You know what happens after you declare war on a throne?
They don't hit you with an army.
They hit you with a girl.
She came to the Academy three days after the Council summoned me. No fanfare. No entourage. Just a raven-colored cloak and a silent blade across her back.
They said her name was Liora Caelestis.
Daughter of High Saint Aurelius. Born under a blood eclipse. Favored by one of the Celestial Choirs.
They also said she had never smiled.
That part, I believed.
Because the first time I saw her, she looked at me like the world would be better off if I had stayed dead.
And for the first time in a while,
I didn't know whether to fight, run,
or introduce myself.
⸻
It started in Advanced Magical Ethics.
Fitting, right?
The professor—some wrinkled owl of a man with runes in his beard—had barely finished calling roll when Liora raised her hand.
"Ael Everdusk," she said.
That's all.
My name.
The room went quiet like someone had just dropped a sword.
I turned. Met her eyes.
They were not like mine. Not like Ravianne's.
They were clear. White-gold, not warm but burning, like the inside of a forge.
I gave her a polite nod. "That's me."
She tilted her head.
"Do you know what you carry in your chest?"
That made the professor flinch.
"Miss Caelestis, we don't interrogate students in my class—"
But I raised my hand.
"It's fine," I said. "She wants an answer."
I looked at her again.
And smiled.
"You already know, don't you?"
"I want to hear you say it."
So I stood.
Let the silence grow sharp.
And then I said, "A fallen star."
A few students gasped.
The professor sat down.
And Liora?
She didn't blink.
"You're not supposed to exist," she said.
"Neither is mercy," I replied.
"But here we are."
⸻
They made us partners in Sparring class.
Of course they did.
The heavens have a sense of humor.
She stood opposite me on the training platform, fingers curled around her hilt, cloak tossed aside. Her armor was ceremonial—white and gold, no scratches, no dents.
Mine?
Just a black shirt and my bare hands.
Because I didn't need weapons.
Not anymore.
The instructor gave us the signal.
And she didn't hesitate.
She lunged like lightning wrapped in silk, her blade singing hymns in a language I couldn't speak but somehow remembered.
I parried with my palm.
Wings flashed behind me.
Only for a second.
But she saw them.
And for the first time,
she smiled.
Just a little.
Like someone meeting their favorite enemy.
⸻
We didn't speak after that.
But she followed me.
Not like a shadow.
Like a hunter.
I'd find her near the library, pretending to read. Near the gardens, watching me train. In the dining hall, three tables away, never eating.
Always studying.
She didn't fear me.
She was measuring me.
Like a sword she might someday have to break.
And then, one night, she approached.
Alone.
No witnesses.
No traps.
Just moonlight and quiet grass between us.
"I've read the prophecies," she said.
"Which one?"
"All of them."
I chuckled.
"Did any of them mention how good I look in black?"
"No," she said flatly. "They all said you'd kill me."
I didn't move.
She stepped closer.
And added, "Or I'd kill you."
Silence stretched like a wire.
"You're not here to be my friend," I said.
"No."
"Then what?"
She stared at me for a long time.
Then said—
"I want to understand why you haven't lost yet."
That made me blink.
"Lost?"
"You have the blood of the condemned. You were touched by the abyss. People like you die early. Loud. Alone."
I didn't respond.
Because I had died.
Early.
Loud.
Alone.
On another world.
She must've seen something in my face, because her tone softened.
"But you didn't."
"Maybe I was too stubborn."
"No," she said.
"You were too loved."
I froze.
Because that word hit like a blade in the ribs.
She wasn't looking at me now. She was staring at the stars.
"You had someone who chose you," she said. "That's the only way your kind survives. The condemned need someone who refuses to condemn them."
My throat felt tight.
Ravianne's face passed through my mind.
Then her voice.
Let them call you villain. Just make sure they bow when they do.
"You think I'm just surviving?" I asked.
She looked back at me.
And this time, she wasn't hostile.
She was curious.
"I think you're still choosing whether to become the thing everyone fears… or the thing they follow."
⸻
The next morning, a letter arrived.
Sealed with violet wax. Marked with the sigil of the Seraphic Order.
An invitation.
Not to tea.
To judgment.
The Seraphic Order had requested an audience with me.
Not because I broke laws.
Because I broke prophecy.
"They'll try to test you," Ravianne warned, reading over my shoulder. "And they don't fail people. They erase them."
"I'll pass," I said.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You don't even know the test."
"I don't need to."
She laughed bitterly.
"You really are your mother's child."
I looked at her.
"She wasn't your sister, was she?"
Ravianne didn't answer.
But the way her shadow trembled
told me everything.
⸻
The meeting with the Seraphic Order wasn't in a courtroom.
It was in a cathedral built upside-down, carved beneath the Academy like a wound no one dared stitch closed.
Pillars of white flame. Choirs that sang without mouths. Angels whose wings bent the wrong way.
And in the middle,
a table.
Three seats.
One for them.
One for me.
And one for someone I hadn't expected.
Liora Caelestis.
She sat first.
Looked at me, just once.
Then said—
"I'm your witness."
"You're what?"
She didn't smile.
"The Seraphic Order believes you'll bring ruin. I said I'd find out for myself."
"You're siding with me?"
"No," she said.
"I'm watching you."
I didn't argue.
Because honestly?
That felt worse.
⸻
The questions came like blades.
They asked why I bore forbidden wings.
I said, "Because they fit."
They asked if I'd renounce the villainess.
I said, "Only if the stars renounce the sky."
They asked if I wanted the throne.
I said, "No."
Then smiled.
"But I'll take it if no one else is worthy."
By the end, the angels didn't smile.
But they didn't attack either.
Which meant they feared something worse than me.
Me being right.
⸻
As I left the cathedral, Liora followed again.
We didn't speak.
But this time,
she walked beside me.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
Like someone who hadn't decided whether to walk me to salvation
or ruin.
And I think I liked it that way.