Aya woke up a minute before her phone alarm. The silence in the room felt too thick, as if someone had sucked all the noise out, leaving only the beating of her heart. She stretched, buried her face in her pillow, cursed silently, and went to check her schedule.
Today's classes:
– Practical Rhetoric
– Biomechanics and the Metamorph Body
– Comparative Mythology (East–West)
– Self-Defense and Inner Energy
– Foundations of Conjugation
— Great, — Aya muttered. — Now I just have to figure out how not to blow my brain in "Conjugation." And why does everything here sound like a cult seminar?
She got up, put on her now-familiar vest, dark pants with pockets, comfy boots. She quickly brushed her hair, touched up the red at the ends, and dashed out into the corridor. Today she walked faster, as if that would speed up her adaptation. It didn't. It just helped kill the anxiety.
The first classes passed surprisingly smoothly. Rhetoric was basically psychology, just with a section on "how to convince a dragon not to burn you." Biomechanics was almost like anatomy, only with blueprints for tails and wings. In Comparative Mythology, Aya even got praise—her knowledge of the Greek pantheon and Japanese legends came in handy.
— Smart one, — someone whispered behind her.
— Yeah, just nuts.
She pretended not to hear.
In Self-Defense, the instructor (seemed human... but there was something snakelike in his movements) made them try to feel the energy flow inside their bodies. Aya felt only frustration at not getting it. And exhaustion. Her head was nodding, while the instructor kept repeating:
— Inhale, exhale, focus. Feel the core within you. You are flame, core, vessel. What resonates?
— Exhaustion. The desire for coffee. And a suspicion you're just another TikTok hypnotist, — Aya thought, but only nodded aloud.
And then it was lunch. And that was when it started.
She was standing in the cafeteria line when a giggle sounded behind her.
— Look, her again. Like she just left the arsonists anonymous club. Hope the lunchroom survives.
— That's why they call her "disaster on legs," — another one whispered.
— Not "Disaster," but "red mold," — added a third, and they all giggled.
Aya turned slowly.
Three girls. Normal-looking. Too normal. Perfect hair, sweet smiles—like a mousetrap smeared with jam.
One of them, the one who made the cafeteria joke, stood out the most. Tall, with a golden-blond braid and a look that said she lived above everyone else. The badge read Levana. Her sidekicks seemed to do everything to make her shine. And Levana just enjoyed the moment.
Aya said nothing. For now.
But in her mind it stuck: remembered.
Not because it hurt. But because girls like Levana always smile—until they sense a threat.
And she will.
Very soon.
The classroom looked like a university lecture hall. Desks in a semicircle, a board hovering in the air, and walls vibrating slightly from magical currents that someone was working hard to keep stable.
The lesson was called "Self-Defense and Inner Energy." Aya sat closer to the edge. Still not sure where she fit.
The teacher spoke about boundary creatures—those whose forms depended on emotions. About beings who could crumble to ash from shame or become giants from resentment.
He paced among the desks, mumbling:
— ...the body reacts faster than the mind... especially for those who don't know what's inside them.
Aya would've laughed, if she wasn't sure that line was about her.
— And here's our celebrity, — came a voice from behind. — Explosion girl. Or fire in sneakers, whichever you prefer.
Aya turned slowly.
Levana. Of course. Again. Her voice was lazily sweet, but her eyes were sharp.
— I get it, you like attention. But they'll teach you quickly here that attention can be deadly, — Levana continued, theatrically adjusting her hair.
— What, are you on a schedule? — Aya shot back. — Or do they feed you every time you try to act like the main star?
Levana pursed her lips. Someone behind them gasped. Levana's friends started whispering.
— Oh, witty now? I guess not all your vocabulary burned down with your last schools. But don't forget, your circus won't fly here. You're nobody here.
Aya stood up. Just stood. Her hands were shaking.
— Perfect. Nobody. Write that down, so you don't forget. I'll sign it later—when "nobody" makes you eat your own words, Levana.
— Watch out so "nobody" doesn't become "nothing," — Levana stepped closer, her heels clicking. — Or do you think your drama is impressive? The new girl with a special snowflake complex. Watched too many shows?
— And you—a local actress? With a memorized script and overestimated self-importance?
— Listen up, mortal... — Levana growled.
— What, you're immortal? Bored, so you decided to assert yourself on someone else's back?
The class held its breath. With every phrase, their voices rose, like a contest over who could out-shout, out-bite, out-crush the other.
— You think anyone here will pity you? Or protect you? — Levana leaned in. — You're alone. Everyone knows it. You're nobody, nothing. Even the ones who sent you here just wanted to get rid of you.
— And you think I was dying to come? Wrote myself a ticket to monster psycho camp? — Aya stepped forward. — But since I'm here, don't expect me to crawl under your crown.
— What did you say? — a hiss.
— Come on, it's too big for you anyway.
A slap.
Loud, sharp, ringing. Levana slapped Aya with such fury, the air actually rang. Someone gasped.
Aya staggered slightly... and, without thinking, punched back. Right in the cheekbone.
Levana crashed into a desk, hissing—literally. Her eyes glowed faintly, claws sprouted on her hands.
Aya didn't back down. On the contrary, she stepped forward.
And then everything started shaking.
Books, pens, chairs, inkwells. Everything rattled, quivered, as if from thunder that wasn't there.
As if the atmosphere itself had come alive.
— Aya! — someone shouted, but she didn't even hear.
— Come any closer and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor! — she growled, and it didn't even sound like her own voice.
— Girls, enough! NOW! — The teacher's magic tried to stabilize the chaos, but the room fought him like a wild animal.
Too late. Every object in the room... turned. All of them. Toward Levana.
Like a pack. Like dogs waiting for a command to "attack!" They were literally trembling in the air, held back only by someone's will—unconscious, but destructive.
Aya and Levana weren't fighting anymore. They stood there, breathing hard, faces flushed, with a nearly tangible wall of rage and power between them.
The teacher cast a stabilizer spell, and only that prevented an explosion—everything crashed down at once, thunderously, like a salvo.
— ENOUGH! — he barked. — Both of you, silence and sit! Now!
Levana staggered back, holding her cheek. Aya dropped her hands—and only then realized they were burning. Not with fire, with tension. With something. The class was stunned. Some looked scared, some curious.
Only one of Levana's friends whispered, venomously:
— Psycho...
Aya didn't answer. But inside she knew. That wasn't just anger. She didn't summon it—it crawled out on its own.
And maybe next time, no one would be able to stop it.
Aya sat alone in the principal's office. This time no Kaiden, no Mirael, and definitely no blond nightmare in a white blouse. Books everywhere, the smell of old wood, a stained-glass window. Too quiet. Suspiciously so.
The door closed softly, but with a definite click. The principal took his seat across from her. A man whose face looked like it belonged on an old coin—noble profile, silver hair, straight posture. His voice was soft. Too soft.
— Aya Li, — he began, folding his hands. — I understand you... haven't fully adapted to our academy. But today's incident is concerning. Not because of the fight itself. But because of... the side effects.
— Side effects? — Aya snorted, slouching in the chair. — The only side effect is a manicure scar from Levana, not that I dodged her.
— The teacher reports hearing a distorted voice. In your voice. — He paused. — And... observed levitation. Spontaneous. Directed. Threatening.
Aya froze for half a second. Then snorted.
— Yeah, and then my hair stood up and a scorpion crawled out of my eye. Maybe you should call a psychiatrist, if everyone here's into hallucinations now.
— This isn't the first time, — the principal continued gently. — Your previous school... The fire in the assembly hall. Broken mirrors. The attack on a teacher who, witnesses say, was just... standing next to you.
— That was a chem reaction! And the mirrors were just a bad batch, they were defective! — Aya snapped, but her voice trembled. — And the teacher... he touched my shoulder without warning, I... I just...
She clenched her fists.
— ...I just reacted like anyone would. Why am I here alone, and not that blond bitch, who started it?
— Because you, Aya, according to the report, were emitting magical pressure higher than some of our graduates at the time. — He didn't raise his voice. — And because you may not even know what you really are.
— Me? I'm the one everyone kicks and blames because I can't fit into your weird rules. Everything that happens here isn't me! I don't even understand what this place is! And if things are flying around—it's your "perfect" golden-haired student casting her "I'm everything, you're nothing" glare!
— She was in shock, Aya. And not just her. The whole class felt... danger. From you.
She pressed back against the chair. Her chest felt tight. Her cheeks burned, from either shame or anger.
— I. Am. Not. A mage. Not a demon. Not a flying skeleton. I'm a person. Just a person. Nobody ever taught me how to "control my aura" or whatever you people are on about.
The principal watched her closely. Not angry. But not sympathetic either.
— That's exactly why we want to help. Not punish. But you have to start listening. To yourself.
— Screw this, — Aya muttered through her teeth, standing up. — I didn't do anything.
— Your words are heard, Aya, — the principal nodded calmly. — But be careful. Not everyone who's afraid of you... will just stand by and watch.
She left the office, face like stone. Her cheeks still burned. Her hands shook. She walked down the corridor like everything was fine. But inside, everything was thrashing, pounding. She just wanted to make it to her room. Just a little farther and the tears would break through.
If even she didn't believe in magic...
Then who the hell was trying to claw its way out of her?