My Demon Professors Are All Gorgeous Girls
Chapter 87: The Seraphic Treaty

Chapter 87: The Seraphic Treaty

The wind that swept across the Frostbound Court’s high terrace was crueler than usual. It wasn’t cold in the normal sense — it was biting, surgical, elegant. Like everything in this place, even the weather carried the weight of centuries of unspoken expectation. Beneath the frozen domes of the Grand Assembly Hall, tradition reigned supreme, and any hint of change was treated as a crack in the ice itself.

I stood beside Seraphina Vel’Arin just outside the heavy bronze doors carved with runes of binding and memory. Her posture was regal, back straight, chin lifted, but I could see the muscles in her shoulders tense, the deliberate calm masking the storm I knew was roaring within her. She hadn’t worn her duchess mantle for years, yet today she carried its legacy in every step.

"You don’t have to do this," I murmured, voice low so only she could hear. My breath turned to mist instantly.

She glanced at me, eyes the pale blue of melting glaciers. "I do," she replied softly. "This isn’t about personal pride or revenge. It’s about the future of two worlds."

A twin knock sounded on the doors of the Assembly Hall, the echo carrying like a drumbeat across the frozen plaza. The runes along the doorframes glowed faintly, then faded, as if the magic that once barred entry was preparing to step aside.

The doors swung open with a grinding groan that reverberated down the marble colonnade. We entered.

Inside, the chamber felt alive. Grand pillars of ice spiraled to a ceiling so high it vanished into shadow; chandeliers sculpted from frosted crystal hung overhead, reflecting lamplight in a dozen fractured rainbows. The Frostbound emissaries, cloaked in silken furs and bearing sigils of ancient houses, sat in throne-like alcoves carved into the walls. Their faces were masks of stone, carved with concern, skepticism, and—rarely—hope.

At the center of the chamber, on a dais of carved glacial stone, sat Lady Myrren Vel’Arin, Seraphina’s older sister and the acting regent. She wore a cloak of deep blue that absorbed light rather than reflected it, and her gaze fixed on Seraphina with a mixture of iron resolve and sisterly hurt.

"Seraphina," Myrren said, voice echoing. "You have returned. Speak your purpose."

Seraphina stepped forward, each footfall kicking up a fine frost that dissipated into the air. "I have come not to reclaim a title, but to reforge a bond," she began, voice clear and unwavering. "Not as Duchess Vel’Arin, but as Seraphina, professor of the Academy and student of the world beyond our borders."

A murmur rippled among the emissaries. It sounded like cracking ice.

Myrren’s expression tightened. "You abandoned the court when we needed you most. What makes you believe we welcome your words now?"

Seraphina paused at the foot of the dais, then reached into the folds of her coat and produced a scroll sealed with her family’s sigil — a snowflake mended with molten gold. "I do not ask for welcome," she responded, "but for your courage to choose differently." She placed the scroll upon a small stone altar before Myrren. "I present the Seraphic Treaty: an alliance between the Frostbound Houses and the Academy of Ruin. A pact of mutual defense, shared knowledge, and open borders."

She straightened as the attendants unrolled the treaty. Animated runes glowed along the parchment’s edge. The terms were revolutionary:

Permanent Frostbound envoy to the Academy’s council

Biannual sharing of spell research and ice alchemy

Free passage for scholars and students of both realms

Joint defense of ley lines and prohibition of exclusive wards

A House elder rose, gnarled staff in hand. "You would melt our ice, invite outsiders into our sanctum?" he asked, voice trembling with barely concealed rage.

Seraphina met his glare. "I would melt the ice that froze us in fear. The world outside these walls has fractured, bled, and rebuilt. We cannot remain statues in a storm." She turned her gaze to Myrren. "Sister, will you sign?"

Myrren’s lips quivered. She reached out, dipping her gloved finger into Seraphina’s blood drip pooling at the altar’s base from a ceremonial cut the scroll had required. Pressing it to her own handprint on the parchment, she sealed the treaty.

A stunned silence filled the chamber before one by one, the other houses followed: House Kaern, House Arsolen, House Eiran... until every sigil glowed in frozen flame across the treaty.

Myrren exhaled. "Then it is done," she said, voice quieter now, touched by something like relief.

Seraphina bowed her head, a single crease of exhaustion in her brow. She turned to me, eyes softening. "Thank you," she whispered.

I stepped forward and offered my arm. "Thank you."

As we left the chamber, the doors closing behind us, I realized this treaty was no mere document — it was a living promise, a fracture in the ice that would let warmth seep through.

We walked in silence through the corridor beyond the chamber. The air felt warmer here—no longer held taut by centuries of isolation. Frost clung to the windows in elaborate filigree, but the sunlight pierced through, casting dancing prisms across the polished floor.

Seraphina paused at a side archway, turning back toward the vaulted ceiling. "It’s done," she said quietly. "Will it last?"

I met her gaze. "Only if we stand by it."

She smiled, that small curve of her lips that always reminded me of hidden laughter. "And you?"

Me? I had pledged my loyalty not just to treaties, but to the people behind them. "I’ll stand by you."

She reached out and squeezed my hand. "Then let us begin."

Aftermath and New Beginnings

The following days were a blur of activity. The Frostbound Houses sent envoys to the Academy. Scholars arrived, dusty and curious, carrying books bound in fur and ice-steel. They brought tomes on glacial ley lines, scrolls of cryoalchemy, and maps of forgotten frost temples. In return, our professors shared Arcane Collapse research, demon lore, and the Academy’s own rebuilding blueprints.

Yuria and Zephira organized the joint defense drills—lightning and shadow, ice and flame, working side by side for the first time. Seraphina led group discussions on cultural exchange, teaching both Frostborn and Academy students the nuances of each other’s languages and customs.

Lilith, still a presence in more flame than flesh, whispered guidance to those who would listen. Valmira cataloged every new text, ensuring that the treaty’s knowledge would be preserved in the rewritten Codex.

Every evening, Seraphina and I would meet on the terrace overlooking the courtyard. Frostflakes drifted in the torchlight, settling on my shoulders without melting. She would lean against me, her cheek resting on my arm, and we’d watch our world slowly stitch itself back together.

One night, she asked, "Do you ever regret it?"

I followed her gaze to the treaty scroll, now framed on a pedestal in the main hall.

"Regret what?"

"Giving up the duchy... The comfort of knowing where I belonged."

I turned to her, lifting her chin with a gentle fingertip. "You belonged wherever you chose to stand. And you chose here—with me, with the Academy, with our people."

Her eyes shone and she kissed me softly, frost and fire mingling. "Then I choose again," she whispered. "Every day."

A Frost Festival

To celebrate the treaty’s first month, the Frostbound Houses hosted a festival in the frozen gardens below the Citadel. Lanterns carved from ice hung between the wisteria-like frost trees. Tables groaned under platters of smoked fish, frostberries, and spiced honeycakes. Music—harps of icetone and drums of hollowed ice—filled the air in haunting harmony.

Valmira read poetry by torchlight, her voice weaving through the crowd like gentle wind. Yuria and Zephira sparred in friendly duels that sent sparks arching like fireworks. Seraphina led a group dance on a platform of polished white stone, laughter echoing through the garden.

I watched them all, awe and love knotting in my chest. Never had I imagined that frost and flame, magic and memory, could meld so beautifully.

Lilith appeared above the gathering, a ribbon of flame swirling against the star-bright sky. She traced her fingers through the air, sending a cascade of golden embers that danced like fireflies before vanishing into the mist.

I raised my cup to the sky. "To frost and flame," I called.

"And choice over destiny," Seraphina added.

"Amen," Valmira said, her scroll tucked safely at her side.

"Amen," Yuria echoed, thunder crackling in her grin.

And as the embers drifted upward, I realized this treaty was not merely political—it was personal, forged by love, sacrifice, and the courage to break our own chains.

Reflections in Ice

Later, I found Seraphina alone at the garden’s edge, tracing patterns in the ice with her fingertips. Beneath her touch, the frost melted, revealing the clear stone beneath.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, stepping beside her.

She didn’t look up. "About how many layers of ice we wear. How we guard ourselves so carefully that we forget to live."

I kneeled, placing my hand over hers. "We’ll learn," I said. "Together."

A single teardrop froze on her cheek. She wiped it away, then traced the carving of our intertwined hands on the stone.

"I’m ready," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "For everything that comes next."

I pulled her into my arms, sheltering her from the passing cold. "Then let’s face it," I said. "One choice at a time."

A Promise Sealed

By dawn, the treaty’s first advert had come to life. A group of young Frostbound scholars knocked on the Academy’s gates, timid but eager. Behind a line of gargoyle guards, the academy officials waited to welcome them.

Seraphina and I stood in the center courtyard as the gates opened. I offered a hand to the first scholar—an eight-year-old girl with ice-blue hair and wide, curious eyes.

"Welcome," I said.

She nodded, stepping forward.

Seraphina crouched beside her. "You’ll find friends here. And questions. Ask them all."

The girl walked between us, hesitant at first, then running toward her new classmates.

I turned to Seraphina. "We did it."

She smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "We are doing it."

And as the Academy gates closed behind the last of the new students, I felt the weight of history shift—not backward, but forward, into a future we would shape together.