I was the one who changed my nickname—claimed it as my own. The name that had clung to me since that cursed day, without knowing how fateful it would become.

  A wild, untamed, rare creature—that's what I had become. And the name stuck. So did the red coat I finally managed to dye with a spell.

  I wore that symbol of my shame with pride. It reminded me not only of what I'd endured, but of my victory—over myself, and over the arrogance of dragons.

  Vir Ventus no longer showed up at the Academy, nor did the heir to the Terragon line.

  Since that night, I hadn’t heard a word about Maximilian. Rumour had it his fiancée helped arrange his urgent transfer to the Capital for practical training. Not even for his diploma did the black dragon return—he took his final exams remotely and sent a clerk from the Emperor’s Inquisition to collect it.

  Did I want to look into the eyes of the dragon who’d stood outside my door that night and turned my dreams to ash?

  Maybe I did. Once.

  But that faded quickly.

  Six months later, I no longer imagined what I’d say to Max if we met again. I stopped rehearsing the moment I’d look into his cold grey eyes and ask the one question that had once burned inside me:

  “Why?”

  Though there had been many questions.

  Why had he done that to me?

  Was he really so foolish not to understand what wearing a bride’s gown would mean for me?

  Why did he disappear without so much as an apology—or even the slightest concern about the aftermath of that night?

  But the more time passed, the less those questions mattered. The less the answers mattered.

  No. There was only one answer.

  He didn’t care.

  He didn’t care what happened to the pathetic little mage he humiliated in front of the entire Academy.

  He didn’t care whether I survived the wrath of the Emperor’s Fifth Junior Advisor, who dragged me from the ballroom.

  He didn’t care that I lost my closest friend—and never received a single letter from her.

  He didn’t care about the nightmares that still haunted me.

  Every night, I saw the dark eyes of that junior advisor, forcing me to activate the nighttime wards. I heard his guttural voice during winter storms, trying to stay warm.

  Only the letters from Krastin brought me any peace—proof that the dragon hadn’t dirtied his hands further, hadn’t continued his revenge.

  ***

  Wrapped in my red jacket—one I’d shortened and tailored to fit—I didn’t notice the large figure that emerged from the fog right in front of me. I slammed into it at full speed.

  “Easy there, Snowflake. You’ll hurt yourself,” came a rough voice above my head.

  I’d run into the man’s back so hard I nearly bounced off and would’ve landed face-first in a snowdrift if he hadn’t caught me.

  Brushing snow from my hair, I looked up and studied the stranger. A dark-haired mage stood before me, a slight smile on his face, studying me with warm hazel eyes.

  “Don’t be scared, girl. I’m just lost. I’m looking for the Faculty of Domestic Magic. I’m already fifteen minutes late for a meeting with the dean,” he rambled, still holding on to me.

  I tried to say something—anything—but the grip on my arm sent a wave of fear through my throat, freezing it shut. I hadn’t even realized I was trembling.

  But he noticed.

  The man slowly let go and raised his hands slightly as he stepped back a few paces.

  “I’m Chester Dymov, Snowflake. I’m Dean Brom’s new assistant. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way,” he said calmly, lowering his voice deliberately.

  He tilted his head slightly, watching me closely—like he was afraid I might faint at any second.

  I raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the administrative building, shrinking under the weight of his gaze. Chester nodded, circled around me without turning his back, and once he was ten steps away, strode off quickly toward the dean’s office.

  It took a full fifteen minutes for the shaking in my hands to stop.

  Apparently, the fallout from my encounter with the dragon in the corridor was worse than I thought. I hadn’t frozen like that at home, or even during my internship, when facing unfamiliar mages. I had to hide out in the washroom for a while, which made me late for class.

  Sneaking into the lecture hall unnoticed didn’t work. Just as I slipped in, the dean was introducing the new professors and his assistant. The loud creak of the door made the elderly mage stop mid-sentence.

  Dean Brom had changed a lot since that evening.

  Once stern and gruff, he now looked like he’d aged a decade overnight. I wasn’t the only one who’d come to certain conclusions about the place of mages at the Academy. So had he.

  We were powerless. The dragons were untouchable.

  And as for me—his attitude had changed completely.

  Though Vir Brom did his best not to show any favouritism, it was hard not to notice. Rumour had it he was seriously considering keeping me on the Domestic Magic faculty after graduation, taking me on as his apprentice.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  But the dean never made any offers, and I didn’t believe the gossip anyway. After all, people also claimed I’d slept with half the previous graduating class from the Combat Department. According to the rumours, I’d already given birth to heirs for three different minor dragon houses from the North.

  This time was no different. Measuring me with a brief look, the dean said nothing—just gestured to the usual seat in the front row and continued his introduction. If it had been any other student in my place, he would’ve kicked them out for being late and knocked points off their standing.

  The stranger from the alley really was the new assistant—Chester Dymov, who’d graduated from our Academy more than a decade ago and had been working in the Department of Urban Development in the Capital.

  For some unknown reason, the mage had suddenly taken a demotion and returned to the North.

  The students were puzzled, but Dean Brom was getting on in years. It made sense that he might be training a successor. In that light, Chester’s return wasn’t so much a demotion as a calculated move. A few years to learn the ropes—and the young assistant would inherit the dean’s chair.

  Classes settled back into their usual rhythm. And as the Winter Ball drew near, the weather grew colder.

  I buried myself in textbooks, as always—following tradition, though I didn’t know why. The Capital held no future for me, and third-order spellwork was more than enough to land a job in a tavern—or maybe even in a Custos household.

  Despite Father’s words that he’d already secured me a quiet position with our Custos, I had no desire to go anywhere near dragons. Even just walking past the Combat Field, where the dragons trained, made my heart pound so loudly it drowned out the catcalls.

  A month before the ball, I became a recluse.

  I timed my visits to the cafeteria just before it closed and right after it opened, just to avoid hearing any more chatter about which heir of the great founder dragons would be attending the ritual this year.

  In the past, the duty had fallen to Maximilian and Skylar. But they were gone—and with them, the last heirs at the Academy. So someone from their bloodline would have to come to perform the rite.

  According to legend, the ritual kept the North’s eternal frost in check—preventing it from spreading and swallowing the continent.

  “You’ll hurt yourself again, Snowflake,” came a soft voice by my ear.

  Startled, I dropped the stack of books I’d borrowed from the library.

  That same strange paralysis hit me again, freezing my breath and rooting me to the spot. Slowly, I looked up.

  The smile faded from the assistant’s face the moment our eyes met.

  “Aurora, are you alright?” the man asked gently, concern in his eyes.

  He made a mistake—he touched my face.

  On instinct, I whispered a spell. A flash of blue light erupted, and the young man was thrown backward into the nearest snowbank.

  Guided by something primal, I left the books scattered in the snow and bolted toward the dormitory entrance. Only after slamming the door behind me and activating the protective wards did I manage to breathe again. My hands were still trembling as I unfastened my red coat.

  An hour passed before the shaking stopped and my thoughts began to clear. When I realized what I’d done—used magic on Chester Dymov, the dean’s assistant—I groaned loudly and grabbed my head in both hands.

  “Aurora is safe. No dragons nearby,” came the voice of Wizardis.

  “Thanks, Visa. I figured that out already. I think I just nearly killed the dean’s assistant. Tomorrow’s going to be fun,” I muttered to my only companion.

  Loneliness and fear had done their part.

  Over the past year, I hadn’t just created one spell as I’d once dreamed—I’d created dozens.

  But not one of them would ever serve the Empire, ruled as it was by cold-blooded, ungrateful dragons. If the Inquisition ever got hold of the records stored in my dimensional artifact, I’d be executed for treason against Arcania.

  Vir Ventus had no idea what a sleepless, terrified mage was capable of.

  None of the officially sanctioned defensive spells could protect mages from dragons. Dragons drew power from their second magical essence—an elemental spirit they bonded with in childhood, when their powers first awakened. Once bound, they shared that power for life, learning to balance their human and beast natures.

  Only a handful of old legends claimed the founder dragons weren’t saviours at all.

  Those stories said the dragons first arrived as spirits and, in order to survive in our world, possessed the bodies of four powerful mages—binding them with magical chains. Most official texts denied that, insisting instead that dragons came through a portal from another realm.

  But there had been a time when believers in the possession theory gathered strength. They even sparked a rebellion, trying to overthrow the Emperor and place a human mage on Arcania’s throne.

  The Capital ran red with mage blood.

  The dragons, stronger both in physical strength and magical prowess, crushed the revolt quickly. What followed was a purge across the Empire. Any literature deemed dangerous was destroyed. Mages were banned from using offensive or defensive spells altogether.

  Father had been furious when he found the old book I’d hidden—the one that told that story. He burned the ancient tome right away. But fear and anger had etched every word into my memory before the flames could take it from me.

  I never did figure out how that book ended up in the Academy’s library. It had no catalogue number, no protective ward—and I’d shamelessly stolen it.

  But it was that book that gave me the idea for a new spell.

  A spell that would stop me from fearing the dark. A spell that would keep me from flinching at every footstep outside my door. A spell that could protect me from Vir Ventus—if his hand ever found my neck again.

  For months, I’d been looking for a way to sever the bond between a mage and their elemental spirit. If I could strip a dragon of his magic, I could defend myself—or at least run. I didn’t care about the Inquisition anymore. I was tired of being afraid.

  While Wizardis mumbled incoherently in the background, I buried myself in my books again. Without the materials I’d taken from the library, I couldn’t continue developing the spell. In the meantime, I still had regular lectures to prepare for.

  It wasn’t until near midnight that I finally covered the cage of my feathered companion. Unlike me, my little portal-caster couldn’t sleep with the night wards activated and always insisted I turn the lights off.

  When the bird first spoke, I’d nearly jumped with joy. But after several hours of nonstop rambling from my new “friend,” I had no choice but to cast a silence spell.

  It seemed the wild portal bird had a lot to say after spending so long misunderstood.

  At first, I wanted to share the discovery with my father and brother. But I knew better—they’d blab immediately, and the news would reach the Capital within days. I had no intention of dealing with anyone from the Department of Innovations, so I silenced the chatty bird every time I left the room.

  Besides, it wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for.

  I wanted her to relay messages—not chatter non-stop all day. Still, I didn’t dig deeper. I shifted my focus back to defensive spells. Though, to be honest, some of them were dangerously close to combat magic—especially when the energy flow wasn’t perfectly controlled.

  As Chester Dymov had already discovered firsthand.

  ***

  The next morning, as expected, I received an invitation to the dean’s office. I walked to Vir Brom like I was heading to my execution.

  They hadn’t taught us spells like that. I’d found it in the Combat Department’s archives and modified it to match my own magical current. For anyone else, it would’ve been useless—it was tailored entirely to me.

  “Come in, Aurora,” came the dean’s stern voice.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside—as if into a chasm.

  Vir Brom was seated at his desk. In front of him was a tall stack of books I’d lost during my panicked escape.

  Vir Brom sat behind his desk, and in front of him was the stack of books I’d lost during my escape.

  “My dear girl, these books may be protected against weather and other misfortunes,” he said sternly, “but that doesn’t mean you should leave them lying in the snow.”

  My eyes widened.

  This was definitely not the conversation I’d expected after pacing outside the administrative building for half the morning.

  “Take your books—and try to be more careful next time. I understand Chester startled you, but that’s no excuse for abandoning Academy property. I think you should assist him in the lab. Perhaps then you’ll stop running away from my assistant. Who knows? You two may be working together quite a bit.”

  With the same no-nonsense tone, he pushed the stack of textbooks toward me and gestured toward the door.

  Just as I reached the exit, I bumped straight into Chester. The man gave me a conspiratorial grin and a wink, stepping aside to let me pass.

  They hadn’t reported me.

  And that… was unexpected.