Glaethwyn Academy shimmered beneath banners of red, gold, and violet. Lanterns floated in the air like drifting spirits, casting warm glows across ancient stone walls. It was the eve of the Autumn's Flame Festival, a night of masks, magic, and ritual duels beneath the waxing moon.
Every year, students prepared for weeks — not just to celebrate, but to be seen.
Masks were mandatory. Secrets were expected.
And for five girls with forgotten crowns, secrets were second nature.
"You need to wear this," Zerina said, tossing a black-laced mask to Avenya. "No one should see your face tonight."
"Is that because you think I'm dangerous?" Avenya teased.
"No," Zerina replied, tying her own crimson mask. "Because they're watching you like crows circling fire. Jealous. Hungry. Afraid."
Kaelara lounged on a velvet bench, her mask already crooked. "Half the school is obsessed with you. The other half wants to drown you."
"Aren't those the same thing?" Serenya muttered, adjusting her gloves.
"And what about you, Calla?" Avenya asked, stepping into a sleek black cloak.
Calla smiled tightly. "I think they don't know the half of what you can do."
They didn't.
Not even the Queens.
By nightfall, the Academy courtyards had become an otherworldly realm. Enchanted lights danced like fairies. Floating platforms carried students from hall to hall. Spells of illusion disguised scents and laughter and even touch.
Avenya walked between realms like a shadow — silent, watching, watched.
"That's her," someone whispered. "The one who melted Casen's staff."
"I heard she speaks to shadows."
"She's not even from a House."
The whispers weren't all cruel. Some were reverent. Others awestruck.
But the cruel ones were loudest.
She passed a group of older girls — House Daelwyn, all silk and sneers.
"That's the Foundling Queen," one said with a syrup-sweet smile. "Orphan royalty."
"Maybe if I duel her and win, I'll get a crown too," laughed another.
Avenya paused. Turned.
"Try it," she said softly. "You'll leave with more than bruises."
They flinched. But didn't challenge.
Power didn't always need to be proven. Sometimes it just needed to be felt.
Midnight struck.
The courtyard cleared for the Trial of Flame — a mock combat between randomly chosen partners.
Only it wasn't random. Not this year.
The judges, sensing something, had paired the five.
Avenya and Zerina.
Kaelara and Serenya.
Calla with the top duelist from House Tyr — Rayden Vor, rich, cruel, charming.
"Seems I'm dancing with a noble," Calla muttered, already raising her guard.
Kaelara growled softly. "Lucky."
"Jealous?" Calla quipped.
Kaelara shrugged. "Just bored."
Avenya stepped forward to meet Zerina.
The Flame Queen's smile was a challenge. "No holding back."
"No mercy," Avenya returned.
They moved like storms in twin circles.
Zerina called flames — golden and red, licking across her arms like living fire.
Avenya answered with voidflame — silent, black-blue tongues of heatless blaze.
They clashed in midair, fire folding into shadow and splitting back into sparks.
"You've had this power longer than I have," Zerina grunted between strikes. "But you still pull your punches."
"Because I'm not here to destroy you," Avenya replied. "I'm here to remember."
Their duel was less battle, more dance — a remembering of rhythms neither of them fully understood.
They collapsed at the end, laughing, scorched, glowing.
The crowd was silent, then roared.
But one person didn't clap.
Rayden Vor, who had barely lost to Calla, was watching Avenya with a venomous smirk.
"That girl is not what she seems," he murmured to a hooded figure in the shadows.
The figure did not reply.
But its eyes — pale and rimmed in violet — gleamed.
Later that night, Avenya wandered into the older parts of the school. Her magic pulled her there.
Behind a tapestry of House Crescents, she found a hidden stair. Beneath it, a room filled with crystals, books, and mirrors that didn't reflect the present — they reflected memories.
Avenya stepped closer and saw five girls in armor, laughing beside a silver lake.
Her, and them.
Queens before time broke.
"You came here too."
A voice behind her. Taron.
She turned sharply.
"You followed me?"
"I felt something," he said honestly. "And you were gone."
A pause.
"So I followed."
He stepped into the glow. His eyes locked with hers.
"You've always been different."
"Everyone's different."
"No," he said. "You wear your difference like armor. But it's not just power, is it?"
Avenya didn't answer.
But when he touched her hand, she didn't pull away.
"You scare them," he whispered. "You don't scare me."
"You should."
"I don't think I should."
And in that moment, the mirror shimmered again — showing a kiss that hadn't happened yet.
Avenya stepped back.
Taron didn't.
The next week, the backlash began.
Girls from the noble Houses began targeting her dorm with magic pranks — levitating ink, exploding uniforms, even a banshee charm.
Avenya said nothing.
Until one day, they pushed Kaelara down the hall stairs.
That was the end.
Avenya found the leader — a girl named Velesse Daelwyn — and didn't speak.
She merely raised a hand and froze time for two seconds.
Velesse gasped — finding herself bound in black thread, unbroken and unburning, hovering inches from the wall.
"You get one warning," Avenya said. "Just one."
The girl screamed when released.
No one tried again.
Even Rayden began to keep his distance.
The festival ended in showers of golden sparks. The five Queens sat on the rooftop of the west tower, watching the last fireworks.
"I feel like I've known you forever," Serenya whispered, hugging her knees.
"You have," Kaelara said. "You just forgot."
"We all did," Calla added.
Zerina raised her glass.
"To remembering. To finding. To rising."
They clinked.
Avenya looked at them — her sisters, her mirrors, her past.
"There's still a war coming."
"Then we better be ready," Kaelara said, cracking her knuckles.
And for the first time in centuries — the Queens were not lost.
They were found.
Together.