From Shattered Prodigy to Abyssal Vengeance

The two guards shoved Elara through the massive oak doors of the Judgment Hall.

She stumbled forward, her knees slamming hard against the freezing marble floor. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain up her thighs, but she didn't make a sound.

She lifted her chin. The hall was cavernous, the vaulted ceiling making her feel incredibly small. At the far end, sitting on the raised, imposing judge's podium, was Silas. His face was carved from stone.

Standing right beside him was Seraphina.

Seraphina wore a pristine white dress that made her look like a descending angel. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves.

The spectator stands surrounding the floor were packed. Elara recognized the faces of her classmates. The awe and jealousy they used to look at her with were gone. Now, their eyes held nothing but raw disgust.

Preston Sterling-Hale IV leaned over the railing.

"Look at the prodigy now!" Preston shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "What a pathetic waste of Academy resources!"

A harsh wave of laughter erupted from the crowd. The sound physically pressed down on Elara, making her ears ring.

She kept her face blank. Underneath her skin, she quietly commanded the dark purple chaos mana to wrap around her bruised ribs and bleeding palms, knitting the tissue back together.

Seraphina picked up the hem of her white dress and gracefully walked down the marble steps. She stopped right in front of Elara. Her eyes were red, brimming with unshed tears.

Seraphina crouched down. She leaned in close, her sickeningly sweet floral perfume invading Elara's nose.

"You deserve to lose everything, you stupid bitch," Seraphina whispered. Her voice was so low, only Elara could hear the venom dripping from the words.

Then, Seraphina threw her head back. She tilted her neck, exposing her delicate throat to the crowd, and let out a loud, theatrical sob.

"Please, Master Silas!" Seraphina cried out, her voice trembling. "Please don't expel my sister! She made a mistake!"

The male students in the stands immediately softened.

"Seraphina is too good for this world," a boy muttered loudly.

"Elara doesn't deserve a sister like her," another spat.

Elara's stomach churned. The urge to vomit was overwhelming.

When Seraphina reached out a perfectly manicured hand to touch her shoulder, Elara's survival instincts calculated the exact angle. The moment Seraphina's perfectly manicured fingertips grazed her uniform, Elara went entirely limp. She let her knees buckle, throwing her own weight backward to collapse onto the freezing marble floor as if the mere touch had struck her with a physical blow.

"Don't touch me," Elara whispered, her voice trembling but pitched just loud enough for the front row to hear. "The stench of your perfume makes me want to vomit."

Seraphina gasped, her eyes widening in genuine shock at the sudden maneuver. She stumbled backward, clutching her chest as if Elara's words were daggers.

The crowd erupted in outrage. Three male mages in the front row drew their wands, pointing the glowing tips directly at Elara's face.

Silas slammed his open palm against his wooden desk.

A massive wave of pressure rolled through the room. The hall went dead silent.

"You destroy your core, and now you assault your own blood?" Silas's voice boomed. "You have lost every ounce of virtue required to be a mage of this Tower."

Elara took a deep breath. She pushed herself up from the floor, standing tall despite her ruined clothes. She locked eyes with Silas.

"Then I formally request to withdraw from the Academy," Elara said. Her voice was hoarse, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

The entire hall gasped. No one ever asked to leave the High Tower. It was professional suicide.

Silas's jaw tightened. A single vein pulsed on his forehead. His authority was being challenged by a cripple.

Seraphina's eyes flashed with wild, unrestrained joy for a fraction of a second before she forced her hands over her mouth in fake shock.

"We can't let this disgrace just walk away!" Preston yelled from the stands. "She needs to be punished!"

Elara let out a dry, mocking laugh. "What? Is the great High Tower going to force a magicless cripple to stay and eat your food?"

Silas's eyes narrowed. The absolute contempt in Elara's stare burned him. She was supposed to be begging on her knees.

"Your withdrawal is accepted," Silas said coldly.

He paused, smoothing the cuffs of his gold robes.

"However, anyone who leaves the Tower must undergo the Purification Protocol. We cannot risk our secrets leaking."

Elara's heart slammed against her ribs. The Purification Protocol. It was a legalized form of torture designed to cripple a mage for life.

Seraphina kept her hands over her mouth, but Elara saw the dark, excited gleam in her sister's eyes. Seraphina wanted blood.

"You will surrender all Academy equipment," Silas declared, his voice echoing with finality. "And you will submit to the Severing of the Pathways."

The air in the room vanished. Even the angry students in the stands sucked in a collective breath. The Severing was barbaric.

Elara curled her fingers into tight fists. Her nails dug so deeply into her palms that fresh blood welled up.

She stared unblinking at Silas.

"I accept the verdict."