Chapter 4

The smell of ozone and burnt copper hung heavy in the Academy's combat simulation room.

Instructor Elias Vance stood at the front of the massive, stone-walled classroom. He slapped his wooden pointer against the chalkboard, drawing a complex diagram of energy conversion.

"Half-blood Rosalie," Elias barked. "Come to the front."

Rosalie stood up, smoothing her perfectly pleated skirt. She walked to the center of the room. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and held her hands out.

A soft, warm, and incredibly precise wave of healing light bloomed from her palms. It illuminated the dark classroom.

The students erupted into applause. Whispers of awe filled the room. For a half-blood to possess such pure magic was incredibly rare.

Rosalie lowered her hands. She blushed, looking down at her shoes.

"It's nothing, really," Rosalie said softly. "My small tricks are completely worthless compared to the pureblood genius, Genevieve."

The applause died instantly.

Every head in the classroom turned. Like a physical spotlight, their stares pinned Genevieve to her seat in the darkest, back corner of the room.

Rosalie walked down the aisle, stopping right in front of Genevieve's desk. She smiled, her eyes shining with fake admiration.

"Sister, please," Rosalie said loudly. "Show us your power. Guide us."

Genevieve had been sleeping face-down on her desk. She slowly lifted her head. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were dull, unfocused, and completely devoid of the terrifying pureblood pressure she used to carry.

She pushed her chair back. As she stood up, she deliberately let her right knee buckle. She grabbed the edge of the desk, swaying dangerously, looking like a strong gust of wind would snap her in half.

Genevieve looked at Rosalie. She pitched her voice to match Rosalie's soft, helpless tone perfectly.

"My mind is completely blank," Genevieve dragged out the words, sounding exhausted. "I don't know how to do anything anymore."

Rosalie's smile tightened. She thought Genevieve was just being arrogant and refusing to perform.

"Don't be modest," Rosalie pushed, her voice sickly sweet. "We all know about your glorious kills during the Court hunts."

Genevieve didn't argue. Instead, she slapped both hands over her face.

Her shoulders began to heave. She let out a series of pathetic, breathless hiccups, perfectly copying Rosalie's signature silent crying technique.

"I lost my talent!" Genevieve wailed, her voice cracking in the quiet room. "I'm a useless cripple! Stop forcing a sick person to perform!"

The classroom fell into a stunned, uncomfortable silence. The students stared at each other. They couldn't connect this weeping, pathetic mess to the cold-blooded killer they had heard rumors about.

Rosalie's smile completely shattered. Her mouth hung open. She felt the heavy, mocking irony of Genevieve's performance slapping her right in the face.

As Rosalie stood up, her mind raced. She needed to drain Genevieve's reputation quickly; Lord Marcus's elite guards were already tearing through the outer clans, interrogating everyone about Genevieve's supposed 'curse'. The pressure was mounting.

To seal the deal, Genevieve pressed her thumb against her index knuckle. She let a tiny, chaotic fraction of her shadow magic slip out of her fingertips.

Black mist exploded from her hand. It didn't form a spell. It acted like a swarm of panicked hornets, shooting wildly across the room.

The mist slammed into the instructor's desk. It knocked over a row of glass reagent vials.

The vials hit the stone floor and shattered. A foul, acidic smell instantly flooded the room.

Panic erupted. The students in the front row screamed and scrambled backward, knocking over their heavy wooden chairs to escape the chaotic mist.

Rosalie saw the chaos. She immediately dropped to the floor, landing gracefully on her knees. She looked up with wide, frightened eyes, waiting for one of the male students to rush over and protect her.

Genevieve didn't give her the spotlight.

Genevieve let out an ear-piercing shriek. She threw herself onto the floor and scrambled directly under her wooden desk. She wrapped her arms around her head, curling into a tight ball, screaming louder than anyone else.

Elias Vance's face turned purple with rage. He slashed his wooden pointer through the air.

A blinding wave of white purification light blasted across the room. It instantly vaporized the rogue shadow mist and forced the students into silence.

Elias marched down the aisle. He stopped at Genevieve's desk and glared down at the shivering girl hiding underneath it.

Elias's face turned pale. He lowered his voice, his tone a mix of shock and cautious hesitation. "Lady Genevieve... with your bloodline, this... is this some kind of disguise I cannot comprehend, or is your body truly failing to control the most basic foundation of magic?!"

Genevieve poked her tear-stained face out from under the desk. She looked Elias dead in the eye.

"Because I am a complete piece of trash now!" Genevieve yelled back, sounding incredibly proud of the fact.

Elias choked on his own breath. His face turned from purple to a sickly pale. In his hundred years of teaching, he had never seen an Antediluvian descendant with absolutely zero shame.

Rosalie stood up from the floor. She dusted off her skirt and stepped forward.

"Instructor, please," Rosalie said gently. "Sister Genevieve is just nervous."

"I'm not just nervous!" Genevieve shouted from under the desk, cutting Rosalie off. "I'm uncoordinated! My brain is shrinking! I'm useless!"

Elias squeezed his eyes shut. He rubbed his throbbing temples. He had reached his absolute limit.

He pulled a red pen from his pocket and slashed a violent mark across his clipboard.

"Zero," Elias announced loudly. "Genevieve receives a zero for today's combat simulation."

Instead of crying, Genevieve let out a loud sigh of relief. She crawled out from under the desk, dusted off her knees, and sat back down in her chair, looking perfectly content with her failure.