Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

The ceremony ended like a dying breath—hollow and unsatisfying.

I lingered in my seat as the hall emptied, watching the way students gave me a wide berth, their footsteps quickening as they passed. Their fear was a tangible thing, thick as the blood still drying on my collar.

Headmaster Evelyn remained at the podium, her fingers steepled, watching me with the patience of a spider.

"Ashen Crimson."

Her voice cracked through the empty hall like a whip. I didn’t flinch.

"Headmaster." I inclined my head, just enough to mock respect.

She descended the steps, her boots silent against the marble. Up close, I could see the scars—thin, branching lines like lightning etched into her skin, pulsing faintly with stored power.

"You’re here because the board voted," she said, her voice low. "Not because I approved."

I smiled. "How democratic."

A spark jumped between her fingers. "You have one week."

"Until?"