End of class. Aya barely had time to close her notebook when the teacher waved his hand, conjuring a list that began to glow with names. Hers came up first. She wasn't even surprised.
– Aya Li, – the teacher, pale-eyed and with a voice like an old radio, stopped by her desk.
– Stay after class. Consultation.
– About which subject? – she asked carefully.
– About you.
Great.
Aya stayed. The others left. He led her to an armchair by the bookshelf and handed her a steaming cup.
– Not coffee, by the way, – he warned immediately. – Focus blend. You'll need it.
She sat, pretended to sip. The drink smelled like incense, chalk, and something… like stewed moss.
– Is there something you wanted to discuss?
He nodded. Slowly. Like an owl spotting a mouse.
– You're an interesting case, Aya Li. Energetic reactions without conscious activation. The auras around you are unstable. It's intriguing.
– Sorry, – she grimaced, – my backstory is mostly just blank. My mythology ends with the hobbits, and that's only from my dad's retellings.
He looked at her, steady.
– You don't have a hobbit aura. But you do have… something else. We'll meet once a week. Just for observation.
– Or to make sure I don't explode?
– Exactly. But politely.
Aya nodded in silence. Got up.
As she left, she muttered under her breath:
– That's it. Registered. Conditionally explosive. Conditionally human.
And louder:
– At least they didn't summon me to the dean with incense. That's a plus.
Mirael burst into the hallway like Aya had just returned from a secret date with the anti-magic prosecutor.
– Well?.. Well?!
Aya only reacted after the third prompt.
– What?
– They asked you to stay after class! That sounds like punishment... or the start of an episode rated 18+! Who was it? What did they say? Are you alive? Did they take blood?
– Just a consultation. With tea. And suspicions.
– Suspicions? Tea?! Classic! "Let's just talk…" and three cups later you're on the cursed artifact list!
– He said my aura was unstable, – Aya replied dryly, clutching her bag strap. – That I was "interesting to watch."
– Well, they're not wrong, – Mirael was walking beside her, picking up her skirt hem so she wouldn't trip. – I watch you too. And honestly, you're visually unstable in a good way.
Aya rolled her eyes.
– It's just observation. They don't know who I am. I don't know who I am. Fair enough.
– Fair is when you tell me! We're a potential chronicle duo, don't forget!
They turned toward the lecture hall. The corridor was buzzing – someone upstairs was clearly testing a new spell or arguing with a portal.
And right on cue, Levana was coming their way.
She looked like she'd just stepped off a magazine cover: hair perfectly straight, every step measured, blouse sparkling white. Only a faint scratch on her cheek hinted that this story once involved the sound of a slap.
Seeing Aya, she slowed, narrowed her eyes.
– Well, look at that. Still not expelled. What are you now, the special one with private sessions?
– Yup, – Aya shot back, voice dry as sandpaper. – Every Tuesday: hereditary suspicion. Thursdays: trying not to burn out from moss tea.
Levana pressed her lips into a sugary smile.
– Don't worry. People like you always get exposed sooner or later. That's why you go through all the drills. Not because we're cruel. Because you're unpredictable.
– And you're predictable? Slap, manicure, and a look from the podium?
Levana exhaled through her nose. Her entourage hovered behind, waiting for drama.
– There's just no other way with you, – she said. – You're dangerous. If the teachers can't see that, at least we're honest about it.
– Honesty? Like the way you kept your mouth shut out of fear?
– I'm allowed to defend my honor, – Levana almost hissed.
– No, – Aya nodded. – You're just someone nobody touches, even if you strike first.
Remembering her audience, Levana whirled on Mirael.
– And you're still with her? Waiting for the carpet to catch fire under your feet?
– I… – Mirael tried to stand up straight. – She's… not like that. You just don't get it. She—
– Oh, little chick, – one of the girls in back interrupted. – What's with the wide eyes? Close your beak before you lose a feather.
– Or do you want us to help you grow "real" wings? – the other sneered, eyeing Mirael's claws.
Mirael flinched. Words stuck somewhere deep in her throat. She shrank in on herself, hugging her arms, but her eyes – neon-yellow sparks – still clung to the conversation.
– She… – Mirael whispered, – she just wants to figure out where she fits. That's not a crime…
Levana laughed. Sharp, clipped.
– Depends who you ask.
Aya stepped forward. Close.
– Still haven't realized your shiny surface doesn't protect you from the truth? You're not strong. You're just first in line until the system picks a new favorite.
Levana froze. No answer. Just turned away, and her girls followed, whispering, smirking like they'd won.
Aya turned to Mirael.
– Hey. You okay?
She nodded, forced a smile, but tears were brimming.
– It's just… I thought, for once, I wouldn't be background filler.
Aya sighed. Held out a hand.
– Come on. Next class is…?
– Comparative demonology. Classic.
– At least there no one will say I burned the teacher. Not out loud, anyway.
Mirael snorted and sniffled at the same time. Walked next to Aya, a little closer than usual. Aya didn't pull away.
—
Next lesson, Aya sat in the very back. Boiling.
Her hands shook, not from fear, but anger. Enough anger to carve cracks in the floor. She didn't write, didn't listen. Just stared at the board, as if she could burn it through with her eyes.
Mirael didn't come. After the scene, she said she "needed to process," like her stomach couldn't digest reality. Aya understood. But it didn't make her less angry.
Process? Am I supposed to just swallow this?
The lesson was on "thin layers of reality junctions." It sounded like a joke. Especially when the lamps started flickering.
First one. Then another. The teacher glanced up and kept going, as if nothing was wrong.
But students' books started turning their own pages. Ink ran. Someone yelped – smoke drifted out from under a desk.
The teacher stopped. Turned toward Aya.
She sat, still as ever. Seemingly calm. But the air around her was vibrating. The space itself felt tense. A heat radiated from her, not literal, but like from a boiler about to blow.
– Aya Li, – the teacher said carefully. – Are you alright?
She raised her eyes. Slowly.
– What do you think?
The answer was soft. But it sent a chill through the room.
The teacher swallowed. He clearly knew not to push. Not now.
Aya stood up in silence. Everything went quiet. The lights brightened. Pages stopped moving. Someone exhaled. She walked to the door. The teacher seemed to want to say something – but couldn't.
Aya left. The hallway was cool. But she left a trail behind. Not magical, not visible. Just the sense that someone had walked through the academy that everyone had forgotten… but shouldn't have.
The class ended. Aya sat crouched in the corridor, as if afraid that standing up would blow the whole place apart. Her fists were clenched so tightly her nails left half-moons on her palms.
When the door cracked open and Levana appeared, looking like she'd just come off a magical morning show, Aya stood.
And walked.
– …what, the psycho decided to— – Levana started, but didn't finish.
Aya grabbed her arm. No warning. Hard, fast, like a clamp. Levana squealed, tried to pull away, but Aya didn't let go. She dragged her down the hall, not looking back. Like someone was pushing from the inside. Like fire under her skin was only getting hotter.
– What the hell are you doing?! – Levana tried to wrench free. – Let go, you freak!
Aya stayed silent.
The flagstones beneath their feet cracked in thin lines. The air buzzed. The lights started pulsing, slow, ominous. One by one, students, teachers, random passersby stepped aside. In silence.
Levana hissed. Her delicate hands were suddenly claws. Her eyes went vertical, reptilian. Hair curled, skin took on a metallic sheen.
Lamia.
– Let go, I said! – She dug her claws into Aya's wrist, leaving bloody streaks.
Aya didn't stop. She dragged her outside, onto the dew-wet grass, and let go.
Or rather, threw her.
Levana flew a couple of meters and hit the grass with a dull thud. There was a rumble, not heard but felt under the skin.
Aya stood, breathing hard. Her eyes blazed with light rather than color. The wounds on her arms... were closing. Flesh that should have bled, stitched together. Fast. Silent.
– That's how you look without your glossy mask, – Aya rasped. – Small, hysterical, stuck-up little lizard.
Levana pushed herself up, hissing, panic finally replacing anger. For the first time, she realized she was no longer in control.
– You think people will pity you? – she spat. – You're a glitch. A mistake. Corrupted. Freaks like you don't last long.
Aya stepped forward. The grass underfoot darkened, as if scorched.
– And freaks like you don't rule for long. Get used to it.
The air crackled. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Aya and Levana stood facing each other. No meters between them – just hate. Sharp as a blade. Only hate.
A half-circle formed. Students, teachers, even a couple of senior curators. Some with phones, some just staring in disbelief. But no one stepped in. Yet.
– You think you're strong just because someone looked at you with interest? – Levana snapped her fingers. Skin flashed metallic. A heavy, muscled tail whipped out behind her, claws extended. – You were nobody. You'll stay nobody.
– Heard that before, – Aya's voice was cold. Not loud. Not threatening. Just lethal honesty. – From people like you. Who think their status is armor, and other people's pain is just statistics.
Levana lunged first. Lashed out with her tail, claws aiming for Aya's face. Aya dodged, dropped, rolled, struck. Palm to the torso. Not magic. Just strength.
Levana flew backward. Silence. Then she snarled and came again.
– You don't understand where you are! Everyone here's descended from something great. You're a glitch. A draft they forgot to burn.
Aya caught an elbow, rolled on the grass, got up with a split lip and laughed. Low. Grim. A little wild.
– Then burn me. At least I'll die without bowing.
Levana charged. Scratched Aya's ribs – hot, real blood. Aya didn't flinch – punched back, fist to jaw. Levana hit the ground. Again.
Someone in the crowd yelled:
– Stop! What are you doing?!
But they didn't hear. Neither Aya nor Levana. They heard only each other. Nothing else.
– You're pushing where you're not wanted. – Levana wiped blood from her lips. – And you know why they haven't dealt with you? Because you're too pathetic. Not even dangerous. Just... useless.
Aya walked forward. Her eyes flashed. But everyone stepped back. Even the teachers.
– You feel I'm useless? Really? – She walked slowly. The grass hissed beneath her feet. – I feel something else. I feel something ancient shiver inside you. I feel you're scared your shine is just lacquer, and if anyone drags you through the mud, it'll flake off.
– I'm not scared. – Levana exhaled smoke. Magic shimmered over her skin. – I was born higher.
– No, you just shout the loudest so no one notices how lonely you are.
Flash. Instant. Threads of light flickered across Aya's palms – dark, tinged with ash. Not fire. Not lightning. Something... wrong and familiar. It vanished as suddenly as it came.
Levana froze.
– What are you... who are you?..
– Someone who's done tolerating you.
And then they both moved.
Collided.
Claws across the cheek. Elbow to the side. Knee to the chest. No training, no textbook moves. Just rage. Truth. From a throat that's been silent too long.
– Stop! – one of the senior mentors finally intervened. – Now!
But it was too late.
Aya raised her hand as if to strike, and the air exploded. Not a blast, but a flare. The world jerked. Space twisted, just a fraction. Levana flew, but didn't fall – she hung suspended, as if someone pressed pause. Everything froze.
Aya stood, breathing hard. Sweat. Blood. Torn uniform. Gash on her cheek. And something... inhuman in her posture, her stance, the way she stared.
No one applauded. No one laughed. They just watched.
And only one voice, from the edge of the crowd, whispered:
– That… can't be.
The magic teacher dropped his amulet. The genealogy instructor covered her mouth. One of the curators just turned and left.
Kaiden stood a few steps away. He didn't approach. But he didn't look away.
Aya, still trembling, wiped her mouth.
– Who's the mistake now?
She turned and walked off. No explanations. No triumph.
And Levana lay in the grass. Not defeated – just lost, not understanding what had just happened to her.