Chapter 17: Grief Has No Schedule

Elara:

By the time the sky outside my dormitory windows had begun turning shades of orange and purple, someone knocked softly on my front door.

When I opened it, several academy staff members stood outside, each carrying armfuls of neatly packed shopping bags.

"Princess." One of them bowed politely. "Your purchases."

I stepped aside in silence, watching as they carried everything inside with remarkable efficiency. Bag after bag disappeared into my living room until the once spacious area looked more like the stockroom of a luxury boutique than a student’s dormitory. Before leaving, another staff member handed me a thick cream-colored envelope sealed with Moonveil Academy’s silver crest.

"Your revised academic schedule."

A few moments later, I found myself alone once again. The silence returned so suddenly that it almost rang in my ears. I slowly turned in a circle, looking around my living room. There were shopping bags everywhere, dozens of them.

I stared at the mountain of purchases and found myself wondering if I actually bought so much stuff.

Less than forty-eight hours ago, I’d been carefully comparing the prices of instant noodles at the grocery store near my apartment because I wanted to save enough money for next month’s rent. Now, one afternoon of shopping had filled an entire room.

The contrast felt almost unreal.

Unable to look at the bags any longer, I placed the envelope on the coffee table before carefully breaking the academy seal. Several neatly printed pages slid into my hands.

My class schedule.

I sat down on the sofa and began reading. The first section listed the mandatory core subjects - History & Politics, Combat Arts, and Runes & Magic Theory. Three classes, Monday through Friday. Each lasting one hour. That seemed... manageable. Until I reached the next section.

Every weekday, immediately after my regular classes, another lesson had been scheduled - Special Class with Professor Cedric Fenrith, from Monday to Friday. Each lasting for an hour.

I frowned.

Special Class? There wasn’t a single explanation beneath the title. No classroom. No description. Nothing. Apparently I was simply expected to attend.

I turned the page.

The remaining schedule became even more specific. Each weekday contained one rotating advanced subject.

Monday – Advanced Elemental Studies.

Tuesday – Weaving Fundamentals.

Wednesday – Advanced Beast Studies.

Thursday – Advanced Manipulation Studies.

Friday – Royal Authority.

Five classes every weekday. Each one lasting an hour. They surely made my weekdays busy, but not impossible.

Finally, my eyes drifted toward the bottom of the final page. There, separated from everything else by a silver line, sat one final note.

Every Saturday – 6:00 PM

Private Power Awakening Session

Location: Headmaster’s Office

Instructor: Headmaster Lorien Moonveil

I read the final line twice. Then a third time. Without meaning to, Lorien’s face surfaced in my mind. His silver hair. The calm blue eyes that somehow always looked as though they saw more than they said. The cool sensation of his magic moving beneath my skin. And the way he had been the only person to ask permission before touching me.

I caught myself.

"No."

I closed the schedule and placed it onto the table.

Don’t be stupid, Elara.

One polite gesture didn’t suddenly make him trustworthy. None of them were. Not Ms. Noctis. Not Professor Fenrith. Not Professor Elowen. Not Reign. Not Kairo. Not even Lorien Moonveil.

Especially not Lorien Moonveil.

He was the Headmaster of this academy. One of the Five Regents. One of the people standing at the very top of this world’s power. A man whose words could probably decide whether others lived or died. And people like that didn’t survive by being kind.

I folded the schedule carefully.

No matter how convincing their explanations sounded, no matter how many documents they placed before me, and no matter how many magical examinations confirmed their claims... there remained one fact I couldn’t force myself to ignore.

My family was dead. My mom, my dad, Felix... they had all died less than a day ago. And the people responsible belonged to this world.

The Reapers might have behind the massacre of my biological family twenty year ago, but these people had also spent twenty years searching for me. These people had fought those same battles and these people had brought violence to my doorstep.

If none of this had happened, Mom would still be teasing Dad about forgetting groceries. Dad would still be pretending not to notice. Felix would have laughed while stealing food straight from the pan before dinner. I would have complained... and secretly enjoyed every second of it.

Instead, the last thing I’d seen... was blood. So much blood. Dad collapsing onto the floor. Mom screaming. Felix reaching toward me... his hand still trying to reach me even with a sword through his chest.

My breathing suddenly caught.

No... Don’t think about it. Not again.

But it was too late. The memories crashed into me all at once. The masked warriors. The smell of blood. My mother’s terrified voice. Felix calling my name. The desperate look in his eyes.

My vision blurred. A tear slipped down my cheek. Then another. I lowered my head.

"I..."

The word broke apart before it could become a sentence. A sob escaped instead, raw and painful. It echoed through the silent dormitory.

I slid off the sofa without realizing it. My knees hit the expensive rug covering the living room floor. None of it mattered. Not the furniture. Not the palace-sized dormitory. Not the shopping bags. Not the expensive clothes. Not the schedule. None of it.

Because none of it could bring them back.

I buried my face in my hands. The tears came faster, hot and endless. My shoulders shook violently as months’ worth of strength that I didn’t even know I possessed simply shattered beneath the weight of grief.

I hadn’t cried properly. There hadn’t been time. I’d been kidnapped. Dragged into another world. Forced to hear about royal bloodlines and magic and academies while my family’s bodies hadn’t even grown cold.

I hadn’t been allowed to stop. Hadn’t been allowed to mourn. Hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye.

"I..." Another sob tore itself from my throat. "I’m sorry..."

I wasn’t even sure who I was apologizing to anymore. My chest hurt so badly it became difficult to breathe. Time lost all meaning. Minutespassed. Perhaps hours.

Eventually, the sobbing stopped. Not because I felt better. Simply because my body no longer had the strength to cry that hard. However, the tears continued slipping silently down my face. And even after they finally slowed, the pain still remained, heavy and crushing, like something had hollowed out my chest and left nothing behind.

The dormitory became silent once again.

Then...

"Meow."

The tiny sound was so soft that I almost thought I’d imagined it. My head lifted immediately as I held my breath.

Another soft...

"Meow."

I sat upright so quickly that the blanket I’d somehow pulled around myself slid onto the floor.

My tear-filled eyes searched the room.

Crazy...