Filtered sunlight poured through the panoramic windows of the Luxia Academy of Magical Arts in Miami, casting subtle reflections across the polished floor. Students, dressed in pristine white uniforms trimmed with silver, occupied their seats in a formation that seemed random—yet anyone paying attention could feel the quiet tension lingering between them.

  Feran and humans sat intermingled throughout the room, sharing desks and polite small talk. But their eyes, their posture, the long silences that followed certain glances—it all suggested an invisible divide, delicately upheld by etiquette but deeply rooted in history.

  Designer backpacks rested neatly on the desks: some adorned with discreet protective runes, others integrated with branded holographic devices. A low hum of whispered conversation buzzed through the air until Professor Callahan stood at the front of the room. Tall and composed, his silver hair and frameless glasses added to the quiet authority he radiated.

  —“Attention. Today we’ll begin Module Four of Advanced Magical History.”

  He tapped a translucent panel on his desk, and a projection bloomed into the center of the classroom—soft and luminous. The ambient lighting dimmed slightly, and the AI’s synthetic voice filled the space:

  —“Initiating module: Advanced Magical History, Class 4.”

  A radiant dragon, sculpted from strands of pure light, appeared in midair, surrounded by elegant figures representing the High Elves. The image bathed the students’ faces in subtle color.

  —“Approximately twelve thousand years ago, before recorded civilization, the world was inhabited by beings of pure magical essence. Dragons, timeless creatures attuned to elemental energy, and High Elves, masters of mana flow, maintained the planet’s natural equilibrium.”

  The scene shifted to vast crystalline cities beneath auroral skies, their towers pulsing with serene energy.

  —“In this era of harmony, mana flowed freely and abundantly, nourishing life, strengthening the bonds between species, and preserving balance.”

  A lone human silhouette began to emerge from the shifting light.

  —“Roughly eight thousand years ago, humans with magical affinity began to appear. Though initially lacking the understanding to control mana, their adaptability and capacity for learning quickly led them to master the basics.”

  Several human students exchanged knowing glances. A few Feran students remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

  —“Through discipline and innovation, humanity built advanced techniques for harnessing magic, ushering in an era of prosperity, technological marvels, and cultural growth. Cities flourished. Knowledge deepened. Magic became the foundation of the modern world.”

  The projection now displayed gleaming towers, floating vehicles, and familiar holographic tools—all powered by mana, all strikingly similar to what surrounded the students daily.

  —“Today, humanity is recognized for its pivotal role in shaping a sophisticated, unified magical civilization. This legacy of innovation continues to shape our future.”

  The luminous dragon dissolved into stardust, and the classroom fell quiet once more.

  —“End of module.”

  Professor Callahan turned back to the class, adjusting his glasses.

  —“Questions or comments before we proceed?”

  A hand rose immediately. It belonged to a Feran student with feline features and sharp green eyes.

  —“Professor, in earlier classes we were told that humans learned magic with help from the Feran. Why wasn’t that mentioned?”

  Before Callahan could answer, a red-haired human girl cut in, her tone coated in sarcasm.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  —“Maybe because that’s just another Feran myth. Makes you feel better, right?”

  The tension spiked instantly. Murmurs, scoffs, and sharp glares followed. A Feran student snapped back:

  —“So now we just erase our history because it doesn’t fit your version?”

  —“Your ‘history’ isn’t exactly reliable.”

  Voices began to rise. Students leaned across desks, arguing in overlapping bursts.

  —“We showed you how to connect with the mana first—”

  —“We surpassed you because we evolved—”

  —“You mean you stole what we shared and rewrote the story—”

  The room dissolved into chaos.

  —“Enough!” Callahan’s voice cracked like a spell through the noise. His desk glowed slightly beneath his clenched hand.

  Silence.

  Dozens of eyes turned to him—some embarrassed, others defiant.

  —“You’re all advanced students. You’re expected to become leaders, innovators, magical scholars. This behavior is beneath you. Our history is complex, yes. But it is shared. And I will not tolerate this kind of disruption again.”

  The class slowly settled. Tension remained, thick in the air. Some students stared at their desks; others exchanged lingering glares.

  And yet, in the back corner of the classroom, a single Feran girl sat untouched by it all. Her golden-blonde hair shimmered under the soft light, cascading in smooth, deliberate waves. Her eyes—light amber—gazed out the window with no interest in the argument that had just unfolded.

  Her presence was striking not because she demanded attention, but because she withheld it entirely. Her aura was still, detached. Like she had long since stopped caring about such petty conflicts—or perhaps, like she was quietly waiting for something far more important than anyone around her could imagine.

  The classroom gradually emptied, students quietly gathering their belongings, whispers rising again but kept discreet after Professor Callahan's reprimand. Amid the murmurs and soft footsteps, the blonde Feran girl slowly collected her immaculate white backpack, her slender fingers tracing its delicate stitching, almost absent-mindedly.

  As she stood, her eyes remained detached, fixed on a distant point beyond the panoramic windows of Crystal Institute of Magical Arts. Outside, Miami's skyline shimmered beneath a sky washed in azure and silver. The brilliance felt oppressive rather than comforting.

  She exited silently, unnoticed, merging into the gentle chaos of the hallway. Conversations, laughter, and casual arguments filled the corridor, yet she drifted through untouched, separate from it all. Her graceful presence concealed a silent struggle beneath her flawless composure.

  Passing quickly through an ornate door marked with subtle glowing runes, she entered the pristine solitude of the academy's restroom. The soft hum of automated lighting filled the cool marble interior. Ensuring solitude, she closed the door firmly, securing it with a muted click. Her breathing quickened as her carefully maintained facade crumbled bit by bit.

  She leaned her back against the smooth marble wall, pressing her trembling fingers to her temples. The sterile, elegant silence amplified her heartbeat, each pulse echoing painfully in her ears. A familiar sense of dread crawled slowly under her skin, clawing at her nerves, tightness coiling through her chest.

  "Control it," she whispered desperately, voice almost inaudible. Her amber eyes widened slightly, looking around helplessly, seeking distraction in the intricate patterns of marble veins around her. Yet the anxiety surged, feeding on the empty perfection of her surroundings, a merciless wave pushing at the edges of her control.

  "Breathe." She closed her eyes tightly, forcing long, deliberate breaths, each one an act of sheer will. Gradually, her racing heart slowed, the overwhelming tension receding just enough to restore the illusion of calm. She steadied herself, gently adjusting her uniform and smoothing her golden hair.

  "I'm fine." Her whisper was shaky but determined. Taking a final, slow breath, she reopened her eyes, regaining her carefully cultivated composure. The mirror offered no reassurance, only the flawless reflection of a young Feran who appeared perfect, composed, and utterly indifferent to the turmoil hidden beneath.

  She unlocked the door and stepped back into the hallway, where life had continued uninterrupted. Holographic screens floated gracefully along the corridor walls, displaying rankings and exam results from recent theoretical and practical assessments. Students clustered around screens, checking names and scores, some smiling with pride, others quickly turning away, eyes dimmed with disappointment.

  Further down, glowing banners highlighted the prestigious sponsors of the academy, rotating slowly and majestically: "Sponsored by Oakwood," "Proudly Supported by Taira International," "Official partner of the WMO." The names shimmered subtly in neon blues and silvers, symbols of power, wealth, and influence. She paused briefly, gaze lingering coldly on the holographic names, her expression unreadable.

  Without further hesitation, she walked through the main exit, emerging into the sunlight. A sleek AV (aerial vehicle) silver with deep black accents, on one side the name Asher Defense glowed in neon letters, its tinted windows obscuring whoever awaited her within. The side door slid open soundlessly, revealing a softly illuminated interior lined with dark leather and minimalist elegance.

  She stepped gracefully inside without a single glance backward, vanishing behind the vehicle's tinted windows. As the door sealed quietly shut, the car smoothly pulled away, leaving behind the pristine facade of the academy—its truths, its lies, and the invisible burdens she carried away with her, silent and unseen.