After their return, Amaias and Cior informed the principal of their findings. While the principal assured them of full cooperation, there was something about his tone that felt off, leaving them both on edge.
Days passed, and true to his promise, Amaias didn't breathe a word of Cior's secret to anyone. However, his behavior had completely changed. He had become ridiculously overprotective—hovering around Cior, blocking every boy from getting too close, and stepping in at even the slightest interaction.
During lunch, when one of the boys casually patted Cior on the shoulder, Amaias swooped in like an eagle. "Hands off, dude. Personal space."
"Uh, okay?" the boy replied, baffled.
Cior, sitting nearby, rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. Finally, she'd had enough. She stood up dramatically, pointing a finger at Amaias. "You! Yes, you, Mr. Overprotective Helicopter Angel!"
Amaias blinked, feigning innocence. "What? I'm just keeping him safe."
"Safe from what? High fives? Friendly pats? This is a knight academy, not a preschool! These guys are my friends. FRIENDS!"
"But what if one of them tries something?" Amaias argued, crossing his arms stubbornly.
Cior groaned and dramatically flopped back onto the bench. "Amaias, you're acting like I'm some damsel in distress who can't handle himself—I mean, myself. Newsflash: I've been dealing with this for years without you constantly looming like a dark cloud of paranoia."
Amaias tilted his head, still unconvinced. "I'm just making sure no one gets the wrong idea about you. You're technically still a 'guy,' remember?"
Cior stood up again, dramatically pacing. "Wrong idea? WRONG IDEA? The only person making it obvious is you! I swear, if someone didn't know better, they'd think I was secretly a princess in disguise with how you're acting. You're blowing my cover!"
"You are secretly a princess," Amaias mumbled.
Cior gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. "Oh no! Has my royal aura betrayed me? The horror!" She spun in mock panic before glaring at him. "Amaias, buddy, pal, dear friend," she said, emphasizing every word. "Give. Me. Space. You're suffocating me, and I refuse to be treated like some delicate flower. Let me be a thorny cactus if I must, but let me breathe!"
Amaias smirked, unfazed. "Fine, but if any of them tries something funny, cactus or not, they're getting pricked."
Cior facepalmed, muttering under her breath, "I'll 'prick' you if you don't cut this out."
Cior, clearly fed up with Amaias's antics, raised her fist and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. Well, friendly by her standards—it was just a little too hard. Amaias winced and stumbled back slightly, rubbing his arm.
"Ow! Hey, I'm trying to be nice here," Amaias said, pretending to pout.
"Yeah, well, your 'nice' is starting to feel like overkill," Cior replied, rolling her eyes but smirking.
"You're surprisingly strong for someone so short," he teased, trying to shake off the sting.
"And you're surprisingly annoying for someone with wings," she shot back, crossing her arms.
Amaias laughed. "You're really something, you know that?"
Cior shrugged. "What can I say? Half a year in this academy, and I've already mastered the art of dealing with overbearing angels."
"Half a year? Feels like I've been babysitting you for an eternity," Amaias said with mock exasperation.
"Babysitting?" Cior scoffed, stepping closer. "If anything, I'm the one keeping you out of trouble. Don't forget who figured out that black magic mess."
"Fair point," Amaias admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But still, someone's gotta make sure you're not running yourself ragged. Half a year in, and you've barely slowed down. You're always jumping into trouble."
"Trouble's my middle name," she said with a dramatic flair, then added, "But seriously, you don't need to hover like a worried mom. I've survived worse than this place."
Amaias nodded, his expression softening. "I know. And I'll back off a little, but don't expect me to stop looking out for you completely."
"Fair enough," Cior replied, smiling slightly. "Just... no more acting like I'm some fragile little flower, okay?"
Amaias smirked. "Deal. But only if you promise not to break my arm next time you're being 'friendly.'"
"No promises," Cior said with a mischievous grin, already preparing to punch him again.
Every six months, the academies hosted the most anticipated (and hilariously dreaded) event—the grand ball. Officially, it was about "fostering alliances" between schools. Unofficially, it was the academies' bizarre way of preventing their students from becoming lonely, romance-starved warriors.
For weeks, the schools buzzed with excitement, panic, and gossip. Who would ask whom? Who would wear what? Who would make a total fool of themselves on the dance floor? It was equal parts excitement and chaos, with some students plotting grand romantic gestures while others prayed they could just blend into the decorations.
The ball was where dreams, disasters, and questionable dance moves all collided—an absurd tradition that no one truly understood, yet everyone secretly looked forward to.
"Are you coming to the ball?" Mateo asked, leaning casually against the doorframe of Cior's room.
"Nah, it's too much effort. I don't like balls," Cior replied with a shrug, masking the real reason—she couldn't bear the thought of attending as a boy.
"At least come shopping with me," Mateo insisted, crossing his arms with a playful smirk.
Cior hesitated but knew refusing would only make him more persistent. "Fine, let's go," she said, sighing dramatically.
"Great! You can help me pick something that screams irresistible charm," Mateo teased, dragging her out the door before she could back out.