As the final bell of the class rang, Ariana hurried to pack her bag, carefully tucking her notebook away. She glanced at Mina, who was still chatting animatedly with Scraps. “Hey, Mina,” Ariana said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “What’s the next class, and… what’s the teacher like? Madame, right?”

Mina paused, a grin spreading across her face. “Oh, Madame Verlaine? She’s… an experience.”

Scraps snickered. “That’s one way to put it.”

Ariana raised an eyebrow, intrigued but slightly concerned. “What do you mean?”

Mina leaned closer as they walked out of the classroom, lowering her voice like she was about to spill a secret. “She’s strict. Like, really strict. She’ll call you out for even looking distracted. But she’s also brilliant—knows everything about soul theory and synchronization techniques. If you pay attention, you’ll learn a ton.”

“She’s not a fan of fun, though,” Scraps added, smirking. “We found that out the hard way.”

Mina groaned, giving him a playful shove. “Don’t remind me.”

“What happened?” Ariana asked, genuinely curious.

Mina rolled her eyes dramatically. “It was our first week, and Scraps here thought it’d be hilarious to buzz the classroom lights with our aura. You know, just a little static charge to mess around. I told him it was a bad idea.”

Scraps grinned, clearly unrepentant. “You laughed.”

“Yeah, until Madame Verlaine caught us,” Mina admitted, sighing. “She gave us detention and made us write a ten-page essay on the importance of respecting one’s weapon-meister bond.”

Ariana stifled a laugh. “Sounds… intense.”

“She is,” Mina said, nodding. “But as long as you stay focused and don’t let Day pull any stunts, you’ll be fine.”

Day, who had been trailing behind them with his hands stuffed in his pockets, snorted. “Don’t drag me into your mess.”

Mina shot him a cheeky grin. “Just giving Ariana a heads-up. You’ve got that ‘troublemaker’ vibe.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Day muttered, earning a laugh from Ariana.

As they approached the next classroom, Mina turned back to Ariana. “Seriously, though, don’t stress. Just stay on her good side, and you’ll be golden.”

Ariana nodded, her nerves settling slightly. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime,” Mina said, flashing a warm smile. “Now, let’s see if Scraps and I can survive another lecture without getting in trouble.”

As Day walked into the classroom behind Ariana, Mina, and Scraps, a girl in the hallway suddenly brushed past him, narrowly avoiding bumping into him completely. But her companion, a tall boy with a sharp, angular face, wasn’t so lucky. He collided with Day’s shoulder, sending a jolt through him as his eyes narrowed.

“Watch where you’re going, Zephyr,” Day muttered, keeping his voice low enough that only Ariana could hear. Zephyr turned around, his brow furrowing as he eyed Day with a look of disdain.

“Easy there, axe-boy,” Zephyr sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t want to get splinters.”

Day’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to Ariana and plopped down beside her with a heavy sigh, clearly annoyed that he hadn’t thought of a snappy retort in time.

“Someone need a moment?” Ariana whispered, her eyes flicking over to Zephyr’s retreating form.

“Just another day in the dungeon,” Day muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. “Zephyr’s just itching for a fight.”

Mina leaned over, casting a curious glance in their direction. “Who’s that?”

“Zephyr,” Day said, his tone flat. “Weapon to one of the top students in the class. Thinks he’s hot shit because of it.”

Scraps snorted. “He’s a bully, is what he is. Doesn’t know what to do with someone like Day, so he tries to belittle him.”

Ariana frowned, feeling a tension she hadn’t expected to surface. “Do you guys know each other?”

“Not really,” Day replied, his voice still tense. “He’s just another weapon trying to make his meister look good by putting down others.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Ariana said, her tone soft. “Why bother?”

“Some people get off on that kind of thing,” Day shrugged, his gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s how they feel powerful.”

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of Madame Verlaine, the class teacher. She swept into the room with a regal air, her gaze sweeping over the students as she took her place at the front.

“Alright, enough chatter,” she called, her voice like ice. “Let’s get started.”

Madame Verlaine straightened up from the lectern, her sharp eyes sweeping over the class as she cleared her throat. “Welcome, class,” she began, her voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation. “I’m Madame Verlaine, and today we’re going to dive into the different forms weapons can take, and how those forms can evolve or change depending on the emotions of their meisters or the severity of a situation.”

Ariana leaned forward, her pen poised over her notebook, eager to capture every word. She was particularly interested in this part of the lesson—it seemed crucial to understanding the connection between a meister and their weapon.

“Now,” Madame continued, “weapons are not just tools for combat. They are extensions of the soul, capable of shifting and adapting in response to their meister’s emotional state or the demands of the moment. This evolution can be subtle—like a change in the aura of a blade—or more drastic, like a weapon transforming into a completely different form to match the intensity of a battle.”

She glanced around the room, noting the attentive faces. “To demonstrate this, I have a special guest today. This is my weapon, Andros.”

The door to the classroom opened, and a man entered, his presence commanding attention. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair pulled back in a low ponytail and deep blue eyes that scanned the room with an air of authority. Madame Verlaine gestured to him, her voice calm but filled with pride. “Andros, would you care to say a few words?”

Andros offered a brief nod and a smile, his gaze lingering on a few students before he stepped forward. “Hello, everyone,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “I’m Andros, and yes, I am Madame Verlaine’s weapon.”

Ariana’s eyes widened slightly as she looked up from her notes, intrigued by the connection between the two. Andros held up his hand, and with a wave, his form began to shimmer—a soft, radiant glow spreading from his fingers. As the light expanded, his body seemed to change, folding and shifting until he was no longer human, but a weapon.

The transformation was mesmerizing. Andros’s body condensed into a short, slender blade—its hilt wrapped in fine leather, its blade sharp and shining. He landed neatly in Madame Verlaine’s waiting hands, perfectly balanced.

Madame Verlaine held the blade with ease, her fingers curling around the hilt as she admired it. “This is what happens when a weapon and a meister sync perfectly,” she explained, her voice filled with pride. “Andros isn’t just a weapon for combat; he’s an extension of my soul. His form, his sharpness, and his power—all of it changes based on my emotions and the challenges we face together.”

She turned the blade slightly, allowing the light to catch its edge. “When a meister is stressed, their weapon may become heavier, more resistant. But when they’re in sync, the weapon is almost an extension of their mind—light, agile, ready for whatever comes.”

Andros nodded from his place in Madame Verlaine’s hands. “It’s true,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “But it’s not something you can rush. It takes time, practice, and understanding.”

Ariana watched the pair with rapt attention, her mind racing with possibilities. What could she and Day become if they could sync like that? How powerful could their bond be? As the class continued, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the depth of connection between a meister and their weapon.

Madame Verlaine continued the lesson, demonstrating different forms Andros could take—sharper, heavier, longer—each change accompanied by a brief explanation of what that form represented in terms of power and use. When she finally returned him to his human form, Andros gave the class a nod and a grin before he left the room, herding the weapons outside to the courtyard.

“The rest of you will stay here,” Madame Verlaine said, her tone calm despite the new tension in the air. “Today’s focus is on breathing exercises—finding your center and syncing with your weapon’s soul. We’ll go one by one, so take your time, and don’t rush.”

Ariana’s fingers tightened on her notebook, but she didn’t take notes as she usually would. There was something too personal about this part of the lesson, too vulnerable. Instead, she just listened, observing the others as they went through the exercises, their eyes closed, faces serene, as if they were reaching deep within themselves to connect.

When it was her turn, Ariana hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward. She took a deep breath, her gaze turning to Mina, who was already watching her.

“Tell me about your experience,” Madame Verlaine prompted, her voice gentle.

Ariana swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “I saw… his soul,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was like this purple flame, flickering in the distance. But then, when he got annoyed, it got… out of control. It was like the power surged, and I couldn’t keep up.”

Madame Verlaine nodded thoughtfully. “That’s common when new meisters are learning to sync with their weapon. It’s like trying to control a firestorm—sometimes it gets a bit too wild.”

Ariana felt her cheeks flush, the words feeling too heavy to say aloud. “I just… I felt like I was losing it,” she confessed, her eyes lowering to the ground. “I couldn’t keep up.”

Madame Verlaine reached out, placing a hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “It’s okay. This is part of the process. The first few times can be overwhelming. But if you practice, if you keep pushing, you’ll find your rhythm.”

Ariana nodded, trying to absorb the advice, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of sync with Day. Was it just nerves, or was there something more to it?