Aurelian Academy

The morning light fell through the high windows of Aurelian’s east wing, cutting through the silence like glass. The corridors smelled faintly of roses the kind they planted everywhere, even in the corners where no one looked.

It should have been a peaceful walk to class. But then came the laughter.

It started low, then rose sharp and echoing. My books hit the floor one after another, the pages spilling out across the marble tiles. My bag followed, half-open, my pens scattering like broken things.

“Still can’t keep your hands steady?” one of them sneered. “Maybe try holding a book more often than you hold excuses.”

Their voices blended together — polished, confident, cruel. Every face around them wore the same expression: the satisfaction of someone higher in rank. In this school, that was all that mattered.

I didn’t speak. I crouched to pick up the books, eyes low. The marble floor reflected everything — their laughter, my silence.

And then, a new voice entered the hall.

Calm. Even. Cold in the way still water is cold.

“Is that what you call achievement?”

The laughter faltered. Heads turned.

He stood a few steps away — someone I hadn’t seen before. His hair, pale as frost, fell in soft disarray over his eyes, and those eyes — gold, bright as coins in sunlight — were steady and unflinching. The black of his uniform framed his features sharply, his tie loose, collar slightly undone, as though he didn’t care about appearances but somehow still outshone everyone there.

One of the boys scoffed. “Who the hell are you?”

The newcomer tilted his head slightly.

“Someone unimpressed.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight — a quiet confidence that didn’t need volume. The group shifted uneasily.

“This doesn’t concern you,” another boy muttered.

He stepped forward once, just enough for his shadow to cross the floor between them. “You’re standing in the way of someone who’s already beneath you,” he said softly. “That’s not superiority. That’s boredom.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The boys exchanged glances — no witty remarks, no laughter now. The leader gave a scoff that sounded more nervous than amused. “Whatever,” he muttered, and turned away. The rest followed, their retreat louder than their words.

When the hall finally quieted, he exhaled. A slow, soundless breath.

Then he knelt. Without a word, he began gathering the scattered papers, stacking them neatly. His movements were precise — gentle, almost careful. He didn’t look at me until the last page was in place.

“They’ll forget by tomorrow,” he said quietly. “People like that always do.”

I took the books from him, still stunned. “You didn’t have to help.”

He looked up then, and the corners of his mouth curved — not a smile exactly, but something close. “I know. But I don’t like watching people get stepped on.”

He stood, brushing the dust from his sleeve. “I’m Elias,” he added. “Elias Varen. I transferred here last week.”

“You shouldn’t have interfered,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “They’ll come after you next.”

“They can try.” His golden eyes flickered with quiet amusement. “I’ve been chased by worse.”

The bell rang — loud, metallic, echoing through the corridor. Neither of us moved at first.

Through the window, I saw the garden below — a sea of white and gold flowers swaying in the wind. His gaze followed mine.

“They take care of the flowers here,” he said softly. “I saw them when I arrived. I think I like this place because of that.”

“Because of flowers?” I asked.

He smiled again, eyes soft now. “Because they’re the only things that bloom no matter who’s watching.”

For a moment, the hall felt different — lighter, though nothing had changed.

He adjusted his tie absently and looked back toward the window. “What’s your name?”

I told him. It was Namida.

He repeated it under his breath as though memorizing it. “Good, Now I know who I stood up for…”

Then, just like that, he turned and started toward the stairs, the faintest trace of sunlight following him across the floor.