Elara found her assigned quarters in the West Wing – a surprisingly spacious room with a tall, arched window overlooking a smaller, private garden. It was sparse but functional, dominated by a large wooden desk, a comfortable-looking bed, and a bookshelf already half-filled with tomes on theoretical magic and botanical studies. She dropped her worn satchel onto the floor, the thud echoing slightly in the quiet space.
The first bell for classes would ring in an hour. Plenty of time to settle, but more importantly, to observe. Elara knelt by her satchel and retrieved a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled on a bed of dried herbs, were two items: a tarnished silver locket containing a faded miniature portrait of her parents, and a rolled parchment, brittle with age. This parchment was her true guide, an old academy roster from the year her family was murdered, meticulously annotated with the names of the conspirators. Her task was to cross-reference these names with the current student body, focusing on the ones whose fathers matched.
She unfolded the parchment, running a finger over the elegant script. Lord Valerius, Baron Kaelan, Master Theron… names that clawed at her throat. Their sons would be here, inheriting their fathers' positions, their influence, and, in Elara's cold estimation, their guilt.
A soft knock at the door startled her. Elara quickly tucked the parchment and locket back into the box and slid it under the bed. "Enter!" she called, adjusting her tunic.
The door creaked open to reveal a young man, barely out of his apprenticeship, with a nervous demeanor and an armful of scrolls. He wore the emerald-green robes of an academy aide. "Professor Thorne? I am Finn, your assigned assistant. The Headmaster sent me to help you with your initial preparations."
Elara offered a curt nod, her voice gruff. "Finn. Right. Anything I need to know before classes begin?"
Finn stammered slightly, his eyes wide. "Uh, well, the Headmaster expects all professors to be present for the morning assembly in the Great Hall. It's just before the first bell. And, um, your syllabus for introductory Life Magic has been distributed to the first-year students. You have two sections, morning and afternoon."
"Good," Elara replied, already calculating. First-year students. That would mean the youngest generation of the conspirators' progeny. A perfect starting point. "Thank you, Finn. You may go."
Finn, visibly relieved to be dismissed, scurried out. Elara allowed herself a small, mirthless smile. Introductory Life Magic. She would teach them the foundations of growth and connection, while subtly probing the roots of their family trees, searching for the rot that had poisoned her own.
The Great Hall buzzed with a thousand voices – students of all disciplines, robed in the colors of their respective schools: vibrant crimson for Elemental, deep sapphire for Arcane, earthy browns for Conjuration, and the soft greens of Life Magic. Professors, distinguished by their intricately embroidered collars, milled about, exchanging pleasantries. Elara positioned herself near a large stained-glass window depicting the founding of the academy, allowing her to observe without drawing undue attention.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for faces that hinted at noble lineage. The sons of the elite often carried themselves with an air of entitlement, their features sometimes echoing the portraits she'd seen of their fathers. She saw a boy with the distinctive hawk-like nose of House Valerius, another with the sharp, intelligent gaze of the Kaelan family. Each sighting sent a fresh wave of ice through her veins, chilling her resolve even as it sharpened her focus.
Then, her gaze snagged on a figure across the hall. The woman from the garden, with the moonlit hair. She was standing with a small group of students, her laughter ringing clear and melodic even amidst the din. Her robes were a rich, deep violet, indicating a mastery of Illusion magic – a discipline that dealt with perception and deception. A flicker of unease, then annoyance, passed through Elara. This was not the time for idle admiration.
As the Headmaster, a stern-faced elder mage with a formidable beard, began his address, the hall quieted. Elara forced herself to concentrate, to imprint the faces of the students, especially the first-years, into her memory. She would need to learn their names, their families, their habits.