„Alpha Wings Academy”

Chapter 1. Last Summer’s Kiss

Morning light filtered through the canopy of the Gilded Gate's courtyard, casting dappled gold across the white marble pathways where cadets gathered for the day's first drills. Ligeia inhaled deeply, savoring the complex scent of petrichor mingled with exotic blossoms—a fragrance unique to the Alpha Wings Academy's grounds, where even the rain fell with military precision three times daily, leaving everything slick, clean, and slightly cooler. She adjusted her silver-plated forearm guards, fingers absently tracing the filigree patterns as her amber-green eyes swept across the noisy hub of arriving angels. And then she saw him—Stelios, his jet-black hair wind-tousled as always, his broad shoulders cutting a commanding silhouette against the luminous flora.

Her wings gave an involuntary flutter, the pearlescent feathers catching the light. The memory of their kiss last year returned with such vivid clarity that she nearly stumbled—a quick, strong press of lips behind the stables, his hands firm at her waist, the scent of battle-sweat and crushed lilies surrounding them. Had it meant nothing to him? The entire summer had passed without word, without acknowledgment, and now here they were, thrown together again for another year of training, another year of pretending she wasn't hopelessly drawn to him.

“You're thinking too loudly,” came a voice behind her, rich and low. Stelios had approached without her noticing, a testament to his stealth training—or perhaps to how thoroughly her thoughts had consumed her.

“Some of us actually prepare mentally for drills,” she countered, turning to face him. His chocolate brown eyes held that same intensity they always did, steady and searching. “Not everyone can rely on brute strength and dumb luck.”

He laughed, the sound warming her despite herself. “You call it dumb luck; I call it tactical intuition.” His thumb ran over the edge of his vambrace, the dark celestial bronze etched with runes that seemed to shift subtly beneath his touch. It was a habit she'd noticed before—a tell for when he felt uncertain, though few would ever guess that Stelios, the prodigy from the Seventh Heaven, had moments of doubt.

Around them, the courtyard hummed with activity. Young angels stretched their wings, practiced defensive stances, or huddled in conspiratorial groups, whispering about the latest Dopocan edicts. The morning's rain had just ended, and the marble gleamed with lingering moisture, catching the golden-hour light that Heaven's skydome so theatrically provided.

“Race you to the Chalk Alcoves?” Stelios challenged, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Last one there has to partner with Proclaimer Thelos for afternoon chants,” Ligeia replied, already unfurling her wings to their full span.

They took off in a synchronized rush, their wings cutting through the humid air with effortless grace. Ligeia felt the familiar exhilaration of flight, the way her body intuitively adjusted to air currents, the powerful muscles of her back and shoulders working in perfect harmony. She risked a glance at Stelios, flying just slightly ahead of her. The early light caught the steel-like glint of his primary feathers, highlighting the exceptional strength of his wings.

“You're still favoring your left side on the upstroke,” he called over the rush of wind, his voice a mixture of teasing and genuine tactical observation.

“And you're still talking when you should be focusing,” she shot back, executing a tight barrel roll that brought her suddenly in front of him. She heard his surprised laugh as she pulled ahead.

They landed together at the Chalk Alcoves, both breathing harder than they'd admit. The small, semi-private nooks carved into the wall near the Pankration Sand were unofficially claimed as cool-down spaces by the most elite trainees.

“I win,” Ligeia declared, though they'd touched down simultaneously.

“In your dreams, Seraph,” Stelios retorted, but his smile was warm, genuine. “Though I'd gladly lose to you any day.” There was something in his tone that made her breath catch—an intimacy that didn't belong in the public spaces of the Alpha Wings Academy.

As they began their warm-up stretches, Ligeia couldn't help but notice how his eyes lingered on her, tracing the curves of her body with undisguised appreciation. She felt heat rising to her cheeks, and not from exertion.

“About last summer,” she began, voice lower now.

“That kiss,” he supplied, his own voice dropping to that low, intimate rumble that seemed reserved just for her. “I've thought about it every day since.”

Relief flooded through her, but she masked it with composure. “Really? I'd almost forgotten,” she lied, stretching her wings in a deliberately showy display.

“Liar,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Your wings shimmer when you're not telling the truth. Did you know that?”

Before she could respond, they were called to the sparring circle, forced to table the conversation that had barely begun.

As they squared off against each other in the practice ring, Ligeia was acutely aware of every movement of Stelios's body. The way he planted his feet, the controlled power in his stance, the subtle shift of his wings as he balanced. Fighting him was like dancing with a storm—exhilarating and dangerous.

They circled each other, trading blows with controlled precision. His hand caught her wrist; her foot hooked behind his ankle. They were too well-matched, too familiar with each other's techniques, for either to gain a clear advantage. And with each point of contact—fingers grazing a forearm, shoulders brushing, the momentary press of his chest against hers as they grappled—Ligeia felt the echo of that kiss growing stronger in her memory.

“You've improved,” he acknowledged after she executed a particularly complex feint.

“You haven't,” she teased, though it wasn't true. If anything, he'd somehow grown even more formidable over the summer.

From her perch on a marble bench nearby, Skylla observed their sparring with vibrant silver eyes. Her platinum-white hair was swept into an intricate battle-secure braid, woven with thin golden chains that caught the light. But her attention wasn't on the impressive display of combat skills—it was fixed on Adonis, who stood in quiet contemplation by the equipment racks.