It started, as these things so often did, with a pompous noble who simply couldn't mind his own business.
Sir Bellanthyr du Vaux-Asterleigh—yes, that was his real name, and yes, he insisted on saying it all in one breath—stood in the middle of the academy's central courtyard with a face so flushed it looked like someone had set his pride on fire.
"I demand a formal investigation!" he cried, pointing dramatically at Revantra, who had just come out of the lecture hall, arms full of borrowed books and crumbs on her shirt from the muffin she'd inhaled two minutes ago.
She blinked. "Hi?"
"Do not 'hi' me, young lady! You—you are a fraud!"
The courtyard stilled. A few first-years stopped practicing illusion glyphs. A flock of girls on their way to charm-casting paused mid-whisper. Even a passing professor discreetly slowed to eavesdrop.
Revantra glanced at Elias, who stood beside her, balancing a stack of healing herb guides and looking deeply, spiritually tired.
"What did I do this time?" she asked under her breath.
"You scored a perfect spell-formation sequence on the elemental logic exam," Elias muttered. "Only three people in the last fifty years have done that."
She frowned. "But I studied."
"You did. The problem is that Bellanthyr has been bragging since orientation that he would be the fourth."
"Oh."
Bellanthyr threw his velvet cape over his shoulder with a flourish that would've made a peacock blush.
"I will not stand by while some back-alley scholarship peasant undermines this institution!"
Revantra winced. "Okay, wow. That's not even coded."
"And so!" Bellanthyr continued, raising his voice, "By the traditions of noble lineage and academic honor, I challenge you, Revantra of Unknown Provenance, to a duel!"
A collective gasp rippled through the students.
Theo, who'd just arrived with a bag of candied chestnuts, immediately turned on his heel and walked the other way. "Nope. Not again."
The duel was set for high noon.
Apparently, that was the traditional time for rich kids to get publicly embarrassed.
The courtyard was cleared, professors stood at the edges pretending not to be invested, and someone had even set up betting slips behind the alchemy lab.
Elias sat on the grass, nervously fiddling with his sleeve hem. "You don't have to go through with this."
Revantra, now dressed in regulation dueling robes and stretching her arms, raised an eyebrow. "He called me a back-alley scholarship peasant."
"Yeah, but you know what he meant."
"I do. Which is why I'm going to roast his honor like a marshmallow."
"I just don't want you to get in trouble."
She gave him a lopsided grin. "I won't. I'll be good."
"…Define good."
Bellanthyr stood at the other end of the courtyard like a gilded statue, his family crest stitched across his chest and his staff tipped with a crystal that pulsed slightly—either with magical charge or overcompensation. His second, a lanky boy with the posture of a frightened giraffe, read out the formal declarations.
"This duel is sanctioned under Article Twelve of Academic Resolution Traditions," he squeaked. "The terms are—no permanent damage, no summoning creatures larger than a carriage, and no collapsing school property."
Revantra raised her hand. "Quick question—if I accidentally set his sleeves on fire, does that count as permanent damage?"
The giraffe-boy blanched. "Er. Um."
Bellanthyr sneered. "Typical. Already joking. You will regret mocking nobility, you little—"
"Begin!" the referee shouted.
Bellanthyr went first.
His spell formed in the air with speed and flair: five golden glyphs spiraling in a complex orbit, drawing heat from the air into a focused fire lance aimed straight at Revantra's torso.
He smirked. "Let's see you counter this!"
Revantra tilted her head.
She raised a single finger.
And snapped.
The lance unraveled midair. Not shattered—unraveled. Glyphs bent the wrong way, symmetry folded into asymmetry, and the magic burst into harmless sparkles that fizzled against her outstretched palm.
The entire courtyard went silent.
Revantra stepped forward. "Was that supposed to be threatening?"
Bellanthyr stumbled back. "You—you cheated! That was a spell disruptor glyph! How do you know that?"
She reached into her robe.
He flinched.
She pulled out a cookie. "Snickerdoodle?"
He stared at her, utterly betrayed.
"No hard feelings," she said sweetly, offering the cookie. "But maybe next time, don't insult someone you don't understand."
Bellanthyr slapped the cookie away.
Revantra's eyes narrowed. "Wrong move."
She twirled her fingers.
A harmless gust of heat curled around Bellanthyr's ankles. His trousers caught the wind just right—and fluttered upward, briefly revealing an unfortunate choice of dragon-print underpants.
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
Even the referees didn't bother hiding their grins.
Bellanthyr ran off red-faced and muttering something about "ancestral vengeance" and "snickerdoodle sabotage."
Revantra turned back to Elias, brushing imaginary dust from her robe. "Did I go too far?"
He blinked. "I think you showed incredible restraint."
"Should I have set his shoes on fire?"
"…No."
"But it would've been funny."
He sighed. "You're impossible."
"And yet here you are."
That night, the academy was abuzz.
Rumors flew faster than enchanted pigeons.
"Did you see the way she unraveled his spell?"
"I heard she's a royal from a fallen demon kingdom."
"No, no, she's the reincarnation of a flame goddess, exiled by her own court!"
"Actually," Theo announced, mouth full of chestnuts, "she's just very good at cookies and very bad at subtlety."
Someone turned to him. "Do you know who she really is?"
He shrugged. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Back in their dorm, Revantra curled on the window bench with a blanket over her shoulders and a warm cup of tea in hand. She'd refused to let Elias patch up the tiny singe on her robe.
"I want to remember it," she'd said. "The day I beat up a noble and gave him a cookie."
Elias sat across from her, cross-legged, watching the way the moonlight caught in her hair.
"You didn't have to be that calm," he said quietly.
She looked up.
"When he insulted you. You could've… lashed out. Like before."
She shrugged. "I was angry."
"But you didn't lose control."
"No," she agreed softly. "I didn't."
He hesitated. "How did you stay so… together?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then, she said, "Because you were watching."
He blinked.
"I didn't want you to see that old version of me," she said. "The one that would've melted his shoes and half the courtyard."
"I wouldn't have judged you."
"But I'd have judged myself."
She set her cup down, expression thoughtful. "Every time I get angry now, I remember what it felt like to burn cities. And I think—what if I never stop?"
Elias stood.
He crossed the room, sat beside her on the bench, and took her hand in his.
"I think you already have," he said. "I think every choice you make not to be her… that's you becoming someone new."
Revantra swallowed.
"Even if that new person still thinks exploding soup is a love language."
She laughed, softly.
"I like her," Elias added. "The you you are now."
Revantra turned her face toward him.
She didn't speak. But her hand tightened around his.
Outside, the stars twinkled over a city full of rumors and fire-touched nobles.
And inside, a girl who used to be a queen leaned a little closer to the boy who had made her want to be anything else.
To be continued…