The grand ceremony of Ravenwood Academy was at its peak.
The Great Hall, adorned with shimmering banners bearing the crest of the academy, glowed with an almost celestial light.
Rows of students, professors, and dignitaries filled the massive space, the hum of their whispers blending with the resonant notes of the enchanted orchestra playing in the background.
At the center of the stage, Headmaster Hargrove stood tall, his rich, resonant voice carrying through the hall as he introduced the next speaker.
"Today," Hargrove began, gesturing toward the right of the stage where a robed figure waited.
"We are honored to have a representative from the esteemed Saint Eldred Church.
Please welcome Archbishop Emory Laurent."
A round of polite applause echoed as the archbishop, a man of impressive stature with a serene demeanor, approached the podium.
His ceremonial robes gleamed with golden embroidery, the symbol of Saint Eldred, a radiant star, prominently displayed on his chest.
"My esteemed colleagues, honored guests, and bright young minds of Ravenwood."
Archbishop Laurent began, his voice calm yet authoritative.
"It brings me great joy to see the future of our empire gathered here.
You are the torchbearers, the ones who will carry forward not only the legacy of magic but the values that define our land—integrity, courage, and wisdom."
The archbishop's speech struck a chord with many, his words weaving a tapestry of hope and responsibility.
He spoke of the divine gift of magic, the importance of unity among peers, and the need to remain humble even in the face of great power.
When he concluded, the applause was thunderous, the crowd stirred by his eloquence.
Next, Hargrove introduced some representatives from the prestigious families of the empire.
One by one, figures of noble birth ascended the stage.
Among them was Lady Vivienne Redwyne, matriarch of the Redwyne House, her poise and elegance commanding attention.
Dressed in a deep crimson gown, she addressed the audience with the sharp wit her family was known for.
Following her was Lord Alaric Draymond, a stoic figure representing one of the empire's most influential houses.
His speech, while brief, carried a weight of tradition and expectation, urging the students to honor their families and uphold the empire's legacy.
As the final noble left the podium, Hargrove returned, his face beaming with pride.
The murmurs in the hall grew as he raised a hand for silence.
"And now," he declared.
"It is my great honor to welcome a most distinguished addition to our academy this year.
A figure of great promise, whose presence here is a testament to the empire's commitment to excellence.
Please join me in welcoming Princess Elara von Velden."
The hall erupted in applause as the doors at the back of the hall opened.
All eyes turned to the entrance as a figure emerged.
Princess Elara von Velden, eldest daughter of the imperial family, strode forward with an air of regal confidence.
Her long, fiery red hair cascaded down her back, catching the light like molten gold, while her piercing red eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the room.
The moment the princess sat down, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety creeping up my spine.
Elara von Velden.
The second-born of the imperial family, a girl as radiant as she was dangerous.
Her fiery red hair shimmered in the daylight that filtered through the academy's grand dining hall.
Her presence demanded attention, even from those pretending to be uninterested.
And yet, it wasn't her lineage or reputation that unnerved me.
It was the story—the cursed fate—beginning to unfurl before my very eyes.
The first episode of this world's tragedy was looming.
Even though I'd never read the novel this timeline was based on, past Noah's fragmented knowledge of the future had seeped into my consciousness.
I knew enough to recognize the signs, the warnings, and the foreshadowing scattered around me like breadcrumbs.
And unfortunately, the boss of the first episode wasn't some random monster in the academy's forest or a mid-tier villain.
It was her.
Elara von Velden.
I closed my eyes briefly, and my thoughts spiraled back to the first memory I had upon waking in this cursed timeline.
A vision, vivid and horrifying, burned into my mind.
The academy's grounds were shrouded in darkness.
The kind that suffocated and clung to your skin.
Skeletal soldiers with crimson auras swarmed the area.
Their hollow eyes glinting with malice.
And there she stood amidst them—Elara.
Her fiery red hair tangled and stained, her pristine academy uniform torn and bloodied.
Her glowing red eyes weren't those of a girl anymore but of a monster consumed by rage, her entire being screaming one word over and over again.
Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL!
The memory jolted me, and I forced myself back to the present.
My gaze shifted to where Elara now sat.
She looked serene, a stark contrast to the future disaster etched into my mind.
Her smile was soft as she exchanged pleasantries with a few students around her, their voices hushed as though they feared drawing too much attention.
Elara's mannerisms were flawless—calm, approachable, and entirely in control.
It was hard to imagine this girl, exuding warmth and nobility, as the same blood-soaked figure from my vision.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and tilting my head to stare at the ceiling.
A portion of it was crafted from clear glass, allowing a glimpse of the azure sky above.
Birds flitted past in lazy arcs, their white forms a stark contrast to the heaviness in my chest.