Academy's Pervert in the D Class

The Silverward estate shimmered under the late summer sun, its pale stone spires gleaming like polished ivory, casting long, elegant shadows across manicured gardens bursting with roses and lavender.

Marble walkways wound through the grounds, their surfaces so pristine they reflected the sky, while vibrant banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, proclaiming the estate's noble lineage.

Servants moved with practiced efficiency, their steps quick and purposeful, like ants tending to a hive, maintaining the illusion of untouchable grandeur.

But inside, beyond the opulent halls reserved for guests, the air told a different story.

In the shadowed corridors of the far wing, where heavy velvet curtains muted the sunlight to a soft, dusky glow, a secretive silence lingered, thick with unspoken tension.

The walls here were older, their carvings worn, the air heavy with the weight of things hidden.

Silvia moved through these corridors like a ghost, her hood pulled low, her boots soundless against the cold stone floor.

Her auburn hair was tucked tightly beneath the cloak, her hazel eyes sharp and wary beneath the brim. A witch could not afford to be seen, not here, not anywhere.

She'd grown adept at moving unseen, her steps light, her breath measured, every motion calculated to avoid notice.

Yet today, her heart beat with a different rhythm—not the cold pulse of fear, but a warmth that spread through her chest, softening the edges of her caution.

When she reached the far wing, she paused before a carved oak door, its intricate patterns worn smooth by time.

She rapped twice, a sharp, deliberate sound, waited a heartbeat, then tapped once more in their private rhythm.

The door opened almost instantly, and a familiar face lit up with a relief so palpable it made Silvia's throat tighten.

"Silvia."

Lira's voice was soft, a melody few in the Silverward crest would ever hear, reserved for moments of unguarded intimacy.

Kiara's mother stood tall, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a shadow of her daughter's future self, her eyes a deeper blue but carrying the same icy clarity.

She wore a loose dress, the fabric flowing around her waist, prioritizing comfort over the rigid ceremony of noble life.

The faint scent of rose oil and candle wax clung to her, a quiet rebellion against the sterile perfection of the estate.

"Gods, you came," Lira whispered, gripping Silvia's hands tightly, her fingers warm and trembling as she pulled her inside and bolted the door with a swift, practiced motion.

"Of course I did." Silvia pushed back her hood, revealing auburn hair that fell loose to her shoulders, catching the dim light in fiery strands.

Her hazel eyes shone with emotion as she squeezed her sister's hands in return. "It's been too long."

They embraced, the hug fierce and desperate, a collision of years spent apart yet bound by blood.

In Lira's arms, Silvia felt the weight of the world lift, if only for a moment.

She could breathe again, the suffocating fear of being a witch in a world that burned them fading into the warmth of her sister's embrace.

"I missed you," Silvia murmured against Lira's shoulder, her voice thick with unspoken longing.

"I missed you too." Lira pulled back, her smile carrying the same warmth Silvia remembered from their childhood, a flicker of light in a world that had grown so dark.

"But you shouldn't risk coming here. The estate… it's dangerous. You know what the High Mages are doing."

"I don't care," Silvia said fiercely, her voice low but sharp, her hazel eyes burning with defiance.

"You're my sister. I'd rather risk being burned alive than go another year without seeing you."

Lira's expression softened, though her eyes glistened with worry, lines of tension etched around them. "Stubborn as always."

Silvia grinned faintly, a spark of mischief breaking through her intensity. "It runs in the family."

They laughed quietly together, the sound soft and fleeting, a fragile rebellion against the heavy air of fear that clung to the estate.

For a moment, the world outside—the pyres, the hunts, the High Mages—didn't exist.

Lira guided her to a cushioned window seat, where thick curtains blocked out the prying eyes of the world.

A small table held a steaming pot of tea, its herbal scent mingling with the faint sweetness of rose petals scattered nearby.

It was their ritual, a tradition born in stolen moments: tea, stories, a pocket of normalcy carved out of a life that allowed them none.

As they poured, Silvia studied her sister.

Lira had changed since their last meeting—lines of responsibility etched deeper around her eyes, her shoulders carrying the invisible weight of nobility, of secrets kept under constant scrutiny.

But there was still beauty in her, a quiet strength that refused to break, her dark hair gleaming in the dim light, her movements graceful even in her weariness.

"How is life here?" Silvia asked carefully, her fingers curling around the warm teacup, her hazel eyes searching Lira's face.

Lira sipped her tea before answering, her gaze distant.

"Suffocating. They expect perfection. I smile at dinners, recite the words they want, play the part of the dutiful noblewoman, but inside…" Her eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her features.

"Inside, I live in fear. Every day, I hide what I am. If they knew…"

"They won't," Silvia interrupted, her voice steady, resolute. She reached across the table, squeezing Lira's hand tightly, grounding her.

"You're stronger than any of them. You'll keep Kiara safe. That's what matters."

At the mention of her daughter, Lira's face softened, a smile breaking through the tension.

"She's grown so fast. Sometimes I forget she's still a child. She asks questions I don't know how to answer. About her magic… about the fire she feels in her blood."

Silvia's throat tightened, her fingers pausing on her teacup. "Have you told her?"

"No. Not yet. She's too young. She wouldn't understand." Lira's voice was soft, heavy with the weight of that truth.

Silvia looked down at her tea, swirling the liquid, watching the faint ripples. "She'll have to, one day."