The air had been cooler for a few days already. Autumn, timid at first, had settled in for good on the island of Agnos. The campus gardens were adorned with brown and golden leaves, and the winds carried that singular scent of rain mixed with sea salt. In the distance, the lighthouse of the city of Erana could be made out through the mist. The change of season had been felt even in the dormitories.

  That morning, Arimélia walked with a calm step down the dormitory corridor, a book held tight against her. The luminous spheres cast a gentle light, still tinged with blue. She stopped in front of a door and knocked softly.

  — Princess, it’s me. It’s time.

  No answer. She knocked again, a little harder. A faint sound answered her, barely audible. Intrigued, Arimélia pushed the door ajar.

  The room was bathed in a muted dawn light. The curtains, drawn halfway, let golden reflections fall over the blankets. Sylaria was still in bed, eyes closed, her features tired. Her face, usually animated by a gentle liveliness, looked paler than usual.

  — Princess…? Arimélia called softly.

  The young girl stirred slightly before opening her eyes. Her gaze seemed clouded, weighted by fever.

  — Arimélia… sorry, I think I didn’t wake up.

  The half-dragon stepped closer and placed a hand on her forehead. The heat made her frown.

  — You’re burning up. You must have caught a chill.

  — The wind turned last night, Sylaria replied in a voice that was almost extinguished. I just wanted to enjoy the garden before the rain.

  Arimélia sighed, half reproachful, half worried. She set her book on the table and pulled the blanket to help her sit up.

  — You shouldn’t stay alone like this. I’m taking you to the infirmary.

  — It’s nothing, I’ll get up slowly.

  But when she tried to sit up, Sylaria lost her balance and fell back onto the pillow, eyes half-closed. Arimélia caught her at once.

  — Don’t move. Let me do it.

  She took the wool cloak draped over the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sylaria’s skin was icy despite the fever. Arimélia also tied a scarf around her neck before helping her to her feet. The princess obeyed without protesting, exhausted.

  They left the room together. In the corridor, the air felt even sharper. A few students were already passing by, arms full of books, and greeted them politely. Arimélia, as always, remained discreet, supporting the young girl gently without drawing attention.

  They crossed the main hall before reaching the Great Library. Once inside, they headed straight for the infirmary.

  Arimélia knocked twice.

  — Come in, answered a soft, masculine voice.

  She opened the door and guided Sylaria inside.

  An orange light filled the room with comforting warmth. A gentle scent of lavender and dried herbs floated in the air.

  — What can I do for you? asked Quevdorl in his composed voice, finishing the treatment of a sick student.

  Arimélia turned her head toward him.

  — The princess hasn’t been feeling well since this morning. She has a fever, she explained.

  The dark elf nodded and stood at once.

  — Sit her here.

  He helped her sit on a bed near the bay window. With a calm gesture, he took her temperature, observed the tint of her eyes for a moment, then prepared an infusion. Warm water mixed with meadowsweet flowers released a fresh, soothing aroma.

  — She needs to rest today. It’s nothing serious, but the fatigue and the season’s dampness didn’t help, he said kindly.

  Arimélia nodded.

  — I’ll bring her notes tonight.

  The healer gave her a discreet smile.

  — Do that. She’ll be fine here.

  Sylaria tried to return his smile, but her eyes were already closing. She held Arimélia’s hand for a moment.

  — Thank you. I’m sorry…

  — You don’t have to be. Rest a little, Arimélia replied gently.

  The young girl pulled the blanket up to her chin and watched her doze off for a few moments. The calm of the room reassured her. The dark elf, bent over his herbs, gently crushed petals in a mortar. The steady sound of the pestle was soothing.

  Arimélia finally bowed politely, then left the room without a sound. Through the Great Library’s windows, she saw trees shaken by the wind and leaves spiraling down into the paths. She inhaled deeply. The air smelled of rain and stone.

  Sylaria would be in good hands.

  All that remained was to reach the dining hall, her notebook pressed against her, determined to live the day in Sylaria’s stead.

  Outside, the sky had cleared. A thin mist slid over the gardens, brushing stone benches and paved walkways. She crossed the central courtyard in silence, enjoying that suspended moment before the day’s bustle. Students’ voices rose little by little, paced by hurried steps and the rustle of cloaks. Some were already laughing; others recited yesterday’s lessons under their breath.

  The dining hall’s great door opened at regular intervals, letting out the smell of warm bread and candied fruit. Arimélia slipped inside in turn.

  The interior was vast, lit by tall windows that let in the pale morning light. The tables, arranged in long rows, already held several groups of students. Bowls of porridge, slices of buttered bread, and autumn fruit were being served. The atmosphere was calm yet lively, made of muffled laughter and morning conversations.

  Arimélia took a tray, poured herself some tea and a slice of apple tart. Looking for a place, she spotted Loyd sitting at a table near the large windows. Elwyn and Nahira were with him. The three of them were talking quietly.

  She approached.

  — Good morning, she said softly.

  Loyd looked up and offered her a sincere smile.

  — Morning. You’re pretty late today.

  Elwyn lifted his eyes from his cup and dipped his head slightly in greeting. Nahira, seated beside him, tapped the open seat next to her.

  — Come sit. There’s blackberry jam left—it’s delicious.

  Arimélia sat down, setting her tray down without a sound.

  — Princess Sylaria fell ill during the night. I took her to the infirmary before coming here, she explained.

  Nahira stopped stirring her tea, her gaze darkening slightly.

  — Not surprising. The air’s gotten colder over the last two days. She’s sensitive to seasonal changes.

  — It’s nothing serious. Healer Quevdorl thinks it’s just a chill. She should be better tomorrow.

  Elwyn nodded calmly.

  — That’s reassuring. He’ll take good care of her.

  — Yes. She can sleep peacefully, Arimélia replied.

  A short silence settled, broken only by the discreet sound of cutlery and the room’s ambient murmur. The scent of toasted bread mingled with fruit. Morning light filtered through the glass, brushing their faces with a golden clarity.

  Nahira broke the silence.

  — We’ll bring her something sweet tonight. She likes pastries when she’s recovering from a fever.

  Loyd smiled.

  — We’ll just save her a slice of tart. Elwyn, you’ll be our messenger.

  Elwyn raised an eyebrow.

  — Why me?

  — Because you’re never sick, even after standing in the rain for a while, Nahira replied, amused.

  — It’s just that I dried off and warmed up properly afterward.

  A light laugh went around the table, dispersing the worry. Even Arimélia let herself fall into a faint smile. The atmosphere grew peaceful again, punctuated by the bells that rang for the first class.

  Loyd set down his cup.

  — Shall we go?

  — Yes. I’ll take notes for Sylaria, Arimélia replied.

  Elwyn stood as well.

  — Thank you—for her. She’d hate to miss a class.

  — It’s having to catch up that’d be the real problem for her, Loyd replied.

  Nahira slipped between them, adjusting her coat.

  — So we’re counting on you, Arimélia. If you want, I’ll help you copy everything neatly tonight.

  — That would be kind, the half-dragon replied.

  They left the dining hall together. In the corridor, voices echoed against the stone walls. The stained glass let in a soft, almost golden light that bathed their steps in a fragile quiet.

  As they climbed the stairs, Arimélia’s composure cracked imperceptibly. She felt a shiver run along her spine, not knowing whether it came from the cold or from intuition.

  In front of the classroom, students were already filing in by small groups. Chairs scraped the floor; the smell of ink and paper filled the room. Arimélia took her usual seat. She laid out her things, carefully arranged her notebook, and lifted her eyes to the door. Prince Lorian had just walked in, followed by his two companions, Sarra and Linhart. His gaze passed over her—apparently indifferent—yet something in his smile made her look away.

  The day had barely begun. And yet the silence she felt within herself already looked like worry.

  The first hour of class was devoted to mastery of the pen. The room, vast and lit by tall windows, smelled of wax, ink, and freshly cut paper. On each desk were an inkwell, a quill, and an exercise booklet. The sound of quills on paper formed a steady murmur, like fine rain.

  Arimélia wrote with care. Her hand moved in a supple, measured motion, shaping each letter precisely. Her writing, usually fluid, had grown more nervous that morning. She still felt the fatigue of waking early, and the faint worry of leaving Sylaria in the infirmary.

  Professor Sylvia walked slowly between the rows, correcting a capital letter here, a turn of phrase there. Her low voice carried a quiet authority.

  — Mind your punctuation. The right words aren’t enough. They have to breathe, she said.

  Arimélia continued without lifting her head. Around her, the students stayed focused. Only the rustle of wind against the windows disturbed the silence.

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  When the mid-lesson bell rang, Sylvia set her quill on her desk.

  — I have to step out for a few moments. Finish your paragraph until I return. Don’t forget to close the inkwells before leaving the room.

  She left, quickly followed by some of the students.

  The room emptied. Some went out to stretch their legs and relax their cramped fingers; others stayed to talk in low voices near the windows. In a few minutes, the class had lost nearly half its occupants.

  Arimélia stayed seated. She liked these moments between silences, when you could hear rain tapping at the glass. She picked up her quill and corrected a sentence.

  Loyd, sitting behind her, finished his text before slowly packing his things away.

  At the back of the room, Prince Lorian had stood up. His posture was straight, his expression calm. In his hands he held a large pot of dark ink he had just taken from the supply cabinet.

  — I’ll refill the inkwells for those who left. It’d be a shame if they came back dry, he announced in a pleasant tone.

  No one answered, but his two attendants exchanged a discreet smile.

  Arimélia kept working without looking up. She heard, vaguely, the sound of the prince’s steps behind her, the soft slosh of liquid in the pot. The smell of ink grew stronger, almost metallic.

  Then a sudden sound shattered the quiet.

  The pot slipped from the prince’s hands and tipped completely over her.

  The black liquid splashed over the top of her head before streaming down her hair, her face, and the collar of her uniform. The shock was followed by an immediate silence. Ink ran to her shoulders—thick and cold—then fell in dark drops onto the stone floor.

  Arimélia froze.

  — By the Seven Springs. I… I’m sorry. It slipped out of my hands, Lorian exclaimed in a falsely panicked tone.

  He took a step back, wiping his fingers with a white cloth he pulled from his pocket at once. His movements looked hurried, but his cerulean eyes remained strangely calm.

  — I only wanted to help. Those pots are heavy, he went on.

  A few students had stood, stunned. Loyd, rising as well, stepped forward without hesitation.

  — You could’ve been careful, he shouted, anger barely contained.

  — It’s not my fault. Do you really think I did that on purpose?

  Arimélia slowly lifted her eyes to him. Ink was still running down her cheek, tracing the line of her neck. She blinked to keep it from her mouth. Her whole body trembled, but when she spoke, her voice stayed strangely calm.

  — It’s fine, Loyd. It’s nothing.

  She wiped her face with her sleeve, but the black smear only spread the stain across the violet fabric already soaked through.

  Lorian stepped toward her, feigning contrition. His voice dropped, so soft only she could hear it.

  — You don’t belong here. These walls weren’t made for creatures like you. Leave. Now.

  His words ran colder than the ink on her skin.

  Arimélia remained motionless. A dull heat flooded her chest, but she didn’t answer. She slowly closed her notebook, put away her quill and her journal, then picked up her bag.

  Loyd took a step toward her, ready to help, but she lifted a hand, silently asking him not to intervene.

  — I’m going to clean up. It’s not a big deal, she murmured.

  She turned away, passed the prince without a glance, and left the room.

  The door closed behind her with a muffled sound.

  Inside, no one dared speak. Ink had splattered across several desks nearby, and the dark puddle spread over the floor. A few students exchanged heavy looks. They knew. But no one wanted to confront the heir prince of Hercor.

  A moment passed. Then Lorian, still standing, raised his hand slightly, channeling some of the surrounding ether.

  — Black ink, become mist, then return to your original pot.

  The air vibrated around him. A dark haze, thin as smoke, formed above the desks. Slowly, under his control, the drops of ink scattered across the floor and the desks began to slide backward, as if drawn by an invisible force.

  They rose into the air, tracing small shining arcs, then fell back into the pot now held once again in his hand. Not a trace remained on the stones.

  Loyd stood for a long moment, fist clenched.

  Lorian sealed the pot, his face still calm.

  — If I don’t erase it, who will?

  When Professor Sylvia returned, she found the room silent. Her gaze swept over the students.

  — Where is Miss Arimélia? she asked.

  Lorian hurried to answer, in an almost light tone.

  — She had a small incident with an ink pot. She went to wash up.

  His tone was so natural that the professor simply nodded before resuming the lesson.

  Loyd stayed mute, anger burning behind his apparent calm. He knew everything had just been erased.

  Outside, the autumn wind brushed Arimélia’s cheeks. She walked on without looking aside. Each step kept her upright, but her chest tightened with every breath. She drew in a deep breath.

  And without a word, she headed for the Great Library at a slow pace, the sound of her shoes echoing faintly on the ground. No one crossed her path until the great door. The silence was broken only by the wind’s breath, carrying the scent of damp stone.

  When she entered the building, its warmth wrapped around her at once. Inside, everything was bathed in golden light. Sunbeams filtered through the colored stained glass and lit the dust suspended in the air. The steady sound of pages turning, muffled footsteps on the parquet, and the clink of ladders made a gentle music.

  Arimélia paused on the threshold for a moment. She hoped no one would see her like this. Her uniform still bore dark marks, her hair clung to her cheeks, and a few strands were still tinted with ink.

  She walked along the shelves—slow at first, then faster and faster as she neared the balcony of the first block. There, two familiar figures were bent over a stack of books.

  Elwyn and Nahira were taking notes, each on their side, their voices barely audible in the ambient murmur.

  — Arimélia? Nahira called, lifting her head.

  Arimélia stopped. Their eyes met, and for a brief instant, silence weighed down the air. The dried ink on her cheek still gleamed under the light.

  Nahira stood at once, circled the table, and hurried to her.

  — By the Grand-Creator… what happened to you?

  She placed her hands on Arimélia’s shoulders carefully, not quite touching. Elwyn, who had risen as well, approached more slowly.

  — Arimélia? Are you hurt?

  — No. It’s nothing. An accident with an ink pot during class, she replied calmly.

  Her voice was steady—almost too controlled.

  Elwyn frowned slightly.

  — An accident?

  Nahira drew her curved dagger from her sleeve and aimed her catalyst toward the half-dragon. The ether crystal began to glow faintly. The dark stains on Arimélia’s skin and clothes faded little by little. The ink broke apart into a fine mist before vanishing completely into the air.

  — There. That’s better already, Nahira said softly.

  Arimélia lowered her gaze to her hands, clean again. Her fingers were still trembling. She slowly closed them, as if to hide a turmoil she refused to show.

  — Thank you, she murmured.

  — Do you want to stay a little with us? Elwyn asked.

  — No. I need some air. It’s nothing serious, she replied, shaking her head.

  Nahira exchanged a look with him. She knew that tone—the one that asked not to push any further. Yet something in Arimélia’s silence worried them.

  Elwyn leaned against the table, letting his gaze drift up to the ceiling, thoughtful.

  — It was Lorian, wasn’t it?

  Arimélia stiffened.

  — I assure you it wasn’t, she replied at once.

  Nahira sighed softly.

  — You lie badly.

  A thin smile stretched Arimélia’s lips, without reaching her eyes.

  — It doesn’t matter.

  She took a few steps away, looking at the shelves and the hanging lamps that lit the hall. The smell of wood and parchment gradually soothed her heartbeat.

  Elwyn, staying back, watched the girl’s profile.

  He noticed her tail twitching nervously above the floor, but chose to remain silent, respecting the half-dragon’s wishes.

  Nahira, however, laid a light hand on Arimélia’s arm.

  — You don’t have to carry this alone.

  — It’s nothing, she repeated again, almost a whisper.

  For a moment, they remained there, motionless.

  The library’s calm contrasted with the tension Arimélia still carried inside.

  Then she took a slow, deep breath.

  — I’m going back to wash properly. It’s better if the princess doesn’t worry if she sees me like this.

  Nahira nodded, understanding.

  — We’ll bring you the class notes in a little while.

  Arimélia managed a faint smile.

  — Thank you.

  She bowed slightly, then left the floor. Her footsteps faded into the library’s muffled quiet, leaving behind a strange feeling of emptiness.

  Elwyn stayed for a long moment without speaking.

  — You felt it too, he finally said in a low voice.

  Nahira nodded.

  — Yes. Something’s wrong. And she refuses to say it.

  They exchanged a silent look. Outside, the wind was growing stronger, lifting and swirling the autumn leaves.

  On the stairs, Arimélia was already walking, head high, her shadow stretching over the polished tiles.

  She hadn’t said anything, but her silence spoke for her.

  She returned to her room and shut herself in for the rest of the day.

  _________________________

  Night fell over the island of Agnos.

  From the dormitory windows, you could see the silvery reflections of the twin moons on the sea and the distant lights of Erana’s harbor. The autumn wind slipped between the trees, lifting dead leaves along the campus paths.

  In the corridor of the girls’ dormitory, silence reigned. Only the rustle of curtains and the discreet creak of wood reminded them the air had cooled.

  Nahira walked slowly, a stack of notebooks held against her. She stopped in front of Arimélia’s door. She hesitated a moment, then knocked softly.

  — Arimélia? It’s Nahira.

  No answer.

  She knocked again.

  Soft footsteps could be heard, then the door opened a crack.

  Arimélia appeared in the gap. She wore a simple light house dress, her hair loose, still damp. The steam escaping the room betrayed that she had just washed.

  — Good evening, Nahira said gently. I brought you today’s notes.

  Arimélia stepped aside to let her in.

  The room, lit by a single engraved lamp, was bathed in a soft glow. On the desk, the day’s manuals were already stacked, and the open window let a breath of cool air in.

  — Thank you, Arimélia replied as she took the notebooks. You came rather late.

  — I took my time. Loyd gave me his notes from the morning class, and Elwyn added his. I copied Loyd’s neatly for Sylaria, she explained.

  Arimélia nodded with gratitude.

  — You’re always so organized.

  Nahira smiled a little.

  — And you, always so polite.

  They both sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, neither spoke. The room’s silence was soothing. Outside, the wind mingled with the steady tick-tock of a clock hanging on the wall.

  — Sylaria is better. She woke up at dusk. Healer Quevdorl says she can go back to class tomorrow, if she stays warm tonight.

  — I’m relieved, Arimélia murmured.

  She set the notebooks beside her and lowered her eyes. The lamplight drew a calm expression on her face, but her fingers betrayed a slight tension.

  — You didn’t eat, Nahira noted.

  — Not really hungry.

  — You should still have something.

  Arimélia gave an absent smile.

  — I’ll make up for it tomorrow.

  Nahira watched her for a moment without speaking. Then, discreetly, she took a small box out of her bag and placed it on the desk.

  — Hazelnut biscuits. The baker was giving them out after dinner.

  Arimélia looked up at her, a little surprised.

  — You saved some for me?

  — For you and Sylaria, Nahira clarified. But she’s already asleep, so… I’m counting on you to have at least one.

  Arimélia hesitated, then took a biscuit. The sweet scent filled the room. She bit into it gently, and a fleeting expression of release crossed her face.

  — Thank you, Nahira.

  — You say thank you a lot. But you should also say when you’re not okay.

  Arimélia stayed silent. Nahira was still looking at her, her deep green eyes slightly narrowed.

  — You know you can talk to me. Elwyn is worried too—well, in his own way. He says nothing, but I know him, she added in a lower voice.

  — There’s nothing to say. I had an accident. That’s all, Arimélia replied after a moment.

  — An accident that covered you in ink?

  — Yes.

  — And Prince Lorian was there. Loyd told us what happened at dinner.

  Arimélia slowly raised her eyes. She didn’t want to lie—but she wanted even less to confirm it.

  — It doesn’t matter.

  Nahira sighed.

  — You don’t want us to intervene, is that it?

  — No.

  — Not even to tell the professor?

  — Especially not.

  The firmness of her voice surprised Nahira. She understood then that this restraint wasn’t fear, but a way of protecting something more intimate.

  — Very well, Nahira said simply.

  She stood, walked to the desk, and closed the window with one motion. The wind had risen and was making the curtains flap.

  — Try to sleep. Tomorrow will be another day, she added, turning back to her.

  Arimélia nodded.

  — Thank you again. For everything.

  — It’s nothing, Nahira replied.

  She placed a hand on her shoulder—light, almost symbolic.

  — Don’t let others make you doubt your place here.

  Arimélia closed her eyes for a moment.

  — I don’t intend to leave.

  Nahira smiled.

  — Then everything will be fine.

  She left the room in muffled silence.

  When the door closed, Arimélia stayed alone, her gaze lost on the window.

  The moon lit the sea in the distance, and its white light reflected on the glass of the lamp. She held Sylaria’s notebook tight against her. Her fingers brushed the cover, then went still.

  Lorian’s words returned to her—cold, cutting.

  “You don’t belong here.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, lips trembling slightly.

  The wind calmed. In the returned quiet, the night seemed to catch its breath. It became more peaceful, clearer.

  Through the infirmary windows, the glow of the twin moons mingled with the magical engravings that pulsed softly along the walls.

  Sylaria still slept, buried under a thick blanket. Her steady breath barely lifted the sheet.

  Healer Quevdorl, seated at his desk, closed a grimoire before casting one last look at her. He nodded, satisfied, then extinguished the lamp with a calm gesture. In the dimness, only the medicinal plants lined along the windowsill glimmered faintly, as if moonlight lingered on them.

  Sylaria shifted slightly in her sleep. Her lips moved, and a few words slipped out, almost inaudible.

  — Arimélia… it… isn’t… your… fault… Don’t… worry… I… will… always… be… with… you…

  Then everything went still again.

  Outside, the sea beat against the cliff rocks. Erana’s lighthouse blinked in the distance, tracing a steady circle across the clouds.

  In her room not far from there, Arimélia still hadn’t found sleep. Lying on her side, she watched her lamp’s glow filter through the curtain’s weave.

  Her thoughts drifted—calm, but persistent.

  She thought back on the day: the cold of the ink, the silence of the classroom, then Nahira’s gestures, Elwyn’s voice, and the quiet warmth of the tea shared that very morning.

  A sigh escaped her.

  At last, she closed her eyes, letting fatigue take her little by little. And as the moon slid slowly behind the clouds, the whole island of Agnos fell asleep—peaceful—under the silent guard of the stars.