A Safe Space . Runo: Battle between Royals and Rebels

The Arrival The sun cast a warm, golden sheen over the wrought-iron gates of Celestia Royale Academy, nestled like a jewel in the lush, elite enclave of Ikoyi, Lagos. The sky stretched wide and cloudless, a perfect canvas for the morning light that bathed the campus in hues of soft amber and gold. Everything about the view whispered money old, powerful money and power so well disguised in luxury that it looked like art. Flanking the gates were tall, swaying palm trees, each one evenly spaced like chess pieces guarding the entrance. Beyond the black metal archway, the campus spread out like a private estate high walls, perfectly mowed lawns, imported flora, and buildings that blended British colonial structure with futuristic Nigerian flair. From the ornate dormitories to the state-of-the-art sports center, the entire school looked like something out of a billionaire’s dream. And in truth, it was. Celestia Royale was no ordinary school. It was the school. Politicians sent their children here. CEOs reserved spots years in advance. Royalties from across West Africa donated wings to the science block. Every stone on campus had been walked by privilege, ambition, or scandal. A fleet of security guards stood stationed at key points, dressed in sleek black suits with matching earpieces. Their posture was military-level. Their silence, unnerving. You didn’t just attend Celestia Royale you were vetted into it. And that alone said something. At exactly 7:45 a.m., the wrought-iron gates groaned open on perfectly timed hinges, revealing a smooth marbled driveway that snaked through a tunnel of blooming hibiscus flowers and glossy pine trees imported from Europe to survive just barely in the Lagos humidity. Through the gates came a matte-black Bentley Bentayga, its engine low and purring like a well-fed panther. Students milling near the central fountain turned their heads. Not because it was unusual luxury cars were as common here as schoolbags but because it was that Bentley. They recognized the Edevbie crest immediately. A silver-etched lion coiled around a black oil drop, positioned boldly on the license plate frame. It was custom, expensive, and whispered something more powerful than mere wealth. The chauffeur exited the car in one fluid motion, walking around the vehicle with quiet dignity. He opened the rear passenger door and stood tall. Runo Edevbie stepped out. The air shifted. She wore the school’s formal uniform, tailored to perfection: a crisp white blouse tucked into a navy high-waisted pleated skirt. Her knee-high socks were spotless, and her glossy black loafers bore the initials R.E. embroidered on the sides. Her long braids had been pulled into a sleek, high bun that showed off her soft cheekbones and confident brow line. Minimal makeup. Neutral gloss. Neat brows. And still, she glowed. Her presence seemed to slow time, like a new character stepping into a movie mid-season. Some students froze mid-sentence. Others fumbled with their phones. A few dared to take pictures discreetly, pretending to scroll through i********:. But Runo didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look around. Her back remained straight. Chin up. Eyes forward. She was used to this. She had been born into rooms like this—gilded spaces filled with stares and silent judgment. As the only daughter of Chief and Lady Edevbie, Runo had grown up knowing the world would always be watching. But this wasn’t a performance. She wasn’t here to impress anyone. She was here to survive. Her old school, St. Victoria’s College, had nearly crushed her spirit. The bullying hadn’t been physical. It had been surgical slow, precise, and executed with a smile. She had been mocked for being quiet, for always reading, for never flirting back. Her intelligence was a threat. Her beauty was ammunition. Her wealth? A double-edged sword. They called her names behind her back. Pretended to be her friend just to steal answers before tests. Started rumors she had “bought” her grades. One girl accused her of sleeping with a teacher just because she had scored highest in Physics. It was all noise. But noise has weight when you carry it alone. She remembered the day her mother found that crumpled note in her blazer pocket: “Go choke on your perfect grades.” It had been scribbled in red ink with deliberate anger. Her mother said nothing at first. Just folded the note and placed it quietly on the table. Then she stood, called her assistant, and scheduled a meeting with the Celestia Royale board. That was three weeks ago. Now here she was. “Madam,” said the chauffeur Dominic offering her a monogrammed tote bag. “All the best. Call me if you need anything. We’re always nearby.” She nodded gently. “Thank you, Dominic.” Then she turned, inhaled slowly, and stepped through the grand double doors of the main building. Inside, the academy was another world. The entry hall was cathedral-like, with ceilings so high they seemed to scrape the clouds. Chandeliers shaped like inverted pyramids hung from golden arches, casting light that sparkled like water on marble floors. Digital paintings rotated every hour today, they showed works by Nigerian surrealists and music played from hidden speakers: soft jazz fused with Yoruba percussion. She didn’t get far before a woman appeared from the east corridor. “You must be Miss Runo Edevbie,” the woman said, adjusting her navy-blue blazer. Her name tag read: Mrs. Olusola Head of Student Relations. “Welcome to Celestia Royale. Your dorm assignment is in Sapphire Hall, top floor. We’ve arranged to have your belongings sent ahead. You’ll be sharing with three other girls. All handpicked. We’re sure you’ll fit in beautifully.” Runo gave a small nod. “Thank you, ma.” As she followed the woman down the polished corridor, she felt the stares return. This time from polished windows, from camera lenses, from eyes hidden behind confidence and curiosity. Girls looked her up and down with laser-like calculation. Boys did doubletakes. Some smiled, some didn’t bother. She was used to the whispers, but not the way they felt hungry here like Celestia didn’t just watch you. It studied you. By the time they reached Sapphire Hall, her palms were damp despite her calm expression. The dormitory was a modern masterpiece glass balconies, rooftop gardens, and private elevators. Her suite, Room 5B, had a view of the lagoon. Of course it did. She knocked gently. “Come in!” called a cheerful voice. Inside were three girls each one different, but unmistakably part of Celestia’s elite tapestry. The first was sitting on the floor, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters, and a pink laptop. She jumped up instantly. “You’re Runo, right? Finally! I’m Adaora Nwosu. Igbo girl. STEM lover. Future senator’s wife. But only if he’s taller than six feet and respects women.” Runo blinked, then chuckled. “Nice to meet you.” The girl on the velvet couch glanced up. “Zainab Bello. I only talk when there’s something worth saying. You’ll get used to me.” The third girl was in front of the mirror, applying lip gloss with surgeon-level focus. She turned with a grin. “Ivie Aigbe. Fashion goddess and part-time FBI agent. We’ve been stalking your i********: since yesterday. Your feed is giving ‘soft power princess.’ We approve.” Runo’s eyes widened. “You have?” “Oh honey,” Ivie said with a wink. “This is Celestia. If you’re not Googling your roommate, you’re already behind.” Laughter filled the room. And for the first time in weeks, Runo felt something loosen in her chest. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was hope. She hadn’t expected warmth, not on the first day. Adaora looped her arm through Runo’s. “Come on. Let’s take you to the dining hall before the prefects eat all the fruit parfaits. You’ll love the mango-pineapple combo.” As they walked down the corridor, chatter and laughter trailing behind them, Runo caught her reflection in a silver-framed mirror. She saw a girl who looked polished but unsure. Brave but scarred. Beautiful but guarded. A girl who had once been broken but had stitched herself back together. She didn’t know what Celestia Royale would bring. Maybe chaos. Maybe healing. Maybe both. But one thing was clear: She wasn’t here to play safe. She was done hiding. And this time, she would not be anyone’s victim.