"If it isn't the fifth sister..." a voice called out from the front, breaking through the din of the crowd.
The once bustling crowd that was filled with chatters halted due to this, as eyes were gathered about towards a certain point among the vast myriad of people.
A figure emerged, surrounded by a group of followers. His tall stature and slightly elevated posture, with his chin held high, gave him an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.
A thin line between the two and yet filled with both.
The young man had striking black hair that fell in neat waves, framing a face that was handsome but not overly dazzling.
His features were sharp, with piercing eyes that seemed to judge everything they gazed upon, and his skin had a pale, porcelain quality to it.
He carried himself with the poise and assurance of one who knew his place in the world and expected others to recognize it as well.
Caius Ignis, the third prince of the Ignaria Empire. The stepbrother of Illira's Ignis, well... a long distant brother one must admit.
Illira's gaze remained detached as Caius approached, her eyes flicking elsewhere with a disinterested air.
She leaned slightly to one side, placing a hand on her waist in a posture that screamed indifference to the world around her.
"Caius," she acknowledged, her voice flat, lacking even a hint of warmth.
For a fleeting moment, Caius's eyes flashed with sharpness, the mask slipping, only to be replaced by a veneer of concern almost instantly.
His tone was soft, caring—a perfect guise to hide the serpentine nature lurking beneath.
"I've been worried about you," he said, stepping closer with grace. "How have you been these past couple of years? It's been a while since we last met."
Illira's expression remained unmoved, her demeanor cold. She barely regarded him, her eyes continuing to roam elsewhere, as though he were no more significant than a passing shadow.
Her response, though polite on the surface, was edged with dismissal.
"Thank you." The words were hollow, carrying a deeper meaning that clearly suggested he leave her alone.
Caius, however, was not one to be easily deterred.
He took a step forward, arms spreading in a gesture of warmth and welcome, the perfect older brother.
"Perhaps you're not yet accustomed to the Academy's environment," he suggested with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The dean sent me to guide you after the trial is done."
His voice softened, dripping with false sincerity. "With me here, I assure you that your Academy life will be smooth sailing..."
But before he could finish, a voice rang out from the group behind him. It belonged to a young woman, her tone loud and intentional.
"Your Highness, but aren't the royalties excluded from the trial tests?"
The words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. "Oh? Why is the Fifth Princess taking the trial this year?"
"Shouldn't she be excluded from the trial?"
"Oh my?"
Caius inwardly savored the moment, the taste was sweet on his tongue. He had planted the seed, and now it was beginning to sprout.
Outwardly, however, he turned to the woman, his face a mask of cold disapproval.
"Don't say such things," he admonished, his voice deep and icy. "There's a reason for everything, and you are unworthy to question it, peasant."
Illira's gaze, which had remained impassive until now, shifted ever so slightly as she observed the unfolding scene.
'What a splendid show he's putting on,' she thought, her mind swirling with thoughts that no one could discern from her calm exterior.
She knew better than anyone what Caius was doing—this kind brother of hers who was anything but.
Despite his attempt to dismiss the woman's remark, the damage had already been done. The words, like a spark in dry grass, ignited a wave of whispers that spread through the crowd.
Human hearts are dark places, prone to speculation and deception. If swords couldn't bring a person down, then words certainly could, cutting deeper than any blade.
The whispers grew louder, a tide of rumors and doubts that Caius secretly delighted in.
Like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, the murmurs swelled, filling the air with a chaotic hum.
The crowd buzzed like a million cicadas in summer, their voices a dissonant chorus of speculation.
Human judgment is flawed, so deeply flawed that even a giant can be felled by it.
And yet, Illira stood still, her expression unchanged, as if the storm of rumors swirling around her was nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.
Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise like a blade through silk. A single word, as sudden and powerful as a bolt of lightning striking from a clear sky.
"Boring."
The word landed like a slap, abruptly silencing the sea of murmurs.
It was as if a blazing fire had been doused with cold water, leaving only the sizzling remnants behind. The crowd wavered, stunned by the unexpected retort.
Caius, too, was taken aback, his carefully crafted facade faltering for just a moment.
The people around them were momentarily paralyzed, unsure how to react.
Caius, ever the consummate actor, quickly regained his composure, but there was no mistaking the brief flicker of surprise that had crossed his face.
He had expected anything but that—Illira's complete and utter dismissal, not just of him but of the entire spectacle.
The crowd, which had been on the verge of exploding into a frenzy of gossip, now fell into a stunned silence.
Whispers that had swelled to a crescendo only moments before were now snuffed out, leaving an almost eerie quiet in their wake.
Caius, ever adaptable, quickly shifted gears.
He forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, and made an attempt at salvaging the situation. "You've always had a sharp tongue, sister," he said, his tone light, as though trying to turn her dismissal into a playful jest.
But Illira wasn't playing his game.
Her posture relaxed even further, her arms crossing over her chest as she glanced at him with the faintest hint of a smirk—a challenge, daring him to push her further.
It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but to Caius, it spoke volumes.
She wasn't interested in his manipulations, wasn't willing to dance to the tune he played for the crowd.
The gathered nobles, sensing the tension, exchanged nervous glances. The spectacle they had expected to unfold had taken a turn they weren't prepared for.
Caius, the ever-perfect prince, was on the back foot, and Illira, the distant and enigmatic princess, was standing her ground in a way none had anticipated.
A few more moments passed in uncomfortable silence.
Then, sensing that he was losing the upper hand, Caius gave a short, tight nod. "Very well, sister," he said, his voice tinged with a forced lightness. "I'll leave you to your preparations. But remember, the Academy can be... overwhelming for those who aren't ready."
With that, he turned sharply on his heel, his entourage following in his wake.
As he walked away, Caius's smile faded, his face plastered with a cold indifference attitude at last.
Illira had proved more difficult than he'd anticipated, but he wasn't one to give up easily.
'Silly sister... ' He muttered within, 'This year's trial will sure wipe off that smug on your face, be aware that no one likes you to step into this place'
'The daughter of that person... but who cares'
'As long as I can get what I want, I will do anything to reach my goal'
As the third prince departed, the crowd's attention began to dissipate, the nobles and commoners alike returning to their own conversations and preparations for the Academy's trials.
The tension that had gripped the air slowly unraveled, though the murmurs of speculation remained just beneath the surface.
"What!?"
A scream came from the crowd, eyes snapped at once but it wasn't clear where the scream came from.
But then the shouts came again, a voice of a man this time. And yet it still wasn't clear where the voice came from.
The atmosphere around the Academy's courtyard grew taut.
Nervous whispers began to circulate, but the sudden shift in the air—a suffocating presence—compelled them to silence.
The crowd parted almost instinctively, creating a path for a figure cloaked in darkness, his movements deliberate.
Illira's sharp gaze snapped toward the commotion.
Her breath caught in her throat as the cloaked figure approached, cutting through the crowd.
The dark hood obscured his face, but the aura he exuded was unmistakable, a hidden familiarity.
'It was him'
The man from the stall. The man who had sold her the pendant and posed a riddle that lingered in her mind like an unsolved puzzle.
Illira's exterior remained poised, her expression a mask of indifference. Yet beneath that calm facade, a maelstrom of strange emotions churned.
'What is he doing here?' she wondered, her thoughts racing. Curiosity gnawed at her, but she buried it beneath layers of pride.
As the man drew closer, the crowd's unease became evident in their expression.
His every step seemed to cut through the crowd, and those unfortunate enough to be caught in his path found themselves inexplicably pushed aside, as if an invisible force had brushed them away.
The few who dared to voice their objections quickly fell silent, their hearts pounding with a fear that they couldn't fully comprehend.
Among the onlookers, there were those who bristled at the man's audacity.
A girl in a white dress, sitting cross-legged amidst a sea of delicate flowers, was one such individual.
Her eyes remained closed as she muttered under her breath, her voice a low hum against the backdrop of the growing tension. 'What an arrogant fellow' she thought, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Her silvery sword rested beside her, its blade gleaming under the sunlight.
But it wasn't just the girl who noticed him. Illira's eyes narrowed as she watched the scene unfold.
The crowd had begun to murmur, their whispers growing louder, fueled by both fear and morbid curiosity.
The cloaked man's approach was like a storm, drawing every eye to him as he made his way toward her.
She could feel his gaze on her before she even saw him.
When their eyes met, the world seemed to pause. Illira's breath hitched, and for a split second, her composed mask faltered.
'What is this person doing here?'
The same piercing eyes, the same hauntingly familiar face. Her heart beat a little faster as she quickly averted her gaze, hoping to hide the momentary shock that had flickered across her features.
'What is he doing here?' she thought again, her mind swirling.
She could feel his gaze, burning into her as he continued his unrelenting approach.
The crowd watched, breath held, as the man came to a halt just a few steps from Illira.
She refused to show any sign of weakness, any hint that this man's presence had shaken her. 'Is he trying to make a fool of me?' she wondered, her mind racing.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it aside, steeling herself.
The two of them stood there, mere steps apart, as the crowd looked on in hushed silence.
No one dared to stare too long at the man in the cloak, there had been a saying, if you stares at the abyss for too long, it will gaze back at you.
Several in the crowd could no longer bear it and collapsed to the ground, unconscious from the sheer terror that emanated from him.
Illira, ever composed, held her ground. She appeared unbothered, her fiery red dress and emerald collar glinting in the sunlight as if she were a statue of some ancient, unyielding goddess.
Her eyes, cold and distant, seemed to look past the man, as if he were nothing more than a fleeting shadow.
The man, towering over her, remained still, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind.
He was an imposing figure, almost twice her height, and the shadow he cast dwarfed her entirely.
Yet, she did not shrink away. The silence between them grew heavier, stretching on until it was almost unbearable.
Finally, Illira's patience wore thin, and a slight twitch at the corner of her eye betrayed her annoyance.
She turned her head ever so slightly, enough to meet his gaze, and with a voice as cold as ice, she broke the silence.
"And why have you come here?" she asked, her tone sharp enough to cut through the thick tension. The words were quiet, yet they carried over the hushed crowd, sparking a flurry of whispers that ignited like a wildfire.
But just as quickly, those whispers died down under the voice that came next.
The man responded with a magnetic tone that resonated like the tolling of a dark bell.
"Oh, does the princess detest this poor merchant that much?" he asked, his voice laced with a mockingly playful edge. "Is my presence making the princess uncomfortable?"
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, reverberating in the silence that followed.
Illira remained unfazed, her gaze shifting away as if his words were of no consequence.
She kept her arms crossed over her chest, exuding an air of indifference.
"Yes, I feel uncomfortable," she replied, her voice steady, "since your approach is obviously aimed at me." She paused, her head turning fully to face him, their eyes locking.
This time, there was no hesitation, no flinching.
Her voice was cold, commanding, as she delivered her final words. "If possible, remove yourself from my presence"
The crowd gasped collectively at her scathing remark, the sound echoing across the courtyard.
The girl in the white dress, who had been watching the scene unfold with a calm, detached interest, finally opened her eyes, revealing a pair of icy blue irises that gleamed with a mix of curiosity and amusement. A faint smile curled at her lips as she observed the interaction.
"How interesting," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.
"The princess has more fire in her than I expected... but this man... What game are you playing, I wonder? Especially the smell of the taboo, what a wild person we have here now in the empire"