The immortal's queen

Chapter 4: First day

"Celine. Celine, wake up."

A finger poked my cheek. Then again, harder.

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head. "Five more minutes."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Noemi's voice came, far too cheerful for this hour. "If you're late on your first real day of classes, I'm not covering for you."

I peeked out from under the blanket. Noemi was already dressed—ripped jeans, an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder, and her dark curls piled into a messy bun that somehow still looked effortlessly perfect. She had the kind of energy that made mornings feel personal, like the universe had decided to test me by giving me a roommate who was basically a human sunrise.

How is she smiling? The sun isn't even fully up. Is she powered by chaos? Is she secretly a battery for happiness?

I sat up slowly, my hair sticking out in every direction like I'd lost a fight with a pillow. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to stop looking like you lost a fight with your pillow. Bathroom's free. Move."

I dragged myself out of bed. The dorm room was small but clean—two beds, two desks, a shared wardrobe that was already overflowing with Noemi's clothes. Her side already looked lived-in, covered in fairy lights and random trinkets. Mine still felt temporary, like I was just passing through.

I quickly took my bath, brushed my teeth, and stared at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair that refused to cooperate. A face that said, "I've made a terrible mistake."

Day one of actual classes. Don't hear anything stupid. Don't say anything stupid. Simple.

Famous last thoughts.

By the time I finished getting dressed—jeans, a black t-shirt, and the same worn-out sneakers I'd worn for three years—Noemi was waiting by the door, swinging her bag like she was about to conquer the world.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Perfect. Let's go!"

She grabbed my arm and dragged me out before I could protest.

*****

The cafeteria was absolute chaos.

Hundreds of students packed the massive hall, their voices blending into a roar of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clatter of dishes. The smell of fresh bread, roasted meat, and something sweet filled the air. My stomach growled loudly—I hadn't eaten since yesterday.

Students wore everything—jeans, leather jackets, flowing dresses, combat boots. Some had wings folded against their backs. Others had glowing eyes or shimmering skin. One girl walked past with a fox tail swishing behind her like it was the most natural thing in the world. No two outfits were the same

I love this place already. I could get used to this. Maybe I'll wear pajamas tomorrow. See if anyone notices.

Noemi steered me toward the food line, where kitchen staff moved with practiced efficiency. A man with a chef's hat—Chef Marcus, according to his name tag—waved at us as we passed. He was levitating three pans at once, flipping eggs and bacon with nothing but his mind. They spun in perfect arcs, landing back in the pans without a single splash.

"Don't mind him," Noemi said cheerfully. "He's always showing off. Last week, he made an entire omelet fly across the room and land on a plate. It was beautiful. Honestly, I cried a little."

I stared, my jaw dropping slightly. He's flipping eggs with his mind. I'm at a school where people flip eggs with their minds. This is my life now. This is my new normal.

We grabbed plates of food—pancakes, eggs, fruit, and a mountain of bacon—and scanned the crowded room for a seat.

"Over there!" Noemi pointed toward a small empty table near the windows, tucked away from the chaos.

We made a beeline for it, weaving through the crowd. But before we could reach it, a girl slid into the chair—just before we got there.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "I think this table's taken."

She was stunning. Platinum blonde hair cascading down her back like liquid silver, sharp blue eyes, and an expression of pure entitlement. She wore a designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe—and my father's car. She lounged in the chair like it was a throne, crossing her legs with deliberate elegance.

Chloe, their "queen"

Of course she's already claimed the best table. Of course she's going to make this difficult.

Noemi's hand tightened on my arm. "Actually, I think you're at the wrong table, Chloe. There's plenty of space—"

Chloe smiled coldly. "I sit wherever I want." Her eyes flicked to me, scanning me from head to toe with the precision of a predator sizing up prey. "So you're the new girl. I've heard about you."

I blinked. She's already heard about me? I've been here one day. What could she possibly have heard? That I tripped through the portal? That I stared at the floating eggs like a tourist?

"All good things, I hope," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Chloe's smile didn't waver. "Let's just say I'm... intrigued." Her gaze lingered on me, calculating, dangerous. Like she was already plotting how to destroy me.

*"She's nothing. A nobody. I'll crush her like I've crushed everyone else." *

The thought was loud, sharp, and filled with malice.

I stayed silent. No need to provoke her. At least not on the first day.

Noemi pulled me away. "Let's just find another table."

We found a tiny table in the corner, far from Chloe's watchful gaze. The rest of breakfast was quiet. Noemi tried to cheer me up by telling me about her own first day—how she'd accidentally blown a professor's toupee off with a rogue gust of wind and he'd chased her around the training grounds.

"It was legendary," she said, grinning. "He never did find it. I think it's still stuck in a tree somewhere."

I laughed despite myself. But I was distracted. Chloe's stare had burned into my skin. She was a threat. I knew it.

And I knew I'd face her when the time came.

*****

The classroom was a large hall with high ceilings and rows of wooden desks. Students chattered amongst themselves, their voices buzzing with energy. I slipped into a seat at the back, hoping to blend in.

Noemi sat beside me, grinning. "This is Professor Vance's class. Power Theory. It's not fun. But it's important."

"Power Theory?"

"Yeah. What powers are, why we have them, how to control them. Basic stuff. Also, she's terrifying. Don't make eye contact."

Before I could ask more, the door swung open.

Professor Vance strode in, her heels clicking against the stone floor. Her hair was pulled into its signature tight bun—so tight it looked painful—and her glasses floated beside her head like a halo of judgment. She wore a crisp black pantsuit that screamed authority. She looked strict, professional, untouchable.

"Good morning, class," she said flatly. "Today, we will discuss the nature of power. What it means. How it manifests. And why control is essential."

She launched into a lecture about energy sources, power triggers, and manifestation theory. I tried to pay attention—really, I did—but my mind kept drifting.

*"I wonder if she's actually listening." *

The thought came from a boy to my right. Tall, lanky, dark hair, amused expression. He was clearly thinking about me.

*"She's cute, though. Too bad she's Bronze." *

Great. Everyone's already judging me. Why do people care what rank I am? I've been here one day.

Professor Vance's voice cut through my thoughts. "Miss Celine."

I froze. "Yes?"

"Care to share your thoughts on the matter?"

I blinked. "Uh. Which matter?"

The class snickered. Vance's eyes narrowed. "The relationship between power levels and manifestation. I was expecting you might have insight, given your... unique abilities."

She knows. Of course she knew. Everyone knew. I was the new mind-reader. The freak.

"I, uh—" I stumbled. "I think it depends on the person. Some people have strong powers but weak control. Others have weak powers but strong control."

Professor Vance raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. And which category do you fall into?"

I swallowed. "I don't know yet."

She nodded slowly. "A diplomatic answer. Unsurprising, given your... history."

The class stared at me. I could feel their thoughts pressing against my mind—curiosity, suspicion, judgment. It was overwhelming. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to block them out.

*"She's a freak." *

*"I bet she's reading my mind right now." *

*"Should I even think about anything important?" *

They think I'm reading their minds. I am, but that's not the point. This is exhausting.

"Miss Celine," Professor Vance said sharply. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, ma'am," I lied. "Just... concentrating."

She eyed me suspiciously but returned to her lecture.

I tried to focus. I really did. But the voices kept coming.

*"I heard she's a mind-reader. She could be dangerous." *

*"I bet she's looking at me right now." *

*"She's not all that. I don't see what the big deal is." *

I gritted my teeth. I didn't ask for this. I never asked to hear all of your stupid thoughts.

Then Professor Vance called on me again.

"Miss Celine, perhaps you can explain the difference between a power surge and a power manifestation? Since you're clearly familiar with sudden bursts of energy."

She was smirking. Testing me. She wanted to see if I'd crack.

Fine. I'll answer the question.

"Uh, well—" I started.

But then her thoughts flooded my head.

*"I can't believe Marcus is still in my class. We've been sleeping together for six months. If anyone finds out, I'll lose everything. His hair is so soft. Why is his hair so soft? I should call him later. Or maybe I shouldn't. I need to stop thinking about him in the middle of class. Focus, Sarah. Focus." *

I froze.

Sarah? Her name is Sarah?

*"He's eighteen. I'm forty-two. This is so wrong. But he looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world. And his hands—" *

I stared at her, my jaw dropping. She's having an affair with a student. A student named Marcus. Who has soft hair. She's literally thinking about his hands in the middle of my first class.

And then my mouth—my traitorous, reckless, never-shuts-up mouth—decided to open.

"Well, Professor," I said loudly, "I think a power surge is when your emotions get the better of you. Kind of like how you feel when you're thinking about Marcus right now."

The classroom went dead silent.

Professor Vance's face drained of color. Her glasses wobbled in midair, clattering against each other.

"I—what—" she stammered. "How do you know about—"

"You were thinking about him," I continued, unable to stop myself. "His soft hair. His hands. You're forty-two, he's eighteen. You've been sleeping together for six months. And you called yourself Sarah in your head."

The students stared at me. Some had their mouths open. Others were whispering.

*"Did she just say..." *

*"Oh my god..." *

*"She is a mind-reader!" *

"She's a WHAT?" someone shouted.

oh my God am in trouble, why did I say that

"YOU—YOU—" Professor Vance pointed at me, her face purple with rage. "THE ADMINISTRATIVE WING! NOW! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"

The class erupted into chaos.