toward humanity and my mood isn't cursed by bad cafeteria pudding.' Which, tonight, it is."
But Elias had seen something in her eyes earlier that day—something that hadn't been there before. Not just hesitation. Not dread. But something deeper. Yearning, maybe. Fear tangled up in hope.
He turned toward the edge of the crowd just in time to see the sea of bodies subtly shift.
She was coming.
Revantra stepped into the light, alone.
No guards. No fanfare. Just her—barefoot on the warm stone tiles, a thin crimson ribbon wound loosely around her waist, tying together a layered wrap of deep black and flame-orange silk that shimmered like dying embers. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a braid that glinted faintly with charm-thread. She wasn't smiling. Her chin was lifted, proud—but there was something cautious in her steps, something unspoken flickering behind her eyes.
As she crossed the stage, the chatter dimmed. One by one, the crowd hushed, like an invisible hand had pressed on every shoulder.
Elias could barely breathe.
She turned once, facing them.
The music paused.
And then, slowly, it began again—soft and haunting, a melody that didn't come from the courtyard band, but from the air itself. A spell-triggered harmony. Elias recognized it. The same song she'd danced to before. But this time, it sounded... older. Sadder.
And then she moved.
Her arms unfolded first—smooth, precise, but fluid, like water over polished stone. Her hips followed, rhythm building with the rise and fall of her steps. There was no flourish. No theatrical magic. Just her. The girl who had once been a queen, who had once burned kingdoms beneath her heel.
But this was not that Revantra.
This one wasn't performing power. She was performing change.
Each turn was deliberate. Her gestures never grand, but full of control and quiet strength. Her skirt flared when she spun, catching the golden light. Her bare feet skimmed the stones, every movement unbroken, unafraid. The crowd didn't cheer. Not yet. They watched. Silent. Captivated.
Elias's heart pounded as he watched her become something he didn't quite have words for. She was still the demon queen reborn, yes. But also something new. Someone younger, unsure, becoming herself again—without fire and rage, but with grace, with vulnerability, with purpose.
And then, as the music neared its end, she turned one last time toward him.
And for the briefest moment—
She winked.
It was quick. Subtle. Maybe accidental. But unmistakable.
Elias froze. So did his breath.
Somewhere to his left, Theo sputtered violently and dropped his drink. It hit the stone with a splat. A chorus of yelps followed. Elias didn't notice.
He stared.
Revantra's expression flickered the moment the music ended. The final note faded, and her stillness was immediate. For half a second, she seemed to realize what she'd done. Her eyes widened a fraction.
The crowd erupted.
Cheers broke out. Applause thundered. Some of the students began chanting her name—softly at first, then louder. "Revantra! Revantra!"
But she wasn't looking at them.
She was looking at Elias. Still frozen. Still speechless.
Her face flushed in real time.
And then she turned and bolted.
He found her at the koi pond ten minutes later, seated at the edge of the stone circle, knees pulled up to her chest, her sandals tossed carelessly beside her.
"You saw that, didn't you?" she said before he could even open his mouth.
He eased down beside her. "The wink?"
"It wasn't a wink!" she hissed, burying her face in her hands. "It was a twitch! A speck of ash hit my eye or something!"
"Your face twitching looks very... expressive," he said, failing to suppress a smile.
She peeked through her fingers. "Stop."
"I'm just saying, it was a good wink. If it was a wink."
"It wasn't."
"Right."
Pause.
"...But if it was, it was well-timed."
She groaned and rolled onto her side with the drama of a falling log, curling up on the cool stone.
"Everyone probably thinks I confessed."
"Probably not."
"They definitely do."
Elias laughed, quietly, and lay back beside her. The sky above was streaked with smoke trails from lanterns and fireworks. He could still feel the energy of her dance humming in his chest like leftover lightning.
"You were incredible, you know," he said softly.
She didn't reply immediately.
Then: "I was scared."
"I know."
"I thought if I danced again, they'd look at me and see the monster. That they'd remember what I used to be. What I could still become."
He turned his head toward her. She was watching the stars, her brows drawn together in something between confusion and longing.
"But they didn't," she said quietly. "Not tonight. They clapped. They chanted my name. They... saw me. And it wasn't fear."
"It was awe."
She didn't smile. But the corners of her mouth softened.
"They won't always see you that way," Elias continued, careful. "Not everyone will understand. But the ones who matter? They'll keep watching. Keep clapping. Keep reminding you that you're not alone in it."
Her voice dropped. "Even if I wink at you by accident?"
"Especially then."
Silence lapped between them like pond water. Gentle. Comfortable. And just as he thought she'd drift off into thought again, she surprised him.
"I'm not ready," she said.
"For what?"
"For anything. For what it means if I keep growing up like this. For how weird it gets in my head every time I'm near you. For what I'm feeling that I don't have the vocabulary for."
He turned onto his side, resting his chin in his hand.
"I'm not ready either," he admitted. "But I'm here. And I'll stay here. We don't have to rush anything."
Her eyes found his. So many emotions moved through her gaze, like leaves on water—fear, affection, confusion, and something that might've been relief.
"I don't want to become the old me again," she whispered. "I want to be this. The girl who danced."
"Then be her."
She hesitated.
And then, very gently, she reached out and hooked her pinky with his.
Just that.
No grand declarations. No flames. No drama.
Just a promise.
And it was enough.
To be continued…