Lunch at the Academy was nothing like what I'd expected. I'd braced for stares, for whispers about me being half-demon.
Half-demons were trouble, dangerous, a bad omen. We were to be pitied, or avoided, or run off with a broom.
But here, in the refectory I was mostly ignored. A few girls stared at my hair, but only with curiosity.
Hugo—the boy from class—invited me to sit with them, and Mireille offered to share her fruit tart.
No one even asked about my parents or tried to guess which side of me was demon.
I was so surprised, I hardly spoke at all, just watched the flow of conversation as students complained about homework, speculated about magic class, or tried to remember which dessert was best on which day.
Maybe it was because the Academy drew students from everywhere, not just noble houses but merchant families, scholars' children, and people who, like me, didn't quite fit anywhere.
After lunch, I wandered back to class with Mireille, Hugo, and two other students a round-faced boy named Anton and a quiet girl named Léna.
Mireille carried all her books in a lopsided pile and hummed some old song under her breath.
Anton talked non-stop about the afternoon's lesson. He was convinced magic class would end in disaster.
"You'll see, they always do a demonstration the first week. Last year, someone set the curtains on fire. The headmistress was furious."
I grinned, thinking of the flame that lived inside my hands. "Maybe we'll make history this year, too."
We turned into the east wing—a wide corridor with mosaic floors and windows that let in the afternoon sun.
As we neared the classroom, students lined up along the wall, chatting or trading nervous glances. I could sense it—a kind of collective anticipation, the way horses fidget before a race.
Our teacher was already waiting at the door: Professor Sira Valendra. I'd seen her earlier, striding down the halls with her head high and the faintest curl of smoke escaping from her nostrils.
She was tall and broad-shouldered, her hair a glossy dark green braided with silver, her skin bronzed and faintly scaled in places.
Her eyes were an inhuman gold, slit-pupiled, and when she smiled, it showed two pointed canine teeth, not fangs like mine, but the curved daggers of a dragon.
She wore her magic openly. The scales shimmered at her temples, and when she moved, her robes shifted to reveal claws for fingernails, neatly manicured and painted jade.
Some of the students watched her with awe; others, with poorly hidden fear. I felt something different—a pulse of recognition, a kinship that didn't need words.
Professor Valendra clapped her hands, and the last stragglers snapped to attention.
"Welcome, all. This is Practical Magic, which means you'll be working with your talents, not just reading about them. First, tell us your name, what you can do, and if you're feeling brave, show us a little of it. Don't worry, I'll handle the accidents."
She smiled, and I noticed her canines glint. I found myself relaxing, if only a little.
We filed into the classroom rows of wide wooden tables, empty beakers and sand-filled trays for those whose magic could get messy.
I chose a spot near the middle, where I could see the board but not be right at the front. Mireille sat beside me, nervous but excited, her notebook already open.
Professor Valendra moved to the chalkboard, wrote her name in a looping hand, and said, "Let's begin. Left to right. Introductions, please."
The first student, Léna, stood. Her voice shook a little, but she didn't hesitate. "I'm Léna Corbin. My family comes from the north. My magic is ice—I can freeze water and make snow."
She cupped her hands, and a swirl of frost grew over her skin. A snowflake formed, perfect and delicate, which she set gently onto her desk. The class clapped. Professor Valendra nodded, "Lovely control, Léna. Well done."
Next was Hugo, who grinned and lifted his hands. "Hugo Menard. I'm from the city. My magic is earth—I can shape stone and soil." He tapped the table, and a lump of clay twisted into the rough outline of a dog, wagging its tail.
Mireille went next, shy but steady. "Mireille Duval. My magic is light—I can bend it to make colors or hide things." She swept her hand through the air, and rainbows danced across the ceiling.
One by one, the students introduced themselves. Some were nervous, others proud. The magic ranged from water to wind to song—one girl could make flowers bloom just by singing, and a boy with hair like gold could call moths from the rafters with a whistle.
I realized, slowly, that this was why no one cared what I was. Here, being different was the rule, not the exception.
Finally, it was Isolde's turn.
She stood with perfect posture, her braid neat, uniform immaculate. All morning, she'd managed to ignore me with a precision that bordered on theatrical.
Now, though, every eye was on her, and she didn't shy away from the attention.
"I am Princess Isolde Blackwell." Her voice was clear, controlled. "My magic is called the White Flame. It's rare in my family. I was told it means healing, but also…"
She hesitated, just a second, and I caught the faintest glimmer of nerves. "Also purity. It can burn away poison, mend wounds, or light the darkest places."
She held out her hand, palm up, and conjured a small flame—a swirl of white fire, impossibly bright.
The light was not hot but soothing, and the air shimmered with its glow. Students gasped softly, some whispering in awe.
The flame hovered, flickered, and grew into the shape of a bird—its wings delicate, translucent, shining with every color in the spectrum.
Isolde flicked her wrist, and the bird took flight, circling above our heads before vanishing in a shower of silver sparks.
The applause was louder this time, even the teacher's eyes warming. "Extraordinary control, Princess. Thank you."
Isolde sat down, cheeks faintly flushed, gaze fixed straight ahead.
Then it was my turn.
I stood, feeling all the eyes on me.
But I wasn't here to compete. I was here to show them what I was.
"My name is Lyra Skyblade," I said, voice steady even though my heart thudded. "I'm half-human, half-demon. My magic is red fire. It's not just heat or light; it can take shapes, follow my thoughts."
A few students murmured, but Professor Valendra only nodded for me to continue.
I closed my eyes, reaching for the warmth inside my chest. It answered easily—a familiar spark, wild but not angry, a flicker that danced along my fingertips.
I shaped it in my mind, not too big, not frightening. Just enough to show what I could do.
When I opened my eyes, a tiny fox made of red fire was perched in my palms. Its ears twitched, its tail curled behind it in a lazy S, the flames never burning my skin.
It looked at the class with curious, ember-bright eyes, then hopped from one hand to the other.
Someone gasped. Hugo whispered, "That's brilliant."
I smiled a little, letting the fox run up my arm to my shoulder, where it curled around my neck in a lazy loop. The warmth comforted me, made me bolder.
"That's all," I said, letting the fox dissolve into smoke that faded with a pop.
Professor Valendra clapped softly. "Beautiful, Lyra. That level of control at your age is impressive—and very rare. Thank you."
I nodded and sat, heart pounding, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed that no one looked frightened.
A few students grinned at me, and Mireille whispered, "I love foxes. Can you make more animals?"
"Maybe after class," I whispered back, lips quirking.
I dared a glance across the room. Isolde sat stiff as a statue, her lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. Her eyes met mine, sharp and cold, as if daring me to say something or make a show of myself.
I looked away, fingers tingling with leftover magic. If she wanted a rivalry, I'd give her one. I was good at surviving. I was good at fighting back.
Professor Valendra turned to the chalkboard, outlining the day's practice: basic magical safety, focused exercises, no showy displays.
The room settled, everyone eager to prove themselves. I leaned back, letting the excitement settle, already thinking of what shape I'd conjure next.
From across the room, I felt Isolde's glare . For the first time all day, I grinned. Let her watch. I was here to stay.