The morning sun slipped gently through the thin curtains, golden rays cutting through the dim dorm room.

They crawled across the floor and climbed up to the bed until they reached Azhriel's closed eyes.

His eyelids twitched at the touch of light.

A moment later, those blue gem‑like eyes slowly opened, clear and calm.

He stayed still for a while, silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if lost in thought. Then, with a slow breath, he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

A glance toward the clock made his brows lift slightly.

"…Two hours more," he muttered under his breath. "I must've been more tired than I thought, huh."

His body ached faintly from the strain of yesterday. He raised his arms above his head, stretching until his muscles loosened just a little.

As he stood, his gaze brushed over the desk.

Everything there was neatly arranged: the Academy's crisp uniform folded without a crease, a sleek personal manaband with faint runes on its frame, a tablet, and a single identification card gleaming in the sunlight.

After a brief pause, he looked away.

Without another glance, he walked to the bathroom.

The sound of rushing water soon filled the room.

Cold droplets rained over him as he stepped into the shower. The chill ran down his skin, soaking his hair, cooling his head, and washing away the heaviness that clung to him.

Steam still curled faintly from his damp hair as Azhriel stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his neck.

With practiced motions, he dried himself and then reached for the neatly folded academy uniform.

The crisp fabric slid over his skin smoothly—black trousers first, then the white shirt, buttoned up to his collar.

He shrugged into the black jacket next, its golden trim catching the light, ropes and embroidery adding a regal touch.

A short robe fastened over his shoulders completed the attire, its faint weight settling on him like a quiet mantle.

He glanced at the mirror once and gave a small nod.

"Good enough," he murmured to himself.

The manaband slipped snugly onto his left wrist, opposite was the bracelet. After that came his gloves, fitted precisely as always.

With everything in place, he stepped out of the dorm.

His pace was calm, unhurried, eyes glancing briefly at the time on his band.

Still early. There was no need to rush.

The corridor was quiet, only a few students moving about, but as he walked toward the cafeteria, the silence didn't last.

The stares came anyway.

As he moved, girls whispered. Some stopped mid‑step, their eyes trailing after him; others blushed and hid behind their hands.

A few gasps echoed faintly as he passed.

Azhriel's brows twitched.

'Man… I still can't get used to this,' he sighed inwardly, quickening his steps just a little, hoping to escape the attention.

Soon enough, he reached the cafeteria.

The smell of breakfast drifted through the air—warm bread, roasted meat, and something sweet.

He didn't feel like having anything heavy.

Just some scrambled eggs and a sandwich were enough.

After all, he had eaten plenty of dishes last night.

Balancing the tray in one hand, his eyes scanned the room for an empty table.

"Azhriel!"

A soft voice called out to him.

Turning his head, he saw Caelyn.

She was seated by the window, waving at him with one hand while nibbling something with the other. The rays of the sun, falling on her pinkish white hair, gave her a etheral look.

He walked over.

When he reached her table, his brows lifted.

Cakes, pastries, muffins, chocolate rolls—her table was covered with every sweet thing the cafeteria had to offer.

Caelyn sat there quietly, cheeks puffed up like a hamster as she chewed, a tiny crumb on her lips.

"Something so sweet, first thing in the morning?" Azhriel asked, a little amused.

"Ibs, dasdy, (it's tasty)." she mumbled, not pausing in her chewing.

"It's sure is, huh." he said, shaking his head.

After swallowing, Caelyn reached for a pastry and pushed it toward him.

It was a neat, layered dessert: three soft layers of chocolate with two thin layers of cream in between.

"Try it," she said, her voice soft but certain. "It's the one i like here, most."

'Does that mean, she had already tried every cakes and pastries here? Azhriel thought, abusurdly.

They both spoke little after that, eating in the soft morning calm of the cafeteria.

The gentle hum of chatter, clinking utensils, and footsteps filled the background, but at their table, a peaceful quiet settled between them.

Azhriel took a small bite of the layered pastry she had given him.

It was… surprisingly good.

Not overly sweet, but soft, the cream adding just enough flavour to cut through the chocolate.

He nodded to himself.

"Alright," he muttered. "You have taste."

Caelyn smiled at his words, cheeks still a little puffed as she took another forkful of a different cake.

She didn't speak, just lightly kicked her feet under the table, her boots barely brushing the floor.

After a pause, Azhriel wiped his mouth and asked,

"Have you chosen your electives?"

Caelyn finished chewing and nodded.

"Yes. Nyverra helped me."

"Nyverra, huh?" he leaned back slightly. "Figures. She's reliable."

They both finished their breakfast and stood up, trays clinking softly as they placed them in the return rack.

With casual steps and no particular rush, the two made their way through the sunlit halls of the academy, the buzz of morning energy humming faintly around them.

The classroom door slid open with a soft hiss.

Caelyn stepped in first, her gait relaxed, posture unhurried — a picture of effortless calm.

As always, her presence carried that distinct unbothered air, like she walked in a dream half a beat slower than the world.

Heads turned slightly, some subtly, others more blatantly — her cherry blossom hair and drowsy milky pink eyes always drew quiet attention, but she never seemed to notice, or care.

Without a word, she drifted toward the front side seats where Nyverra sat, already buried in her tablet, her sharp violet eyes scanning something with all the intensity of a tactician reviewing a battlefield.

Caelyn plopped down beside her with the grace of a falling feather.

"Morning," she said, voice light and lazy.

Nyverra barely glanced up. "You're late, were you eating sweets again."

"Hehe, sorry. " Caelyn smiled. "I can't help it, they are so tasty."

Nyverra closed her eyes for a brief second, clearly summoning patience.

Then she sighed and scooted her tablet slightly, making space between their desks. "Sit. Professor will be coming soon."

"You're the best," Caelyn chimed.

Meanwhile, Azhriel entered a few steps behind, drawing his own wave of subtle reactions.His presence, unlike Caelyn's, was sharp — quiet but hard to ignore.

His eyes scanned the room quickly. Familiar faces scattered across — Raymond and Kevin joking in the back.

Elizabeth cross-armed sitting, near the center aisle nodding and smiling towards him, and Arianne a few seats ahead, flipping through her book with calculated elegance.

He exhaled quietly and walked toward the seat beside Kevin, who noticed and gave a small grin.

"Yo. Prince Charming finally graces us," Kevin muttered.

"You're louder than usual. Didn't get breakfast?" Azhriel replied dryly.

"Nah, you stole my luck. When, I saw you sitting next to Caelyn, i didn't want to pry in."

"I just followed her. She waved fistt."

Kevin sighed dramatically. "You're always getting the perks of main character energy, man."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Raymond snorted from the other side. "Says the guy who had like ninety percent of the girls staring at him when he walked in."

Azhriel said nothing, only looked forward. But his hand subtly adjusted the glove on his left wrist — a faint tick of discomfort, quickly buried.

As the last murmurs of idle chatter died down, the door at the side of the classroom opened with a soft mechanical whirr.

And then she walked in.

The heels of her shoes echoed lightly against the polished floor, each step graceful, measured, and yet so effortlessly commanding.

Long strands of violet hair flowed down her back like a silken river, catching the classroom's overhead light with an almost ethereal sheen.

Her uniform, though of the same base design as the other instructors, was accented with gold-stitched embroidery unique to her status.

Then came her eyes — piercing, sharp, and unnervingly clear. A vibrant green, like freshly shattered jade.

They swept across the classroom like blades, dissecting each face not with judgment, but with unwavering awareness.

Everyone felt it. Not a single student dared speak.

She stepped onto the podium without saying a word. Her presence alone demanded silence.

A moment passed — and then another. Not a soul shifted in their seat.

Only then did she speak.

"Many of you may know me, however for who don't I am Illiana De Vorth," she said, her voice like a bell — clear, refined, and carrying weight far beyond her years. "Your instructor from now on. "

A whisper rippled through the room at her name, but it died out instantly under her gaze.

The youngest Divine in recorded history.