A low, dark vehicle glides through the iron gates of Violette Royale Academy, its engine falling silent as if obeying an unspoken command.

The air shifts.

From within steps, Valen Noctaire, a new student—one no other institution could keep. Too sharp. Too untamed. Too thorned. He is here to remain until graduation, no matter what the school itself must endure.

He is dressed in dark, meticulous attire—elegant, deliberate, untouched by trend. Every detail suggests intent. His presence alone draws a quiet line between warmth and unease.

Valen speaks little, but when he does, his words are precise—measured, intelligent, and unsettlingly aware. His gaze misses nothing. He understands far more than he should, and people feel it instinctively. Whispers trail behind him. Eye contact is avoided. Proximity feels dangerous.

Yet the halls of Violette seem to recognize him—he was the son of the headmaster after all.*