Glaethwyn Academy's social calendar was as old as its stone walls. And none were older — or more anticipated — than the Tournament of Threads.
A strange name, perhaps, but its origin came from ancient tradition — the belief that destiny was woven through combat, that every clash of blade or spell unraveled the thread of truth.
It was supposed to be ceremonial.
It never was.
Not when pride was on the line. Not when nobles sat in the bleachers. Not when instructors whispered their bets in the shadows.
And definitely not this year.
Because this year, they were all watching the new girls.
The marble amphitheater was packed. Banners of House Crests waved. Drums beat like thunder. The wind, unnaturally still all day, now picked up in whirls as if the air itself sensed what was coming.
High Inquisitor Rauthen stood on the floating dais, arms raised.
"Let the Threads of Combat be drawn! Let fate choose her dance partners."
The students watched as enchanted ribbons of light spun through the air like snakes.
One by one, names appeared in gold:
Taron Veylor vs. Kaelara of the Wilds
Gasps.
Serenya Morn vs. Aelinar Drax
Louder gasps.
Calla Eirlin vs. Zerina Vale
Someone laughed — until they realized both girls were already warming their hands.
And finally…
A pause.
The ribbons hesitated, danced, shimmered.
Then:
Avenya Nocturne vs. Casen Halbrook
It was the first time her name had been spoken aloud.
Time. Froze.
Zerina's spine straightened.
Kaelara's lips parted.
Serenya blinked twice.
Calla clutched the rail.
Nocturne.
The name rippled through them like a forgotten song, one that stirred dreams and burned the edge of memory.
Even Avenya faltered, just a step.
But then her face steeled, and she stepped into the sand.
Casen Halbrook was no minor student.
Son of a war general, second in his year, charmed and cruel in equal measure.
He strutted into the ring with his silver staff and a mocking bow.
"The orphan versus the heir. This should be quick."
Avenya said nothing. She just slid her feet into stance, fingers flexing.
"No words?" Casen smirked. "How boring."
The bell tolled.
Casen struck first — a wind-slice charm aimed like a whip.
Avenya ducked. Rolled. Dodged again.
The crowd oohed.
"You're quick," Casen mused, circling. "But tricks don't win wars."
He stomped. The ground split — a summoned wall of stone.
Avenya leapt high, landed, slid, arms sweeping low.
Casen chuckled.
"Cute."
Then he cast Chainbind — a dark curling spell meant to tether limbs and drag her down.
It almost hit.
Almost.
Avenya raised her hand, and for the first time…
Black fire bloomed.
Not red. Not gold. Black.
Like ink given heat. Like shadow bleeding light.
The Chainbind withered in the air.
The crowd gasped.
Casen staggered.
Avenya stood, no longer hiding.
She moved like wind and wrath.
Her strikes were silent but shattering.
Casen tried to summon a barrier — it cracked.
He raised his staff — it melted.
Avenya's eyes glowed faint violet, threaded with midnight blue. Her cloak flared back, torn by the surge of power pulsing from her skin.
"Who are you?" Casen croaked, falling to one knee.
Avenya didn't answer with words.
She raised her hand again — and the air shuddered.
It wasn't an attack.
It was a call.
The black flame wrapped around her like a crown.
The instructors rose in panic. Rauthen stood wide-eyed. Even the arena enchantments began to glitch.
Then Zerina stood up. So did Kaelara. Then Calla and Serenya.
Drawn. Alert. Remembering.
The crowd vanished to Avenya's senses.
All she saw were them — standing in four corners of the world, looking straight at her.
They didn't know why they stood.
But they couldn't stop.
And then…
"Avenya," Zerina whispered. "The Black Queen."
The world held its breath.
After the duel, everything was quiet.
Casen was alive. Unharmed. Shaken. Disqualified.
Avenya had left the ring before the judges could speak.
She wandered to the edge of the frost gardens behind the amphitheater, her hands still humming.
She half expected to collapse.
Instead, she heard footsteps.
"You could've vaporized him," Kaelara said, arms folded, leaning against a tree.
"Why didn't you?" added Serenya, stepping out of the shadows.
Zerina approached, silent, eyes smoldering.
And Calla, last, in silk and frost, said the word again:
"Avenya."
Avenya faced them.
"You knew."
"We didn't," Zerina said. "Not until now."
"And now?" Avenya asked.
Silence again.
Kaelara smirked. "Now we're in trouble."
They all laughed — surprised by it. Tension cracked like ice breaking underfoot.
Then the questions came.
"Where were you raised?"
"What do you remember?"
"Do you feel it too — the dreams?"
"Is it true, what they say about the Black Queen?"
Avenya didn't answer them all.
But she let them sit beside her.
Five girls. Strangers once. Bound now by echoes of a forgotten life.
That night, the dorms were loud with rumors.
But Avenya sat on the window ledge, watching the moon.
She heard soft footsteps.
"You left before the awards," came a voice. Male. Familiar.
It was Taron Veylor.
"Didn't know you cared," Avenya said, not looking at him.
"I don't," he lied.
A pause.
"You were… incredible," he admitted.
She looked at him then. Really looked.
Taron's gaze dropped slightly, but not out of shame.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"Neither are you," Avenya replied.
He almost smiled. Then left her with a rose from the gardens.
He didn't say what it meant.
But she knew.
And for the first time since she woke with fire in her chest and shadow on her fingers — Avenya felt seen.
In the days that followed, the others gathered around her.
Not as followers.
As equals.
They sparred. Trained. Talked.
And slowly, memories returned.
A battlefield.
A throne.
A betrayal not from them, but by someone else.
A kingdom sealed.
A promise to return.
It wasn't all clear.
But it was beginning.
And the world, sensing their reunion, began to turn.