Semua Bab Aetherion Academia #1: Shadows of Rebirth: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Moments Later [Rina POV] The ward was purged. Well-wishers gone. Nurses gone. Silence so heavy it felt like being buried alive. Two men sat at the foot of my bed. Less like visitors. More like harbingers. Lord Dexter Valerius. High Vampire. Council of Ten. His seat cemented in centuries of bloodshed. He fussed over the temperature of my chamomile. Beside him, Morthos Gravemind. Necromancer Overseer. Fellow Council member. Spinning a soul-gem between skeletal fingers. "You look thin, Lumira." Dexter's voice was a low, melodic growl. He adjusted silk lapels. Midnight-black suit. Eyes flashing with predatory, paternal heat. "I find my goddaughter forced into a death match with a flea-bitten mongrel while school security watched." "It was a corrupted werewolf, Uncle D." I sipped the tea. Perfect. "And I won." "You did more than win." Morthos interjected. Voice like dry leaves skittering over a tombstone. He leaned forward. Pale, translucent skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbone

Moments Later [Rina P.O.V] The Grand Refectory was a gothic masterpiece of vaulted stone and enchanted stained glass depicting the Great Purge. Normally, noon meant gossip over crystal carafes of nectar. Today, the air was thick with a different tension. The heavy kind that preceded coronations. I sat at my usual table. Eyes narrowed at shimmering self-animating flyers pinned to marble columns. Everywhere. Each one a masterpiece of calligraphy announcing the Fenrir Pack's Grand Ball this Saturday. Descriptions were scandalous: starlight-woven silk drapes, casks of vintage Lunar-aged nectar, buffet featuring rare delicacies imported from the Forbidden Glades. Rumors were worse. Jaxon had commissioned a crown of frozen morning dew for Selene. The orchestra was being flown in from the High Elven courts. "He's squandering a fortune." My voice was tight. "A fortune he doesn't have." In the novel - the version readers knew - original Lumira was queen of the social scene. Endless balls

Moments Later [Rina P.O.V] The gymnasium had been stripped of athletic pretense. Draped in sprawling, neon-lit gothic aesthetic for the Thursday Night Social. The "Game Night" the student body lived for. A high-stakes social arena where reputations were forged or incinerated before weekend formal balls. By 19:00, the bleachers were a sea of shifting eyes. Glowing ambers of Werewolf tracks. Icy blues of Sirens. Sharp predatory gazes of Vampires. All waiting for one thing: the crowning of the "Spirit Queen." Selene made her move after the other contestants finished. White gossamer gown. Real white lilies blooming and wilting in time with her breathing. Classic saintly performance. Soft floral dance evoking purity, peace, traditional values of the Light. Undeniably beautiful. Also, in the wake of the cold hard reality I now lived, utterly hollow. She looked like a funeral bouquet trying to convince the room it was a sunrise. "She's actually trying to win with flowers." Emberlyn hiss

The Next Morning [Rina P.O.V] The stone halls hummed with frantic, jagged energy. The Shard's removal from the infirmary had stripped away the school's velvet blindfold. For the first time in decades, the supernatural elite weren't gliding. They were prowling. By 10:00 AM, the Music as Spellwork chamber was packed. A sonic lung designed to inhale mana and exhale pure resonance. Professor Vane stood at the center, baton poised like a conductor of the damned. "Today." Vane's voice crackled. "We move beyond melody. We speak to the core. Who will demonstrate the Aria of Alignment?" Selene stepped forward before the invitation settled. Pristine white. Deliberate contrast to the darkness in the halls. Practiced grace of a girl who had never known true hunger. "I will, Professor." Silver bell. Clear. Dangerously sweet. "The campus is unsettled. I wish to perform the Hymn of the Morning Star. We all need the Light right now." Relief rippled through the front rows. Jaxon, center of the L

Moments Later [Rina P.O.V] The sand was iron-red. Centuries of blood baked into the grain. Above, the stone amphitheater packed with students. The noon sun a blinding eye. Down here, in the shadow of the arena walls, the air tasted like dust and adrenaline. "Theory review is over." Instructor Kroll's voice was a jagged saw. "In the field, you don't cite the manual. You bleed. Silas! Step up." Silas vaulted the stone railing. Jaxon's right hand. Fenrir Pack's most aggressive enforcer. Landed with a heavy thud. Chest heaving with a pre-shift growl. Didn't look at Kroll. Looked at me. "And his opponent?" Kroll asked. "Duskbane." Silas spat. Thick finger pointed. "The witch thinks she's untouchable because she played some music and broke a few vials. Let's see how she handles silver and steel." I stepped into the pit. Slow. Deliberate. No sword. No stance. "Don't kill him, Lumira." Seraphina's whisper from the edge. "It's just a review." "Tell him that." I muttered. The bell rang