Ketika Selenne melangkah masuk ke ruang ujian, atmosfer langsung berubah sedemikian rupa sehingga orang awam pun bisa merasakannya. Kehadirannya tidak menggelegar bagai petir atau menyilaukan bagaikan cahaya yang dipanggil; sebaliknya, ruangan itu mendadak menjadi lebih tenang, seolah udara pun menegakkan punggungnya. Para murid bangkit berdiri secara serempak, pandangan mereka lurus ke depan sementara perhatian mereka diam-diam tertarik ke satu sudut ruangan tertentu di mana ketegangan terasa jauh lebih pekat dibanding tempat lainnya.
Ia membalas salam mereka dengan anggukan tenang sebelum menyapukan pandangannya ke seluruh barisan. Para murid tampak cukup siap—gugup dengan cara yang wajar, percaya diri dengan cara yang bisa ditebak—tetapi di balik ketenangan di permukaan itu, terselip secercah antisipasi yang dianggapnya tidak biasa untuk ujian tengah pekan. Perasaan itu tidak tertuju padanya, yang sudah aneh; melainkan tertuju pada apa pun, atau siapa pun, yang telah membuat ruangan itu bergeming jauh sebelum ia tiba.
Matanya mengikuti arah perhatian itu dan berhenti pada Lucavion, yang duduk dengan santai, nyaris tanpa beban. Lelaki itu mendongak saat Selenne melihatnya, dan lengkungan tipis yang tak terbaca di bibirnya menyiratkan sekelumit pengakuan tanpa harus tunduk pada rasa hormat maupun sikap kurang ajar.
Sejenak, ia mengira itulah batas dari keanehan tersebut, namun kemudian sudut pandangnya menangkap gerakan dari kursi di sebelah.
Seorang gadis duduk di samping Lucavion, dan langkah Selenne melambat sesaat—terlalu samar untuk disadari oleh kelas, namun cukup bagi kesadarannya sendiri.
Perak rambutnya tergerai di bahu gadis itu bagaikan kaca pintalan yang diterpa cahaya api, dan mata lavendernya memancarkan kejernihan yang nyaris terasa tidak wajar di ruangan yang dipenuhi oleh kegugupan dan kedisiplinan paksaan.
Kecantikan tingkat itu jarang mengejutkan Selenne, namun gadis muda ini memancarkan kehadiran yang terasa dibentuk oleh warisan dan sejarah, bukan sekadar kebetulan estetika.
Pengenalan itu bersemi di benak Selenne sebelum ia sempat dengan sadar mengingat namanya. Isolde Valoria, keturunan dari Kadipaten Valoria dari Kekaisaran Loria, salah satu murid pertukaran yang diizinkan masuk ke Arcanis di bawah Perjanjian Dataran Valerius.
Pendaftaran dirinya sendiri adalah mata uang politik, yang dimaksudkan untuk memperkokoh niat baik, menampilkan kepercayaan, dan meredakan persaingan senyap yang membara di antara kedua negara.
Melihatnya di sini bukanlah hal yang mengejutkan, namun melihatnya duduk di samping Lucavion—dari sekian banyak orang—terasa nyaris seperti ironi yang disengaja.
Selenne membiarkan pandangannya tertahan sedetik lebih lama untuk membaca dinamika mereka. Keduanya mengenakan senyum yang tampak sangat sopan dari kejauhan, tetapi ekspresi mereka kehilangan kelembutan atau kehangatan sejati, seolah kesopanan mereka diukir dan bukan dirasakan dari hati.
Sesuatu di udara di antara mereka membawa hawa dingin yang teredam, jenis ketegangan yang dianggap "ramah" oleh masyarakat kelas atas semata-mata karena tidak ada yang repot-repot menyebutnya dengan nama lain.
Ia terus berjalan tanpa berhenti, namun sebagian pikirannya tetap terpaku pada pemandangan yang ganjil itu.
Reputasi Lucavion telah mulai merayap melalui Akademi bagaikan bara api liar di rumput kering, dan memasangkannya dengan seorang duchess Lorian berdarah bangsawan tinggi tampak tidak logis, bahkan seperti sebuah kebetulan.
Namun tidak ada satu pun dari postur tubuh mereka yang menyiratkan kebetulan; mereka tampak terlalu sadar akan keberadaan satu sama lain, terlalu mandiri, terlalu terbiasa dengan bilah tak kasat mata yang bersemayam di antara mereka.
Ketika tiba di depan, Selenne meletakkan catatan-catatannya di atas meja dengan ketenangan terukur yang menstabilkan ruangan. "Kalian boleh duduk," ucapnya, dan para murid menurut diiringi derau kain serta desahan napas yang tertahan.
Ketika para murid sudah tenang, Selenne membiarkan keheningan itu bernapas sejenak. Pandangannya kembali melayang ke arah pasangan di barisan kedua, ditarik bukan oleh rasa ingin tahu melainkan oleh kalkulasi. Isolde Valoria duduk dengan postur yang sangat anggun, ekspresinya tenang dengan cara yang hanya bisa dikuasai oleh para bangsawan terdidik, namun sesuatu di balik posturnya mengisyaratkan niat yang waspada.
'Motif apa yang dimiliki seorang duchess Lorian hingga duduk di sampingnya?'
'Diplomasi? Provokasi? Hiburan?'
Ia menepis pikiran itu hampir secepat saat pikiran itu terbentuk. Bukan karena kurang menarik, melainkan karena tidak relevan. 'Permainan apa pun yang ia mainkan adalah urusannya sendiri. Aku tidak di sini untuk mengatur politik sosial para remaja.' Perhatiannya beralih ke seluruh ruangan, mencatat bahu-bahu yang kaku, lirikan-lirikan curi-curi, serta antisipasi yang rapuh.
Lucavion tampak tidak terganggu, meskipun Selenne meragukan ketenangan itu murni. 'Ia menarik perhatian tanpa usaha. Berguna di beberapa arena, membawa bencana di arena lain.' Kehadirannya sudah mengubah keseimbangan aula tersebut, namun itu bukanlah urusannya saat ini. Ia berada di sini untuk sesuatu yang jauh lebih sederhana, dan jauh lebih sulit.
Memastikan integritas ujian.
Ekspresinya tetap tenang saat ia membuka lipatan folio kertas yang tipis. 'Mereka sudah mencoba menyimpulkan format evaluasi.' Pikiran itu tidak disertai kemarahan—hanya tekad. 'Aku tidak akan membiarkan Ujian Lisan mengalami nasib yang sama.'
Ia melangkah sedikit ke samping agar semuanya bisa melihatnya dengan jelas.
When Selenne entered the examination hall, the atmosphere shifted in a way even the untrained could feel. Her presence did not crack like thunder or blaze like summoned light; instead, the room settled into a quieter posture, as though the air had chosen to straighten its spine. Students rose in practiced unison, their gazes fixed ahead while their attention tugged subtly toward one particular corner of the room where tension pooled thicker than anywhere else.
She acknowledged their greeting with a composed nod before letting her gaze sweep across the rows. The students looked prepared enough—nervous in ordinary ways, confident in predictable ones—but beneath their surface composure was a thread of anticipation she found unusual for a midweek exam. It wasn’t directed at her, which was already strange; it was directed at whatever, or whoever, had stirred the room long before she arrived.
Her eyes followed the direction of that attention and landed on Lucavion, seated with an ease that was almost leisurely. He looked up when she saw him, and the faint, unreadable curve of his mouth carried a trace of acknowledgment without submitting to respect or insolence.
For a moment, she thought that would be the extent of the anomaly, but then the corner of her vision caught motion from the adjacent seat.
A young woman sat beside him, and Selenne’s step slowed just slightly—too slight for the class to notice, just enough for her own awareness.
Platinum hair fell around the girl’s shoulders like spun glass catching firelight, and her lavender eyes held a clarity that bordered on unnatural in a room crowded with nerves and forced discipline.
Beauty of that level rarely surprised Selenne, yet this young woman possessed the sort of presence that felt crafted by heritage and history rather than aesthetic chance.
Recognition bloomed in Selenne’s thoughts before she consciously reached for the name. Isolde Valoria, scion of the Valoria Dukedom from the Lorian Empire, one of the exchange students granted entry to Arcanis under the Peace of Valerius Plains.
Her enrollment alone was political currency, meant to solidify goodwill, display trust, and ease the quiet rivalry simmering between the two nations. Seeing her here was not unexpected, yet seeing her sitting beside Lucavion—of all people—felt almost deliberately ironic.
Selenne allowed her gaze to linger a breath longer to read the dynamic. The two wore smiles that looked perfectly polite from a distance, but their expressions lacked softness or true warmth, almost as though their courtesy was carved rather than felt.
Something in the air between them carried a muted chill, the sort of tension that polite society considered "cordial" only because no one had bothered to name it otherwise.
She continued walking without pausing, but part of her mind remained fixed on the curious tableau.
Lucavion’s reputation had already begun to twist through the Academy like a stray ember in dry grass, and pairing him with a highborn Lorian duchess seemed illogical, even accidental.
Yet nothing in their posture suggested accident; they looked too aware of each other, too self-contained, too accustomed to the invisible blade resting between them.
When she reached the front, Selenne placed her notes onto the desk with a deliberate calm that steadied the room. "You may be seated," she said, and the students complied in a rustle of fabric and whispered shifts of breath.
When the students settled, Selenne allowed the silence to breathe for a moment. Her gaze drifted once more toward the pair in the second row, drawn not by curiosity but by calculation. Isolde Valoria sat with perfect poise, her expression serene in the way only well-groomed nobility could manage, yet something in her posture hinted at guarded intent.
’What motive does a Lorian duchess have sitting beside him?’
’Diplomacy? Provocation? Amusement?’
She dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it formed. Not because it lacked intrigue, but because it lacked relevance. ’Whatever game she’s playing is her own. I’m not here to regulate the social politics of adolescents.’ Her attention shifted to the room at large, noting the stiff shoulders, the furtive glances, the brittle anticipation.
Lucavion appeared unbothered, though Selenne doubted the ease was genuine. ’He attracts attention without effort. Useful in some arenas, disastrous in others.’ His presence was already altering the equilibrium of the hall, but that was not her immediate concern. She was here for something far simpler, and far more difficult.
Ensuring the exam’s integrity.
Her expression remained calm as she unfolded a slim folio of papers. ’They have already tried to skew the evaluation format.’ The thought carried no anger—only resolve. ’I will not allow the Oral Exam to suffer the same fate.’
She stepped slightly aside so all could see her clearly. "Before we begin," she said, her voice smooth and controlled, "you will listen to the instructions once more. Any deviation from procedure will result in immediate penalties."
No student dared to shift in their seat. Even Isolde’s posture tightened by a fraction, though the smile never left her face.
Selenne’s gaze brushed her once more—not enough to acknowledge, only enough to assess. ’Whatever animosity rests between them is theirs to navigate. It does not concern me unless it crosses into this exam.’ She had no intention of policing every interpersonal slight or diplomatic undertone the Academy’s noble brats carried into their classrooms. Power always tangled with politics, and students of their lineage were bred to wield both.
Her priority was narrower, sharper, and entirely academic.
’Fair assessment. Clear structure. No tampering.’
She inhaled once and closed the folio. "We will begin shortly. Prepare your materials and remain in your assigned rows."
The rustling that followed was subdued; even those accustomed to swagger seemed intent on behaving. Selenne kept her hands folded before her and allowed herself one final internal observation as she watched Lucavion and Isolde sit with perfectly mirrored smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
’If the two of you intend to claw at each other, do it outside my exam.’
Then she stepped toward the proctor’s desk, her voice carrying through the hall with practiced precision.
"First candidate, step forward."
*****
"First candidate," Selenne’s voice cut through the hall, steady and precise, "Aldrin Merrow. Step forward."
A chair scraped. Someone rose. Students shifted with stiff, contained nerves, quills being set down, parchment rustling in anxious fingers.
Elara remained perfectly still.
She kept her chin angled forward, eyes fixed on the exam dais. On the surface she was the image of poised concentration. But inside, her mind replayed the words she’d overheard—each line resurfacing with a sharpness she didn’t want.
"I have been wanting to meet you, Mister Lucavion."
"Apply what I observed outside the Academy to someone such as... Milady."
"Isolde."
"...Ah. Yes, Miss Isolde."
"Someone in the past was... rather lacking."
"One could argue that my fi—... certain someone was also quite lacking."
Each recalled phrase struck with different weight—some cold, some mocking, some oddly evasive. But all of them fed the same simmer beneath her ribs.
She held her breath for half a second, smoothing her shoulders as the first candidate began reciting the fundamentals of mana resonance. His voice shook. Selenne did not soften.
"Elaborate," the Magister said. "Your definition lacks dimensional grounding."
Her tone was neutral, but firm enough that the boy stuttered on his second attempt. A few students winced.
Elara only half-heard him. Her focus kept sliding back—not willingly—to the exchanges behind her.
"I wasn’t working with much... Someone in the past was rather lacking."
Elara’s jaw tightened. She had never thought she could feel clearer in her hatred for Isolde and Lucavion, but something about that exchange—its ease, its flirtatious edge layered with malice—settled inside her like confirmation.
They were good at performing together. Too good.
Even if they pretended not to know each other, the cadence of their voices said otherwise. The pauses. The barbs. The familiarity neither of them admitted.
’Just a show,’ she told herself.
’A performance, and they’ve always been talented at those.’
Her fingers twitched once on her lap, but she kept them still after that. She refused to give her body permission to react.
The student at the front faltered again.
Selenne’s reply was immediate. "Incorrect. Begin again from the second principle."
Elara inhaled quietly. The sharpness of Selenne’s tone helped. It dragged her attention back to something concrete—rules, structure, theory. Not the swirling tangle behind her.
But even as she steadied herself, another memory-thread tugged loose:
"Then perhaps you should reconsider your view regarding women."
"Considering a certain person had a rather influential role in shaping those views..."
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