As I stood lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, the gentle rustle of movement drew my attention back to the present. A girl from the far side of the spacious classroom was making her way toward me, her steps light yet deliberate, as though she were crossing a bridge she wasn't sure would hold. Her head tilted slightly, her curiosity etched into her features like an artist's careful brushstrokes. There was an air of innocence about her, soft and unassuming, like the first notes of a lullaby.

"Hi," she began, her voice a melody that tiptoed into the quiet. "Do you mind me asking? Where have you been these past few days? You've missed a lot of class."

Her question took me by surprise, not for its substance but for the sincerity shimmering in her eyes. It wasn't prying or judgmental—just genuine concern, the kind that disarmed more than it provoked. I felt the sunlight streaming through the arched windows brush against my Snow White wings, which trembled faintly in response, as though they, too, wanted to be part of the conversation.

Those wings, so new they still felt like borrowed garments, were proof of a transformation that had reshaped me from the inside out. Their pristine feathers caught the light, reflecting a hint of the journey that had brought me to this moment.

I allowed a small, wry smile to surface, one that hinted at equal parts amusement and pride. "Why," I replied, my voice tinged with quiet confidence, "I've been getting my wings, of course. It's what we do, isn't it? Our metamorphosis—our moment of becoming. Everyone has theirs in time."

Her eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks, as though she'd just remembered something important. Before she could respond, Samira was there, her presence as steadfast as a sentinel's watch.

Samira didn't miss a beat. She stepped closer to me, her dark eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and protection. "If you don't mind," she interjected, her tone as smooth as it was firm, "Angel's not big on unnecessary small talk. Especially not about things that don't concern you."

The girl—Linea, as I would later learn her name—didn't falter. Instead, a small, teasing smile played across her lips, a flicker of mischief glinting in her eyes. "Oh, come on," she countered, her voice as light as the breeze. "We're all going through these transformations. It's not like it's some big secret, is it?"

Samira crossed her arms, a warning twinkling in her gaze. "Maybe not," she replied coolly. "But that doesn't mean you're owed an explanation."

Their brief exchange played out like a game of chess, each move deliberate yet restrained. Linea's expression softened, as though she had tired of the game, but I could feel the edges of her curiosity still lingering.

I took a deep breath, letting the moment settle into a quiet equilibrium. "There's no need to press," I said evenly, my voice like the smooth surface of a still pond. Turning toward the expansive training fields visible through the windows, I added, "What matters is that I'm here now. The rest is my own story to tell."

I pivoted gracefully, my wings fluttering in punctuation, their delicate movement a silent exclamation mark to my words. The cool confidence I projected wasn't an act but a truth I had recently claimed for myself.

As Samira and I left Linea standing in the warm haze of sunlight, the room seemed to exhale with relief. The tension dissipated, leaving behind only the faint echo of wings brushing against air.

The training fields stretched out before us, an endless expanse of possibility framed by the deep blue of the sky. Here was where we would master the art of flight, the fine-tuning of power and grace that defined our kind. The anticipation buzzed within me, a heady mix of nerves and exhilaration.

"Let's fly," Samira murmured, her voice a low promise as we stepped into the open air.

With a deep breath, I unfurled my wings fully, feeling the wind catch them for the first time that day. The earth seemed to fall away beneath us as we prepared to soar, the weight of expectation replaced by the lightness of potential.

In the sky, I knew, there were no questions. No answers. Just freedom.