The faint hum of the ship's engines resonated through the polished floorboards, steady and unchanging. In her private cabin, Seraphina sat by a wide desk, her long pale-pink hair falling neatly over her shoulders, a ribbon of imperial blue woven into a small braid that draped across her front. The lamplight glowed against her marble skin, her expression calm yet impossible to read.

Before her lay reports: rosters of injured students, disciplinary notes, and the latest council records she had compiled after the incident. As president of the student council, it was her duty to keep order. As the heir to Valor, it was her duty to project strength. Neither role allowed hesitation.

Her pale eyes—sometimes pearl, sometimes icy blue depending on the light—scanned the papers. Nicolas's absence weighed heavily on them. Even now, the name felt carved into every margin, every decision delayed.

'The academy is missing its shield,' she thought, fingertips brushing the ink. 'And without him, eyes will turn to me the counciul president… and to Daemar.'

A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in."

The door opened, and Daemar stepped inside. He carried no trace of hesitation, though she knew the weight of his new position pressed hard. She straightened slightly in her chair, posture as precise as a drawn blade.

"You're the director now, Professor Daemar," she said without preamble. "That changes how this academy will move. The council will need to adapt as well."

Her voice was steady, measured, leaving no room for doubt. She wasn't only speaking as a student. She was speaking as the heir of Valor, whose words carried more than academic weight.

Daemar inclined his head, but Seraphina continued before he could speak. "The students need stability. We will make decisions together—the council and the director. Otherwise, we may fail."

Her gaze lingered on the reports one last time before she closed them neatly. 'And we both know enemies are watching.'

For a moment, silence hung. Then she spoke, her voice clear, steady, but carrying a hint of the youth she couldn't hide entirely. "Headmaster Nicolas is gone. He's left the position to you, so you have to take it. The students will look to you as a symbol, just like Nicolas was. Although some already did, given that you're an important teacher."

Daemar studied her, saying nothing at first. His silence made her press on, her pale eyes hardening.

"They're afraid," she continued. "Even if they won't say it aloud. Nicolas was a figure they trusted, and losing him so suddenly…" She trailed off, catching herself before emotion slipped into her tone. Her jaw tightened, and she met his eyes directly. "If we falter, the academy falters. I won't allow that."

Daemar gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. "I know, we have to get to work so that nothing bad happens."

Seraphina leaned back slightly, her braid brushing against her shoulder. She looked more like a commander giving orders than a seventeen-year-old student, but the quick rise and fall of her chest betrayed her nerves.

"The council will stand with you," she said. "But it has to be more than that. We have to show unity. Announcements, routines, lessons—we continue them without pause. The students must see that nothing has changed."

Her gaze flickered toward the mirror set into the far wall, its surface dormant but waiting. "And my father needs to hear it from us, not rumors carried back by others. The longer we wait, the more fragile we look."

Daemar finally spoke, his voice low. "So you want to call your father now."

Daemar's voice broke the silence. "Are you certain you wish to lead the call? The king is your father, yes, but—"

"I'm not a child," she cut him off, her tone even. She touched the braid over her shoulder, steadying herself. "I'm the heir. If the academy has lost its shield, then it must show it still has its sword."

Daemar frowned. "At your age, you should be worrying about exams, not enemies."

Seraphina's lips curved into the faintest smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "If only that were the world we lived in." She set her hand against the mirror's frame, her imperial signet ring glowing faintly. The surface rippled.

"You remind me of him when you speak like that," Daemar said suddenly.

She tilted her head, curious. "Of who?"

"Nicolas," Daemar admitted. "He, too, thought of the academy before himself. Always."

Seraphina's chest tightened briefly, though her expression didn't waver. "Then I'll honor him by doing the same."

The mirror pulsed with light, preparing to connect. She straightened, her voice calm but deliberate: "When my father appears, let me lead. If he questions you, answer directly, but let me set the tone. He must see control, not confusion."

Daemar inclined his head. "Very well. But if he asks for the truth…"

"He will," Seraphina said quickly. Her eyes hardened, the steel behind her words at odds with her young age. "And we'll give it to him."

The mirror brightened fully now, the rippling surface becoming a clear pane of light.

Seraphina inhaled deeply, ready to face the crimson gaze she knew awaited her.

The mirror flared to life, sharpening until the chamber of Valor appeared.

Broad-shouldered and tall even seated, King Alveron IV dominated the reflection. His blond hair was bound neatly with a crimson ribbon, not a strand out of place. His crimson eyes glowed faintly, steady and unblinking as they fixed on his daughter first.

"Seraphina," he said, voice calm but resonant. "Daemar. Why call so soon?"

Seraphina inclined her head, her posture flawless. "Father." She stepped back slightly, letting Daemar take the center.

Daemar drew a deep breath. "Your Majesty… Nicolas von Aldros has fallen."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the ship seemed to roar against it.

Alveron's jaw shifted only slightly. His gaze did not break. "…Is he alive?"

"Yes," Seraphina answered quickly. Her tone was steady, though her heart raced. "But his mana core… is shattered. He will never fight again."

For the first time, the king's calm mask cracked. His hand closed slowly into a fist, the leather of his glove creaking under the strain.

"I warned him," Alveron said, his voice deep, measured, and carrying the weight of restrained fury. "I sent my army to Tharvaldur. He was the one who told me to withdraw them—he claimed the situation was under control."

Daemar lowered his head. "He did. And now… I have taken his place as Director."

Alveron's gaze drifted, not at Daemar, but inward, heavy with unspoken regret. "…Nicolas. My friend. My shield. One of Valor's strongest pillars, broken."

The words were quiet, yet the weight in them made Seraphina's chest tighten. She had never heard her father sound so heavy, so… human.

But then his eyes rose again, hard and burning red. "Our enemies will think Valor weak. They will rejoice at this loss." His voice cut through the chamber like steel. "We will show them they are wrong."

Seraphina stepped forward, her spine straight as a drawn blade. "We will stand stronger, Father. For the academy. For Valor."

For a heartbeat, Alveron's eyes softened, just slightly, as he looked at her. "…You are truly my daughter."

The mirror dimmed, his image fading into silence.

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