Star28Black

Diseño de mi personaje OC de descendientes, Terímaco, hijo de Hércules y Megara y organizador de las extraescolares deportivas junto a sus hermanos Creontiades y Deicoonte.

...El joven asintió, su mirada recorriendo la figura única de Charlotte, deteniéndose en sus orejas y sus patas, pero sin rastro de sorpresa o juicio negativo. Parecía estar evaluándola de una manera práctica, como un entrenador observando un potencial inusual.

-Pensé que eras nueva,-dijo con una sonrisa. -No tenemos muchas... constituciones como la tuya por aquí. Soy Terímaco, hijo de Hércules, por cierto. Yo y mis hermanos ayudamos a organizar las actividades deportivas de la escuela. Siempre estamos buscando nuevos talentos... o simplemente gente que quiera probar cosas nuevas.- Dejó caer la mirada a su portapapeles por un instante, como si clasificara mentalmente las posibilidades. -He estado pensando... tu forma física es bastante interesante. Podría ser muy adecuada para ciertos deportes.-

Mientras Charlotte se adentraba en el mundo del sudor y el potencial físico en el gimnasio, Petra buscaba un tipo diferente de evasión y asombro. Siguió las señales que indicaban “Jardines Interiores”, adentrándose en el corazón del edificio. La transición fue abrupta: un pasillo de piedra pulida dio paso a un espacio abierto bañado en luz natural, un oasis de serenidad en medio de la escuela.

Los jardines interiores eran aún más impresionantes de lo que había vislumbrado desde la distancia. Enormes árboles con hojas de colores vibrantes se alzaban hacia el techo de cristal, cascadas artificiales caían suavemente sobre rocas cubiertas de musgo, y parterres repletos de flores de todas las formas y tamaños llenaban el aire con fragancias delicadas. Mariposas con alas iridiscentes revoloteaban entre las plantas, y el sonido suave del agua corriendo creaba una atmósfera de paz total.

Petra caminó por los senderos de grava, sintiendo el crujido bajo sus pies, un sonido limpio y agradable comparado con el crujido de escombros en la Isla. Tocó los pétalos de una flor que brillaba con un ligero fulgor mágico, maravillada por su perfección. El contraste con la vegetación marchita y gris de la Isla era abrumador. Era un tipo de belleza que nunca había experimentado de cerca, algo sacado directamente de los cuentos de hadas que la Isla retorcía y se burlaba.

—Es… es real —pensó, una sensación de irrealidad mezclada con profunda apreciación—. Tan verde. Tan vivo. Tan… pacífico.

Se sentó en un banco de hierro forjado a la orilla de un pequeño estanque, observando a los peces de colores que nadaban en el agua cristalina. Era un respiro muy necesario después de la intensidad del día: las clases, la llegada a Auradon y el incidente de la cafetería.

Mientras estaba sentada, absorbiendo la calma, notó a alguien más en el jardín. Cerca de una cama de rosas que parecían cantar suavemente, una joven estaba arrodillada, examinando cuidadosamente las plantas. Llevaba un sencillo vestido verde oscuro con mandil, y su cabello negro estaba recogido con una cinta a juego con su piel oscura. Había una quietud en sus movimientos, una conexión evidente con la naturaleza a su alrededor.

La joven pareció sentir la mirada de Petra. Levantó la cabeza y sus ojos se encontraron con los de ella. Eran grandes y amables, con una calidez que Petra no veía a menudo, ni siquiera entre algunos de los “buenos” de Auradon. La joven le ofreció una pequeña sonrisa gentil.

Intrigada y sintiendo una calma inesperada, Petra le devolvió la sonrisa. La joven se puso de pie con gracia y caminó lentamente hacia el banco donde estaba Petra.

—Estos jardines son un buen lugar para encontrar paz, ¿verdad? —dijo la joven, su voz suave y musical, como el susurro del viento entre las hojas—. Llevo en las manos un pequeño plantón en una maceta.

Petra asintió, aún un poco cautelosa pero atraída por su tranquilidad.

—Sí. Son… increíbles. Nunca había visto nada tan… vivo. En la Isla… todo es gris y seco. Esto es… como otro mundo.

La joven la miró con comprensión, lo que sorprendió a Petra.

—Eres de la Isla —dijo, no como una acusación, sino como una simple observación—. He oído que es muy diferente. Difícil. —Sus ojos reflejaban empatía genuina—. Soy Tiara, por cierto. Hija de Tiana y Naveen. También participo en el club de jardinería.

—Hija de una princesa —pensó Petra, sintiendo una nueva capa de extrañeza en su día.

Conocía al doctor Facilier y su poder dentro de la Isla, que, aunque no tan potente como el de otros villanos, era escalofriante

—Petra —dijo ella, presentándose, aún procesando la conexión—. Hija del Cochero.

Soltó la filiación, esperando quizás un rastro de juicio o aprensión, pero el rostro de Tiara se mantuvo abierto y amable.

—Encantada de conocerte, Petra —sonrió de nuevo Tiara—. Aquí es tan hermoso. Paso mucho tiempo aquí. Me recuerda a los bosques cercanos del reino, al pantano de mi hogar. —Golpeó suavemente el plantón en su mano—. Aprendo sobre las plantas y cómo cuidarlas. Mi abuela dice que la naturaleza tiene mucho que enseñarnos sobre el equilibrio y la resiliencia…

—Resiliencia, ¿eh? —repitió Petra, pensando en la palabra. La había escuchado antes, en el contexto de la vida en la Isla, pero aquí se aplicaba a las plantas que crecían fuertes en un entorno cuidado. Era una forma diferente de ser resiliente.

Tiara se sentó en el otro extremo del banco, el plantón en su regazo.

—Sí. Como los juncos que se doblan con el viento, pero no se rompen. Cómo encuentran la luz. Cómo siguen creciendo incluso después de una tormenta. —Miró a Petra con esos ojos amables—. Supongo que la resiliencia es importante, vengas de donde vengas.

Petra sintió una punzada de emoción. La hija de una princesa, hablándole a la hija del Cochero sobre la resiliencia de las plantas, y aplicándola a ambas. Era un momento de conexión simple y profundo en medio de la complejidad de Auradon.

—Sí —dijo Petra, mirando los jardines y luego a Tiara—. Supongo que lo es.

Pasaron unos minutos más sentadas en un cómodo silencio, disfrutando de la paz del jardín y la compañía inesperada. Petra se dio cuenta de que, en medio de las miradas, los juicios y los desafíos, Auradon también ofrecía momentos de belleza simple y conexiones sorprendentes. Su encuentro con Tiara en los jardines interiores fue un recordatorio de que, a pesar de las diferencias y el pasado, también había espacio para la amabilidad y la comprensión en este nuevo mundo.

—¿Vienes al club de jardinería? —preguntó Tiara.

—La verdad es que no estoy interesada en ninguna actividad extraescolar. Solo quería despejarme después del primer día de clases. —

—Lástima —murmuró la princesa—. Tienes buenas manos. ¿Has trabajado la tierra antes de llegar a Auradon?

—Sí, yo… teníamos un pequeño huerto en casa que nos daba algunas verduras que comer… aunque la tierra de la Isla de los Perdidos no es… fértil precisamente.

Los ojos de Tiara la miraron con algo de pena.

—Vaya… es difícil…

—Sí, pero… te acabas acostumbrando.

—No debería… escucha, todas las princesas, como mi madre, forman parte del consejo de Auradon que lleva provisiones a la Isla. ¿Y si hablase con ella para ayudar a llevar más alimentos frescos? Cree que mi madre sabe el valor de una buena comida.

—Es una buena idea —dijo Petra, y hubo un breve silencio—. ¿Y tú? ¿Qué opinas de la llegada de… bueno… nosotros?

—Creo en las oportunidades. Quizá no todos la tengan, pero eso no significa que no podáis tener una opción mejor… Es como… la magia vudú. Quizá tú conozcas su lado oscuro por Facilier, pero aquí Mamá Oddie la usa con fines terapéuticos y médicos para ayudar a los demás. Lo que importa es el uso de tus habilidades, no su origen.

“Hey, new around here?” said the voice.

Charlotte turned to see a tall, muscular young man with slightly tanned skin, purple eyes, and a warm, open smile approaching her. He was wearing Auradon athletic wear and holding a clipboard. He had an air of calm confidence, far more approachable than the arrogance she had seen in the cafeteria. It was Terímaco, son of Hercules and Megara.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied, feeling a little self-conscious again under this new gaze, though it seemed more curious than critical. “I just arrived. I’m one of the new students and… I wanted to look into some extracurricular activities.”

Terímaco nodded, his eyes scanning Charlotte’s unique figure, resting briefly on her ears and hooves, but showing no trace of surprise or negative judgment. He seemed to be assessing her in a practical way, like a coach observing unusual potential.

“I thought you were new,” he said with a smile. “We don’t have many… physiques like yours around here. I’m Terímaco, son of Hercules, by the way. My siblings and I help organize the school’s sports activities. We’re always looking for new talent… or just people willing to try new things.” He glanced down at his clipboard for a moment, as if mentally sorting through possibilities. “I’ve been thinking… your physical form is pretty interesting. It could be very suitable for certain sports.”

Charlotte was surprised by his frankness, but she didn’t feel attacked. Terímaco wasn’t judging her; he was seeing her difference as a factor—maybe a positive one.

“Really?” she asked, with a mix of skepticism and hope. The conversation with Petra and Zephyr had planted the idea, but hearing it from someone “inside” Auradon’s sports world felt different.

“Absolutely,” Terímaco affirmed. “You have a lower body that looks incredibly strong. And that build suggests a lot of endurance. I was thinking… long-distance running, maybe cross country. Or anything that requires stamina. Or sports based on pure strength.” He brought a finger to his chin thoughtfully. “What kind of exercise… or physical work did you do on the Isle?”

Charlotte hesitated for a moment. How could she explain life on the Isle to someone from Auradon? It wasn’t “exercise.” It was survival.

“On the Isle… life is physically demanding,” Charlotte said, choosing her words carefully. “It’s not exercise for sport. You have to… move a lot. The terrain is difficult. You have to be able to go far. Carry things. Sometimes run… out of necessity.” She thought of alleys, of escapes. “And my… my form… my donkey part gave me extra strength. And endurance. The Isle… toughens you. Physically. If you’re not strong… you won’t do well. Unless you have magic, of course.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s the kind of physical activity I did.”

Terímaco’s expression shifted as he listened to her description. His sports-organizer demeanor gave way to a deeper, genuine curiosity. He let the clipboard drop to his side.

“Wow,” he said, his tone one of genuine amazement, free of any mockery. “The Isle… demands so much from young people just to survive daily life? That’s… that’s much more intense than I imagined.” He looked at Charlotte with a new perspective, seeing not only physical potential but someone who had had to be strong to survive in a harsh environment.

The conversation had unexpectedly shifted from Charlotte’s athletic potential to the harsh reality of life on the Isle for its young inhabitants. Charlotte met Terímaco’s sincere gaze, the son of the hero and the strong woman who had faced her own challenges. She felt that perhaps he could understand a little, someone who didn’t just see a “creature” but a person forged by adversity. Terímaco’s question opened the door to a much deeper conversation than Charlotte had expected on her first day in the gym.

“Yes, well…” she tried to speak. “I’m looking for a sport to distract me from classes, something with strength or endurance.”

“Did you have anything in mind?” he asked, as was customary when meeting a new member of the school’s sports activities.

“Maybe…” she thought hesitantly. “Something that builds strength in my arms; my legs are strong, but not on the same level as my arms.”

“Have you ever tried boxing?”

Charlotte thought of a few fights with other villains and henchmen on the Isle. Although she had some arm strength from chores at the coachman’s house, escaping, or kicking had always been a better option.

“No… not exactly,” she said, remembering the occasional punch in a tavern scuffle. “I have strength, but I haven’t really trained it much.”

“Would you like to try? If you don’t like it, we can always try something else.”

“Yes… sure.” She smiled at the unexpected kindness.

“Good, follow me. We’ll do a first trial.”

Terímaco guided her through Auradon Prep’s impressive indoor sports facilities to a small padded ring. The smell of freshly cut grass and rubber wafting in from the new courtyard was a stark contrast to the air of the Isle.

“All right, the locker room is just through this door,” said Terímaco, pointing to a changing area. “There will be women’s sports clothes—put on something comfortable and short, so you can move freely. I’ll wait here.”

Charlotte simply nodded before heading to the girls’ locker room. The interior was tiled in blue and white on both walls and floor, with several wooden benches and hooks in the corners, contrasting with the other half of the room, organized into cubicles with curtains for individual showers. She entered a side door, a small storage area with some training equipment already there. She looked around hesitantly, alone, knowing no one would see her. Quickly, she changed, placing her clothes in her backpack and putting on a sports outfit: a tank top and red shorts with the Auradon crest—the first shorts she had worn in years—exposing her arms, legs, and torso. Once changed, she stepped back out into the main area.

When Charlotte returned to the training area, Terímaco was adjusting a weight bench. He looked up as he heard her approach. His gaze swept over Charlotte’s figure, now dressed in clothes that revealed more of her physique. Her donkey ears and hooves were still unique, of course, but what caught Terímaco’s attention went beyond that.

“Wow, Charlotte,” Terímaco said, pausing on her defined, strong arms and then tracing the line of her visibly toned abs beneath her sports top. His expression was genuine surprise, mixed with professional admiration. “You… you have remarkable muscle definition. Especially in your arms and torso.” He scratched his chin. “Most girls here… don’t train at this level. It’s… unusual. Did you do a lot of strength training on the Isle?”

Charlotte felt a twinge of self-consciousness being observed like this, but also a strange sense of validation. Her body, which she had often felt as a mark of her trauma and exile, was now being appreciated for its strength.

“Ah, that,” Charlotte said, shrugging slightly. She hadn’t thought of it as “strength training.” “I guess… I helped move heavy objects on the docks. Move things. Carry supplies. Boxes. It was physical work. Every day.” She explained, her voice simple and factual. “Donkeys are strong animals, but carrying… handling carts… and the loads… requires strength. And endurance. And sometimes you have to move fast even while carrying things.” She thought of long workdays, the need to be strong so as not to be a burden. “It was… my ‘exercise,’ I guess.”

Terímaco listened attentively, the initial surprise giving way to reflective understanding. This wasn’t the result of a gym, but the product of necessity—a life of hard work in an unforgiving environment. He saw her strength not as something cultivated by choice, but forged by sheer survival.

“Physical work… every day,” Terímaco repeated, absorbing the information. He looked at Charlotte’s defined muscles again, seeing them not just as an athletic physique, but as a silent testament to the harshness of life on the Isle and to Charlotte’s resilience. “That explains a lot. That’s a kind of strength you don’t get easily here. All right, let’s see how you handle yourself in the ring.”

The energy in the gym that afternoon was electric. Word had spread like wildfire that the new girl from the Isle with strange legs was going to spar with one of Hercules’ sons. It wasn’t a real fight, of course—Terímaco made sure of that. It was a friendly test, a challenge to measure Charlotte’s upper-body strength and endurance in a controlled environment. But for Auradon students, it was an unusual spectacle.

The space quickly filled with a crowd of students: some Auradon athletes, others curious spectators, and a fair number of young people from the Isle. The murmur of the crowd grew as Terímaco and Charlotte took their positions in the center of the ring.

“All right, Charlotte,” Terímaco said, his voice clear above the chatter. He wore a smile, but his eyes were focused. “Simple rules. This is a strength and endurance test, not a boxing technique match. Don’t aim to knock out. It’s about pushing, using your strength, trying to unbalance. We can do short rounds. When one can’t continue or steps out of this zone, the other ‘wins’ the round. Got it?”

Charlotte nodded, feeling the gloves awkward but her muscles tense and ready. She looked at Terímaco, Hercules’ son, a symbol of Auradon’s legendary strength. The match began.

The first round was a mutual test. They approached, measuring distance. Terímaco used light footwork, something Charlotte, anchored by her hooves, couldn’t replicate. But when they connected, the impact was surprising. Charlotte used the stability of her base and the raw strength residing in her torso and arms to push. Terímaco felt the sheer power behind her—a steady, resilient force that didn’t rely on explosive technique, but on pure capacity to apply pressure.

“Wow…” Terímaco breathed, astonished.

The crowd reacted. The impressed group cheered. The prejudiced group grumbled.

The rounds continued. Terímaco used his agility to try to flank her, employing his training to look for openings, gently tapping with his gloves to wear her down. But Charlotte was incredibly difficult to move. Her hooved legs and donkey base gave her astonishing stability, and her strength in clinches and scrambles was monumental. She absorbed Terímaco’s pushes with surprising resilience—the toughness forged on the Isle allowing her to endure the pressure in a way that impressed everyone. She wasn’t a dancer in the ring; her movements were more direct, more based on brute force and endurance than finesse. Yet, she was effective.

Sweat began to glisten on both of them. Terímaco was breathing heavily, surprised by Charlotte’s stamina. She, too, felt the effort, her muscles burning, her hair plastered to her head and tied in a ponytail, but the endurance that had carried her through long days helping the Coachman allowed her to keep going, absorb, and push back.

The crowd was riveted. The doubters began murmuring in awe. The girl from the Isle—the donkey—wasn’t just daring to spar with a son of Hercules, she was giving him a real fight! Cheers grew louder, the jeers less confident. It was a display of raw strength and endurance versus trained power and technique.

The air in the gym crackled with anticipation. The rumor had spread, drawing a crowd of students surrounding the makeshift ring. The overhead gym lights bathed the training square, creating a spotlight on Charlotte and Terímaco. The murmur of the crowd was a hive of speculation, divided between awe, disdain, and pure curiosity.

“Come on, Terímaco! Show her how it’s done!” shouted a blonde, muscular athlete, clearly from the group that saw Charlotte as an intruder.

“You can do it, Isle!” shouted a more enthusiastic voice from the other side, probably a VK or someone impressed by Charlotte’s audacity.

Terímaco and Charlotte tapped their padded gloves together. Terímaco’s eyes shone with a mix of focus and respect. Charlotte’s, with determination and a hint of nerves.

“Just strength and endurance, right?” Charlotte panted, feeling the weight of the gloves. She felt adrenaline and euphoria in her body in a way she had never experienced before.

“That’s right,” Terímaco nodded, taking his stance, his footwork light and fluid. “And see who lasts longer. Don’t hold back, Charlotte.”

The following rounds merged into a demonstration of exhaustion and pure willpower. The pace slowed slightly, but the intensity increased. Every push, every attempt at maneuvering required monumental effort. Charlotte felt her muscles tremble, but the familiar sensation of extreme physical exhaustion—the one she had felt countless times on the Isle—was manageable. She knew she could keep going.

Terímaco, despite his elite training, began to show clear signs of fatigue. He wasn’t a demigod like his father; he was human, albeit with above-average strength. His footwork slowed, his breaths became labored. He was used to strength tests, but the combination of Charlotte’s relentless power and her incredible, unusual endurance was pushing him to his absolute limit. He tried to use the remaining speed he had, but Charlotte held firm, her base like an immovable anchor.

“I’m so tired,” Terímaco thought, panting. “But she… she’s still there. Pushing. Breathing. I can’t believe her stamina.” The admiration in his eyes became more apparent with every passing second.

“It hurts,” Charlotte thought, every muscle protesting. “But he’s at his limit too. I can’t give up. Not now. Not when he sees me… not just as a donkey.” Determination drove her onward.

The crowd was silent now, watching with intense focus. The division between groups faded. Everyone was amazed by the unexpected battle of wills and strength.

The final round began. They met in the center of the ring, pushing, their sweaty bodies straining to the utmost. Their movements were slower now, but the force they applied remained immense. The sound of their labored breathing was audible even above the subdued murmur of the crowd.

Terímaco made one last push, gathering all his strength for a decisive shove. Charlotte, with a grunt, responded, her hooves firmly planted on the mat, using every ounce of her endurance to match and resist him. The struggle continued—a static battle of pure power.

But after what seemed like an eternity, both bodies simply… reached their limit. The mutual pressure held, but movement ceased. They stayed pressed against each other, panting, leaning on one another as much as pushing. Their heads drooped, their arms trembled. They couldn’t take another step, couldn’t exert any more force. They were completely spent.

The timer sounded, marking the end of the round, yet they remained there, stuck together from sheer exhaustion, gasping for air.

Terímaco was the first to find his voice, his breath coming in ragged hisses. He didn’t remove his gloves, but the pressure stopped. He looked at Charlotte, his eyes shining through sweat. Both separated and sat down on the padded ring, causing awe among the onlookers—some gasping in astonishment, whispering among themselves, others realizing the fight wouldn’t continue and leaving the gym.

“Wow,” Terímaco panted, a smile of amazement and respect crossing his face. “Charlotte… you… are… incredible.” He laughed, a strained sound. “My stamina… is… gone. And your strength… your endurance… It’s amazing. You pushed me… you pushed me to the limit.” He released the pressure and leaned heavily on the ring ropes. “I can’t… I can’t go on. You can’t either, right?”

Charlotte stepped back, wobbling, her donkey legs feeling like jelly despite their strength. She leaned on the opposite ropes, bending forward, panting. Every muscle burned, but the familiar exhaustion from the Isle was different—less overwhelming than this. Still, she was spent.

“No,” Charlotte panted, her voice trembling. “You’re… strong too. Son of Hercules. I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect to last this long.” She looked at her gloves, her arms shaking. She hadn’t won, but she hadn’t been defeated either. She had matched the strength and endurance of a son of Hercules.

The crowd was silent for a moment, processing. Then came the eruption—not from a single group, but from the entire audience. A roar of cheers and deafening applause filled the gym. Shouts of “Incredible!”, “What a fight!”, “That girl’s got endurance!” rang out. Mockery had drowned in awe, at least for most of them.

Terímaco straightened slightly, with effort, and looked at Charlotte with immense respect.

“That was… a tie,” he declared, his voice still breathless but firm. “A very well-deserved tie. You are a force… a real force, Charlotte. A force from the Isle. You’ve been the first person to come this close to beating me—or one of my brothers—in years.”

—Hola, ¿nueva por aquí? —dijo la voz.

Charlotte se giró para encontrar a un joven alto y musculoso, con piel ligeramente bronceada, ojos morados y una sonrisa cálida y abierta acercándose a ella. Llevaba ropa deportiva de Auradon y sostenía un portapapeles. Tenía un aire de confianza tranquila, más accesible que la arrogancia que había visto en la cafetería.

—Sí —respondió Charlotte, sintiéndose de nuevo un poco cohibida bajo una nueva mirada, aunque esta parecía más curiosa que crítica—. Acabo de llegar. Soy una de las nuevas alumnas y quería… buscar alguna actividad extraescolar.

Terímaco asintió, su mirada recorrieron la figura única de Charlotte, deteniéndose en sus orejas y patas, pero sin rastro de sorpresa o juicio negativo. Parecía evaluarla de manera práctica, como un entrenador observando un potencial inusual.

—Pensé que eras nueva —dijo con una sonrisa—. No tenemos muchas… constituciones como la tuya por aquí. Soy Terímaco, hijo de Hércules, por cierto. Mis hermanos y yo ayudamos a organizar las actividades deportivas de la escuela. Siempre estamos buscando nuevos talentos… o simplemente gente que quiera probar cosas nuevas —dejó caer la mirada a su portapapeles por un instante, como si clasificara mentalmente las posibilidades—. He estado pensando… tu forma física es bastante interesante. Podría ser muy adecuada para ciertos deportes.

Charlotte se sorprendió por la franqueza, pero no se sintió atacada. Terímaco no la estaba juzgando; estaba viendo su diferencia como un factor, quizá positivo.

—¿Sí? —preguntó con un toque de escepticismo y esperanza mezclados. La conversación con Petra y Zephyr había sembrado la idea, pero escucharla de alguien “de dentro” del mundo deportivo de Auradon era distinto.

—Absolutamente —afirmó Terímaco—. Tienes un tren inferior increíblemente fuerte, y esa complexión sugiere mucha resistencia. Estaba pensando… carreras de larga distancia, quizás campo a través, o cualquier deporte que requiera aguante. O aquellos que se basen en fuerza pura —se llevó un dedo a la barbilla, pensativo—. ¿Qué tipo de ejercicio o trabajo físico hacías en la Isla?

Charlotte dudó un momento. ¿Cómo explicarle la vida en la Isla a alguien de Auradon? No se trataba de “ejercicio”, se trataba de supervivencia.

—En la Isla… la vida exige mucho físicamente —dijo, eligiendo sus palabras con cuidado—. No es como el ejercicio por deporte. Tienes que… moverte mucho. El terreno es difícil. Hay que recorrer largas distancias. Cargar cosas. A veces, correr… por necesidad —pensó en los callejones, en las fugas—. Y mi… mi forma, mi parte de asno, me dio fuerza extra y resistencia. La Isla… te curte físicamente. Si no eres fuerte, no te va bien, salvo que tengas magia, claro —se encogió de hombros—. Supongo que esas son las actividades físicas en las que participé.

La expresión de Terímaco cambió al escuchar su descripción. Su aire de organizador deportivo dio paso a una curiosidad genuina. Dejó caer el portapapeles a su costado.

—Guau —dijo, con asombro real, desprovisto de burla—. La Isla… ¿exige tanto a los jóvenes para la vida diaria? Eso es… mucho más intenso de lo que imaginaba —miró a Charlotte con una nueva perspectiva, viendo no solo un potencial físico, sino a alguien que había tenido que ser fuerte para sobrevivir en un entorno brutal.

La conversación había virado inesperadamente del potencial deportivo de Charlotte a la dura realidad de la vida en la Isla para sus jóvenes habitantes. Charlotte miró los ojos sinceros de Terímaco, hijo de un héroe y de una mujer fuerte que había lidiado con sus propios problemas. Sintió que quizás este era alguien que podría entender un poco, alguien que no solo veía una “criatura”, sino a una persona forjada por la adversidad. La pregunta de Terímaco abrió una puerta a una conversación más profunda de lo que Charlotte esperaba tener en su primer día en el gimnasio.

—Sí, bueno… —intentó hablar—. Estoy buscando un deporte que me distraiga de las clases, algo de fuerza o resistencia.

—¿Tenías algo en mente? —preguntó él, como de costumbre con los nuevos integrantes de las actividades deportivas.

—Quizá… —pensó indecisa—. Algo que aumente la fuerza en mis brazos. Mis patas son robustas, pero no al mismo nivel que mis brazos.

—¿Has intentado alguna vez el boxeo?

Charlotte pensó en algunas peleas con otros villanos y secuaces en la Isla. Si bien tenía algo de fuerza en los brazos por los trabajos en la casa del cochero, la huida o las coces siempre habían sido una mejor opción.

—No… exactamente —dijo, recordando algún puñetazo ocasional—. Tengo fuerza, pero no la he trabajado mucho.

—¿Te gustaría probar? Si no te gusta, siempre podemos intentar otra cosa.

—Sí… claro —sonrió ante la inesperada amabilidad.

—Bien, sígueme, haremos una primera prueba.

Terímaco la guió por las instalaciones deportivas interiores de Auradon Prep hasta un pequeño ring acolchado. El olor a hierba cortada y caucho que entraba desde el patio era un contraste con el aire de la Isla.

—Bien, en la puerta a la derecha está el vestuario —dijo Terímaco, señalando una puerta—. Habrá ropa femenina de deporte. Ponte algo cómodo y corto, que te permita moverte con libertad. Te esperaré aquí.

Charlotte asintió antes de dirigirse al vestuario femenino. El interior estaba revestido con baldosas y azulejos azules y blancos, tanto en paredes como en suelo. Varios bancos de madera y colgadores se distribuían por las esquinas, mientras que la otra mitad de la sala estaba organizada en cubículos con cortinas que eran duchas individuales.

Se adentró por una puerta colindante, una pequeña despensa con equipamiento y algunos objetos de entrenamiento. Miró a su alrededor, indecisa. Estaba sola; nadie la vería. Rápidamente sacó su ropa, dejándola dentro de la mochila y se cambió a un conjunto deportivo: camiseta de tirantes y shorts rojos con el escudo de Auradon. Eran los primeros shorts que usaba en años, exponiendo sus brazos, piernas y torso. Una vez cambiada, salió de nuevo hacia el área principal.

Al regresar, Terímaco estaba ajustando un banco para levantamiento de pesas. Levantó la vista al escucharla acercarse. Su mirada recorrió la figura de Charlotte, ahora vestida con ropa que revelaba más de su físico. Sus orejas de asno y patas seguían siendo únicas, claro, pero lo que captó la atención de Terímaco fue otra cosa:

—Vaya, Charlotte —dijo, deteniéndose en sus brazos definidos y fuertes, y luego en la línea de sus abdominales, visiblemente tonificados bajo el top deportivo—. Tienes… una definición muscular notable. Especialmente en brazos y torso —se rascó la barbilla—. La mayoría de las chicas aquí no se ejercitan a ese nivel. Es… inusual. ¿Hacías mucho entrenamiento de fuerza en la Isla?

Charlotte sintió una punzada de autoconciencia al ser observada así, pero también una extraña validación. Su cuerpo, que a menudo había sentido como una marca de su trauma y exilio, ahora era objeto de aprecio por su fortaleza.

—Ah, eso —dijo Charlotte, encogiéndose ligeramente de hombros—. No pensaba en ello como “entrenamiento de fuerza”. Supongo… ayudaba a mover objetos pesados en los muelles. Mover cosas. Cargar suministros. Cajas. Era trabajo físico, todos los días —explicó, su voz simple y factual—. Los burros son animales fuertes, pero cargar… manejar las carretas… los bultos… requiere fuerza y resistencia. Y tienes que poder moverte rápido a veces, incluso cargando cosas —pensó en las largas jornadas, en la necesidad de ser fuerte para no ser una carga—. Era mi… mi “ejercicio”, supongo.

Terímaco la escuchó atentamente. La sorpresa inicial dio paso a una comprensión reflexiva. No era el resultado de un gimnasio, sino el producto de la necesidad, de una vida de trabajo duro en un entorno implacable. Vio la fuerza no como algo cultivado por elección, sino como algo forjado por pura supervivencia.

—Trabajo físico… todos los días —repitió Terímaco, asimilando la información—. Mirando tus músculos ahora, veo que no es solo un físico atlético; es un testimonio silencioso de la dureza de la vida en la Isla y de tu resiliencia. Eso explica mucho. Esa es una clase de fuerza que no se consigue fácilmente aquí. Bueno, vamos a ver cómo te manejas en el ring.

La energía en el gimnasio era eléctrica esa tarde. La noticia de que la nueva chica de la Isla, con patas inusuales, iba a luchar con uno de los hijos de Hércules se extendió como pólvora. No era una pelea real, por supuesto; Terímaco se aseguró de eso. Era una prueba amistosa, un desafío para medir la fuerza del tren superior y la resistencia de Charlotte en un entorno controlado. Pero para los estudiantes de Auradon, era un espectáculo inusual.

El espacio se llenó rápidamente con una multitud: algunos deportistas, otros simples curiosos, y un buen número de jóvenes de la Isla. El murmullo de la multitud se intensificó a medida que Terímaco y Charlotte se colocaban en el centro del ring.

—Bien, Charlotte —dijo Terímaco, su voz clara sobre el murmullo—. Reglas simples: esto es una prueba de fuerza y resistencia, no de técnica de boxeo. No busques noquear. Es empujar, usar tu fuerza, intentar desequilibrar. Podemos hacer asaltos cortos. Cuando uno no pueda seguir o salga de esta zona, el otro “gana” el asalto. ¿Entendido?

Charlotte asintió, sintiendo sus guantes incómodos pero sus músculos tensos y listos. Miró a Terímaco, el hijo de Hércules, un símbolo de la fuerza legendaria de Auradon. La pelea comenzó.

El primer asalto fue una prueba mutua. Se acercaron, midiendo distancias. Terímaco usó un poco de juego de pies ligero, algo que Charlotte, anclada por sus patas, no podía replicar. Pero cuando se encontraron, el impacto fue sorprendente: Charlotte usó la estabilidad de sus puntos de apoyo y la fuerza brutal de su torso y brazos para empujar. Terímaco sintió la potencia cruda detrás de ella, una fuerza constante y resiliente que no se basaba en técnica explosiva, sino en la pura capacidad de aplicar presión.

—Vaya… —soltó Terímaco, sorprendido.

La multitud reaccionó. Los impresionados vitorearon, los prejuiciosos gruñeron.

Los asaltos continuaron. Terímaco usaba su agilidad para intentar flanquearla, golpeando suavemente con los guantes para desgastarla. Pero Charlotte era increíblemente difícil de mover. Su base de pezuñas y piernas de asno le daba estabilidad asombrosa, y su fuerza en el clinch y en los forcejeos era monumental. Absorbía los golpes con una resistencia impresionante, la dureza forjada en la Isla permitiéndole aguantar el castigo de manera que todos admiraban. No era una bailarina en el ring; sus movimientos eran directos, basados en potencia bruta y resistencia, pero efectivos.

El sudor empezó a brillar en ambos. Terímaco respiraba con dificultad, sorprendido por el aguante de Charlotte. Ella también sentía el esfuerzo: sus músculos ardían, su pelo pegado a la cabeza y recogido en una coleta, pero la resistencia que la había mantenido ayudando al Cochero durante largas jornadas le permitía seguir, absorber y empujar.

La multitud estaba absorta. Los que dudaban empezaron a murmurar con asombro. La chica de la Isla, la burra, no solo se atrevía a pelear con un hijo de Hércules, ¡sino que le estaba dando una lucha genuina! Los vítores se hicieron más fuertes y los jeers menos confiados. Era un espectáculo de fuerza bruta y resistencia contra fuerza entrenada y técnica.

El aire en el gimnasio crepitaba con anticipación. El rumor se había esparcido, atrayendo más estudiantes que rodeaban el ring improvisado. La luz cenital bañaba el cuadrado de entrenamiento, creando un foco sobre Charlotte y Terímaco. El murmullo era un hervidero de especulaciones: asombro, desdén y pura curiosidad.

—¡Vamos, Terímaco! ¡Enséñale cómo se hace! —gritó un deportista rubio de complexión fuerte, claramente del grupo que veía a Charlotte como intrusa.

—¡Tú puedes, Isla! —replicó otra voz entusiasta, probablemente un VK, impresionada por la audacia de Charlotte.

Terímaco y Charlotte se tocaron los guantes acolchados. Los ojos de él brillaban con concentración y respeto. Los de ella, con determinación y un toque de nerviosismo.

—Solo fuerza y aguante, ¿verdad? —jadeó Charlotte, sintiendo el peso de los guantes y la adrenalina recorrer su cuerpo como nunca antes.

—Eso es —asintió Terímaco, poniéndose en guardia, su juego de pies ligero y fluido—. Y veremos quién aguanta más. No te contengas, Charlotte.

Los asaltos siguientes se fusionaron en una demostración de agotamiento y pura voluntad. El ritmo disminuyó ligeramente, pero la intensidad aumentó. Cada empujón, cada maniobra, requería un esfuerzo monumental. Charlotte sentía sus músculos temblar, pero la sensación familiar de agotamiento extremo, que había experimentado incontables veces en la Isla, era manejable. Sabía que podía seguir.

Terímaco, a pesar de su entrenamiento de élite, comenzó a mostrar signos claros de fatiga. No era un semidiós como su padre; era humano, con fuerza superior a la media, pero limitada frente a la implacable resistencia de Charlotte. Su juego de pies se hizo menos rápido, su respiración más trabajosa. Intentó usar la velocidad que le quedaba, pero Charlotte se mantenía firme, su base como un ancla inamovible.

—Estoy tan cansado —pensó Terímaco, jadeando—. Pero ella… sigue ahí. Empujando. Respirando. No puedo creer su aguante.

—Duele —pensó Charlotte, cada músculo protestando—. Pero él también está al límite. No puedo rendirme. No ahora. No cuando él me ve… no solo como una burra.

La multitud estaba en silencio, observando con intensa concentración. La división entre grupos se desvaneció. Todos estaban asombrados por la inesperada batalla de voluntades y fuerzas.

El último asalto comenzó. Ambos se encontraron en el centro del ring, empujando, sus cuerposudorosos tensos al máximo. Sus movimientos eran más lentos ahora, pero la fuerza que aplicaban seguía siendo inmensa. El sonido de sus respiraciones trabajosas era audible incluso sobre el murmullo apagado de la multitud.

Terímaco intentó un último esfuerzo, reuniendo toda su fuerza para un empujón decisivo. Charlotte, con un gruñido, respondió, sus patas firmes en la lona, usando cada gramo de su resistencia para igualar y resistir. El forcejeo continuó, una batalla estática de pura potencia.

Pero después de lo que pareció una eternidad, ambos cuerpos simplemente… llegaron al límite. La presión mutua se mantuvo, pero el movimiento cesó. Se quedaron uno contra el otro, jadeando, apoyados mutuamente tanto como empujándose. Sus cabezas cayeron, sus brazos temblaban. No podían dar un paso más ni ejercer más presión. Estaban completamente agotados.

El cronómetro sonó, indicando el final del asalto, pero ellos permanecieron ahí, pegados por el puro agotamiento, respirando con dificultad.

Terímaco fue el primero en recuperar la voz, su aliento saliendo en siseos entrecortados. No apartó sus guantes, pero la presión cesó. Miró a Charlotte, sus ojos brillando a través del sudor. Ambos se separaron y se sentaron sobre el ring acolchado, causando estupefacción entre los presentes, que jadeaban de asombro y susurraban entre ellos. Algunos, al ver que la pelea no se retomaría, abandonaron el gimnasio.

—Wow —jadeó Terímaco, una sonrisa de asombro y respeto cruzando su rostro—. Charlotte… tú… eres… increíble. —Se rió, un sonido entrecortado—. Mi resistencia… está… acabada. Y tu fuerza… tu aguante… es asombroso. Me llevaste… me llevaste al límite. —Soltó la presión y se apoyó pesadamente en las cuerdas del ring, inclinándose—. No puedo… no puedo seguir. Tú tampoco, ¿verdad?

Charlotte se separó tambaleándose, sus propias piernas de asno sintiéndose como gelatina a pesar de su fuerza. Se apoyó en las cuerdas al lado opuesto, inclinándose hacia adelante, jadeando. Sintió que cada músculo le quemaba, pero el familiar agotamiento de la Isla era diferente, menos abrumador que este. Sin embargo, estaba completamente exhausta.

—No —jadeó Charlotte, su voz temblorosa—. Tú también eres… fuerte. Hijo de Hércules. No esperaba… no esperaba aguantar tanto. —Miró sus guantes, sus brazos temblorosos—. No he ganado, pero tampoco he sido derrotada. He igualado la fuerza y el aguante de un hijo de Hércules.

La multitud guardó silencio por un momento, procesando lo que acababan de presenciar. Luego, la explosión: no de un solo grupo, sino de toda la audiencia. Un rugido de vítores y aplausos ensordecedores llenó el gimnasio. Se escucharon gritos de “¡Increíble!”, “¡Qué combate!”, “¡La chica tiene aguante!”. La burla se había ahogado en el asombro, al menos en la mayoría.

Terímaco se enderezó con dificultad y miró a Charlotte con una sonrisa de profundo respeto.

—Eso fue… un empate —declaró, su voz aún sin aliento pero firme—. Un empate muy merecido. Eres una fuerza… una fuerza real, Charlotte. Una fuerza de la Isla. Charlotte, has sido la primera persona que se ha acercado tanto a una victoria contra mí o uno de mis hermanos en años.

The bell rang loudly through the hallway, its metallic sound sliding along the walls, signaling the last class of the day. For the three of them, it had been a big day—hard, full of adjustment—but overall, the young women were satisfied. After the morning classes, Auradon Prep still felt like a maze of clean, bright hallways filled with rushing students.

Petra pulled out one of the copies of the keys to the shared room that had been assigned to them within Auradon.

“Well, I’m going to drop off my things in the room and organize my schedule for the term. If you need me, I’ll be in our room.”

“I’ll go with you,” Claudine said timidly. “We haven’t covered much theory, but I like to keep up with the subjects, and maybe I’ll stay to study.”

“Alright, then I’ll go for a walk so I don’t bother you… Do you want to come with me, Charlotte?”

The donkey girl hesitated, making a doubtful gesture.

“Well… um… honestly, I’d like to check out the extracurricular activities. Something to distract me from classmates.”

Charlotte moved with a mix of exhaustion and persistent curiosity, her mind still processing the overload of information and the constant sense of being observed. She had managed to navigate her classes without major incidents, although Magical Biology had raised more questions than it answered, and Combat Techniques, while useful, couldn’t be fully adapted to her anatomy. Maybe… she should take Zephyr’s advice and check out the school gym.

She stopped at a large bulletin board at a hallway intersection. Like many others around the school, it was covered in colorful flyers and posters, advertising a plethora of clubs, activities, trips, and events—so many that the simple thought of choosing one felt overwhelming.

She looked at a poster of decorations that seemed to mimic Greek art, showing the gym’s open hours for students. Then she glanced down at her own legs, the hooved limbs anchoring her to the ground in a way very different from the lightness of the cheerleaders in one of the images. She thought about her ears, her tail. She thought about the clumsiness she sometimes felt compared to the fluid movement of bipedal humans.

“Me?” Charlotte thought, the idea so strange it almost made her smile. “A cheerleader? With my legs… and my ears?… But maybe, a sport that focuses on endurance and strength could work.”

The idea of attempting one of those perfectly vertical jumps or being part of a human pyramid with her build seemed absurd. It was the exact opposite of the kind of sport Petra and Zephyr had suggested based on her strength and stamina. Perhaps she would go see what the gym could offer her. After organizing her first notes a little, her tail flicked lightly like a whip and her ears perked with curiosity. She could… give it a chance before giving up entirely.

She was determined—she would visit the gym, maybe later that day. That massive building at the back of the enormous school, surrounded by various athletic courts for track, basketball, soccer, or rugby, with their cleats echoing against the ceramic tiles, marked by the hallway’s lingering echo as she made her way back to the room.

***

The afternoon study hours at Auradon Prep offered a change of pace, a period of relative calm dedicated to absorbing new knowledge. However, after sitting and focusing for a while, the need for movement and exploration resurfaced.

“I think I’m going to take a walk,” Petra said, closing her notebook with a sigh of satisfaction mixed with mental fatigue. “I need to stretch my legs and see more of this place.”

Charlotte nodded. She also felt the need to move, but with a more specific purpose in mind. She looked at Claudine, who still seemed wrapped up in her own restless thoughts, sitting on her bed.

“Me too. Are you coming, Claudine?”

Claudine looked up, a shadow of anxiety still in her eyes. She shook her head gently.

“No… I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. It’s… quiet. And safe.” Despite the time she had spent in Auradon, the fear of open spaces and unexpected interactions was still strong. “Maybe… maybe I’ll look a little more at these books,” she added, pointing to her Natural Sciences notebook like it was a daunting task.

“That’s fine,” Charlotte said softly, understanding. “See you later, then.”

“You go wherever you want, Petra,” Charlotte added, picking up her empty bag, since her belongings were already unpacked out of habit. “I have an idea of where I want to go.”

Petra nodded, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Okay. I feel like checking if those indoor gardens are as nice as they look from outside. See you back in the room later.”

They parted ways in the hallway outside their dorm. Petra headed toward the central areas of the school, following signs to the indoor green spaces she had glimpsed earlier.

Petra found the indoor gardens. They were oases of serenity and color, filled with exotic plants and flowers that didn’t grow on the Isle, pristine gravel paths winding between perfectly maintained flowerbeds and small stone benches. The air here was fragrant and calm. Petra walked slowly, touching the leaves of the plants, marveling at their vitality. She breathed in the clean air, again and again, trying to fill her lungs with the purity of Auradon, a sensation so different from the constant heaviness of the Isle. She sat on a bench for a moment, simply watching, absorbing the beauty and order. It was a place of peace, rare and precious to her.

Meanwhile, Charlotte headed in another direction, following the signs to the school’s athletic facilities. Her hooved legs moved with renewed purpose, driven by the conversation in the cafeteria and the persistent image of the cheerleader poster. She wasn’t looking for the Tourney field or the pool. She was looking for the gym—the place where strength- and agility-based activities took place indoors.

The gym was a large, modern building, filled with tall windows. Upon entering, the smell was different: not of decay, but of rubber, polished metal, and a faint scent of clean sweat. It was a spacious area with a shiny wooden or synthetic floor, marked with lines for various sports. Foldable basketball hoops were against the walls, volleyball nets tucked away, and to the sides, gym equipment: stacked mats, a low balance beam, perhaps some rings, and weights of different sizes and weights.

Charlotte moved cautiously across the smooth floor, the sound of her hooves echoing softly in the vast space—a very different sound from the sneakers other students wore. She felt exposed, her movements less fluid and quiet than on the Isle’s stone or earth.

She looked around. Some students were training in a corner, lifting weights or running on treadmills. Others practiced throws, pausing to watch the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. Of course, the Gaston brothers were there, developing their muscles more than their deficient brains. But she was looking for something more specific. She searched for a sign, a schedule, a bulletin board dedicated to gymnastics or any activity that didn’t involve flips, jumps, or floor exercises.

Perhaps there wasn’t a formal gymnastics or cheerleading activity that could accommodate her—or maybe it wasn’t advertised here. But the idea of practicing, of testing her limits, of seeing what her hybrid body could do in a safe environment with proper equipment… that possibility was there. The cafeteria conversation had sparked something. The strength that had once been only for survival, the difference that had been a vulnerability, now felt like untapped potential.

She immersed herself in her thoughts, analyzing the possible activities advertised on the posters until a voice caught her attention.

The awkward silence left after the bully’s departure slowly faded as Pin and Zephyr took their seats. The air at the table felt a little less heavy; the presence of the two boys offered an unexpected bubble of safety amid the cafeteria’s bustle. The murmurs of nearby students persisted, but no longer felt directly aimed at them.

Pin, with his characteristic frankness, broke the ice once they were seated and had taken their own trays of food.

“Sorry again about that idiot,” he said, his expression sincere. “Anyway… how was your first day, aside from that? Classes? Very different from… where you come from?” He looked at Charlotte, Petra, and Claudine, genuinely curious.

Petra, still feeling the adrenaline from her almost-punch, but grateful for the intervention, let out an amused huff.

“Different is an understatement, Pin. It’s like comparing… well, like comparing the Isle to this.” She made a wide gesture with her hand, encompassing the clean, bright cafeteria. She picked up a piece of food with her fork. “My first class was Elemental Magic with the Blue Fairy. She… floats! And moves water with her mind! On the Isle, the magic we see is… wizards making disgusting potions or witches casting curses that give you warts. Or turn you into a donkey,” she added, glancing at Charlotte with a knowing smile. “Here it’s… orderly. And beautiful. And they teach you how it works, step by step! They don’t just say, ‘here’s a cauldron, try not to explode it.’”

Pin and Zephyr chuckled a little at Petra’s description. The idea of a “cauldron class” seemed fascinating and a little alarming to them.

“They don’t teach magic like that at Dragon Hall?” asked Pin, eyes wide.

“Dragon Hall?” Petra laughed again. “Dragon Hall teaches you what you need to be a better villain. Or just to survive on the Isle. We had Famous Crimes History,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Basically, who stole what from whom. Deception 101. How to Sneak Past the Guards. Basics of Intimidation.” She shrugged. “Magic… only if your parent was a wizard taught you something at home. The school didn’t waste time on that, unless it was to identify a cursed object and how to steal it without getting killed.”

Zephyr, who had been listening with a more contemplative expression, nodded. “Sounds… pragmatic, in its own way.” He looked at Charlotte. “And you, Charlotte? Combat Techniques and Magical Biology? How did that compare to the Isle’s ‘curriculum’?”

Charlotte set down her fork, considering the question.

“On the Isle, combat was more… street fights. Pure survival. Or ambushing someone for what they had on them,” she said, her expression somber. “Here it’s… structured. Moves. Discipline. Different. And useful.” She remembered the training, feeling capable. “And Magical Biology… was… challenging.” She glanced briefly at Claudine. “It talked about… how all living things share basic things. Cells. And how… how the environment changes you. How you adapt.” It seemed to her that the teacher’s words resonated with her own experience, but also directly contradicted what Claudine had been taught. “On the Isle, if something changed you, it was a curse. Or a punishment. Not… not adaptation.”

Pin frowned, seeming focused on absorbing the difference. “So, there classes are about being bad, and here about how… the world works?”

“Basically,” Petra confirmed, taking a bite of a bacon-and-egg sandwich. “Although I suppose in Auradon you’re expected to use that knowledge for… good things. On the Isle, whatever helps you survive.”

All eyes turned to Claudine, who had been listening quietly, picking at her food slowly. She still looked pale and a little lost.

“Claudine?” Charlotte asked softly, encouraging her to speak. “Your science class? You said it was confusing.”

Claudine flinched, her gaze still anxious. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very.” She looked down at the table, avoiding eye contact with Pin and Zephyr. “It talked about… how life began. About… things that aren’t… aren’t like Father says.” She pressed her lips together, unable to voice the scientific heresy out loud. “On the Isle… Father taught me… his version. Of everything. I don’t know what the classes taught the others.” Her voice dropped even lower. “But today… it was… all different. The rules… of how things work. Not… not the ones I know.”

Zephyr listened with a thoughtful expression, his dark eyes showing understanding. He could perhaps more than Pin imagine the rigidity and control someone like Frollo would exert over his child, twisting truth to fit his own worldview.

“That sounds… difficult,” Zephyr said gently to Claudine. “Starting with things that contradict what you’ve always been taught. If you need help… I could help you study.”

“Well… thanks for the offer… I’ll think about it…”

Pin nodded slowly, his eyes still reflecting surprise at the differences. “Wow. Dragon Hall sounds… intense.” He looked at Petra and Charlotte with a mix of respect and awe. “You’ve learned a lot… differently. And now here… to learn magic and… magical biology. It’s… a big change.”

“It is,” Charlotte said, looking at her friends. She glanced at Pin and Zephyr, the boys who, despite coming from the “good side” and from stories intertwined with their own hardships, had defended them and now listened to their stories with interest. “But… that’s life.”

Petra nodded, a cautious hope shining in her eyes. They had arrived in Auradon, faced the first hostility, found unexpected allies, and begun navigating a world of entirely new rules, knowledge, and realities. The food in the cafeteria tasted like opportunity, mixed with the lingering aftertaste of fear and uncertainty, but for the first time, they weren’t tasting it alone.

The hum of the cafeteria remained constant, but at Charlotte, Petra, and Claudine’s table, conversation had shifted from first impressions of classes to future possibilities. They had finished eating, and the abundance of food remained a silent backdrop to their new reality.

Pin, who had been listening with interest to the descriptions of Dragon Hall, leaned slightly forward.

“Sounds… very different,” Pin said thoughtfully. Then his expression brightened with another idea. “Have you thought about joining any extracurricular activities? There’s everything here. Clubs, sports teams… It’s a good way to meet people. And to do fun things.”

Zephyr nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, there are so many options. Fencing club, chess… even the Auradon choir. And sports, of course. Tournaments, track and field, swimming…” He gestured toward a distant bulletin board where colorful flyers listed activity information. “It’s an important part of life at Auradon Prep.”

Claudine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding the boys’ gaze. The idea of joining a club or team, of being even more exposed, of having to interact outside of class and meals… gave her intense anxiety.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, barely audible. “With classes… that’s enough. And Study Sessions… I think extra activity is enough for me right now.” She hugged herself slightly, as if the thought of more public interaction were a chill she needed to guard against.

Charlotte and Petra exchanged a glance, understanding Claudine’s reluctance. They knew how deep her fear of being seen, judged, and having her precarious balance disturbed ran.

“That’s okay, Claudine,” Charlotte said gently. “Go at your own pace. The important thing is that you feel safe.”

“Yes,” Petra added. “No one’s going to make you join anything if you don’t want to.”

Petra then turned to Charlotte, a spark of a new idea in her eyes. She’d been thinking about Charlotte’s classes, her choice of Combat Techniques, and the strength she had felt when stopped by Charlotte during the altercation with the bully.

“But you, Charlotte,” Petra said, with renewed energy. “With the strength you have now… you could join a sport!” She gestured toward Charlotte’s legs, a movement that on the Isle might have been cruel, but here, coming from Petra, sounded like genuine recognition of an ability. “Those legs of yours aren’t just for running through alleys or climbing tough ramps, you know? In Auradon, you could use them to… to win things.”

Charlotte blinked, a little surprised by the bluntness and suggestion. She looked at Petra, then at her own legs, then back to Petra. “A sport… me?” She had always seen her transformed form as a social disadvantage, a mark of exile and trauma, though she recognized the strength and speed it gave her. The idea of using those traits actively, in public, in competition… felt strange.

“Of course!” Pin exclaimed, excited by the idea. “You’d be great in wrestling! Or track and field. You must be super fast.” His eyes shone with the thrill of possibility. “And it would teach those who laugh at you a lesson.”

Zephyr nodded, his assessing gaze resting on Charlotte’s legs—not judgmentally, but with the eye of someone who understands physical potential. “Pin’s right. Your build… is unique. In many sports, you could have an incredible advantage. And it’s not just about winning, Charlotte. Sports teach discipline, teamwork… and it’s a way to release energy. And meet people differently,” he said to the blond boy, seriously and encouragingly.

“A sport,” Charlotte thought, feeling the strangeness of the idea. “Use… this… for something other than surviving or escaping.” She had always used this strength to flee, to defend herself when necessary, but the idea of running, jumping, competing with others, under the eyes of Auradon’s crowd… was intimidating. What if she tripped? What if they mocked her on the field? But the idea of turning a mark of her past into a strength in her present… was oddly tempting.

“I don’t know, Petra,” Charlotte said hesitantly. “It’s just… how would that work? I’ve never done… organized sports. And… my form…” She glanced at the other students in the cafeteria, a constant reminder that she was different.

“What about your form?” Petra replied, downplaying it with very Isle-like energy. “You have legs that run fast. And I bet they kick hard. Use what you’ve got. Why hide it? Here, maybe you don’t have to hide it. Maybe here, that’s… an advantage.” She looked at Pin and Zephyr.

Pin and Zephyr smiled, silently confirming Petra’s words. They didn’t see her as an abomination or a victim. They saw someone with unusual physical potential.

Charlotte looked at all three of them—her friends and new allies—all encouraging her, each in their own way. Claudine, though silent, watched with a mixture of apprehension and perhaps a little awe at the idea that a difference could be seen as an advantage.

An advantage—the word sounded strange in her mind. It had always been a problem. But here… in Auradon… with Petra’s support and the practical acceptance of these boys… maybe it could be something more.

La campana resonó con potencia por el pasillo, deslizando su metálico sonido por las paredes, indicando la última clase del día. Para las tres había sido un gran día: duro, de adaptación, pero en general, estaban satisfechas. Después de las clases de la mañana, la Preparatoria Auradon seguía siendo un laberinto de pasillos limpios y luminosos, llenos de estudiantes apresurados.

Petra sacó una de las copias de las llaves del cuarto compartido que les habían adjudicado dentro de Auradon:

—Bueno, yo voy a dejar mis cosas en la habitación y a organizar mis horarios para el curso. Si me buscáis, estaré en nuestra habitación.

—Yo iré contigo —dijo Claudine tímidamente—. No hemos dado mucha teoría, pero me gusta llevar las asignaturas al día, y quizá me quede estudiando.

—De acuerdo, entonces me iré a dar una vuelta para no molestarte… ¿quieres venir conmigo, Charlotte?

La chica asno hizo un gesto de duda:

—Bueno… mmm… la verdad, me gustaría mirar las actividades extraescolares, algo que me distraiga de los compañeros de clase.

Charlotte se movía con una mezcla de agotamiento y curiosidad persistente, su mente aún procesando la sobrecarga de información y la constante sensación de ser observada. Había logrado navegar sus clases sin incidentes mayores, aunque la Biología Mágica había abierto más preguntas de las que respondió, y las Técnicas de Combate, aunque útiles, no podían adaptarse adecuadamente a su anatomía. Quizá… debía hacer caso al consejo de Zephyr y apuntarse al gimnasio de la escuela.

Se detuvo junto a un gran tablón de anuncios en un cruce de pasillos. Como muchos otros tablones en la escuela, estaba cubierto de coloridos folletos y carteles que anunciaban una plétora de clubes, actividades, excursiones y eventos, haciendo que la simple idea de elegir uno fuera abrumadora.

Miró un cartel de decoraciones que parecía imitar el arte griego, anunciando el horario libre del gimnasio para los alumnos. Luego bajó la mirada a sus propias piernas: las patas terminadas en pezuñas que la anclaban a la tierra de una manera muy diferente a la ligereza de las animadoras que aparecían en las imágenes del cartel. Pensó en sus orejas, en su cola. Pensó en la torpeza que a veces sentía en comparación con la fluidez de movimiento de los humanos bípedos.

—¿Yo? —pensó Charlotte, la idea tan extraña que casi le hizo sonreír—. ¿Animadora? ¿Con mis patas… y mis orejas? Pero quizá un deporte de resistencia y fuerza pueda funcionar.

La idea de intentar uno de esos saltos perfectamente verticales o formar parte de una pirámide humana con su constitución le parecía absurda. Era lo opuesto exacto al tipo de deporte que Petra y Zephyr le habían sugerido, basado en su fuerza y resistencia.

Quizá iría a ver qué podía ofrecerle el gimnasio. Después de organizar un poco sus primeros apuntes, su cola se movió con una leve agitación, como un látigo, y sus orejas se erguieron de curiosidad. Podría… podría darle una oportunidad antes de darse por vencida.

Estaba decidida: iría a visitar el gimnasio. Quizá más tarde exploraría ese enorme edificio en la parte trasera de la escuela, rodeado de diferentes pistas deportivas de atletismo, baloncesto, fútbol o rugby, con sus cascos resonando contra las losas de cerámica en un sonido amplificado por el eco del pasillo, ahora casi vacío, de regreso a la habitación.

***

Las horas de estudio de la tarde en la Preparatoria Auradon ofrecieron un cambio de ritmo, un período de calma relativa dedicado a absorber los nuevos conocimientos. Sin embargo, después de sentarse y concentrarse por un rato, la necesidad de movimiento y exploración volvió a surgir.

—Creo que voy a dar una vuelta —dijo Petra, cerrando su cuaderno con un suspiro de satisfacción mezclada con fatiga mental—. Necesito estirar las piernas y ver más de este lugar.

Charlotte asintió. También sentía la necesidad de moverse, pero con un propósito más específico en mente. Miró a Claudine, que parecía aún envuelta en sus propios pensamientos inquietos, sentada en su cama.

—Yo también. ¿Vienes, Claudine? —

Claudine levantó la mirada, una sombra de ansiedad aún en sus ojos. Negó suavemente con la cabeza.

—No… creo que me quedaré aquí un poco más. Es… tranquilo. Y seguro —a pesar del tiempo que llevaba en Auradon, el miedo a los espacios abiertos y a las interacciones inesperadas seguía siendo fuerte—. Quizá… quizá mire un poco más estos libros —añadió, señalando su cuaderno de Ciencias Naturales como si fuese una tarea desalentadora.

—Está bien —dijo Charlotte suavemente, comprendiendo—. Nos vemos después, entonces.

—Tú ve a donde quieras, Petra —dijo Charlotte, recogiendo su saco vacío, ya que sus pertenencias estaban desempacadas por costumbre—. Yo tengo una idea de a dónde quiero ir.

Petra asintió, sus ojos brillando con curiosidad.

—Vale. Me apetece ver si esos jardines interiores son tan bonitos como parecen desde fuera. Nos vemos de vuelta en el cuarto más tarde.

Se separaron en el pasillo fuera de su dormitorio. Petra se dirigió hacia las áreas centrales de la escuela, siguiendo las indicaciones hacia los espacios verdes interiores que había vislumbrado antes.

Los jardines interiores eran un oasis de serenidad y color, llenos de plantas exóticas y flores que no crecían en la Isla. Los senderos de grava impecable serpenteaban entre parterres perfectamente cuidados y pequeños bancos de piedra. El aire estaba perfumado y era tranquilo. Petra caminó lentamente, tocando las hojas de las plantas, maravillándose de su vitalidad. Respiró hondo, llenando sus pulmones con la pureza de Auradon, una sensación tan diferente a la constante pesadez de la Isla. Se sentó en un banco un momento, simplemente observando y absorbiendo la belleza y el orden. Era un lugar de paz, algo raro y precioso para ella.

Mientras tanto, Charlotte se dirigió en otra dirección, siguiendo las señales hacia las instalaciones deportivas de la escuela. Sus patas se movían con un propósito renovado, impulsada por la conversación en la cafetería y la persistente imagen del cartel de las animadoras. No buscaba el campo de Tourney ni la piscina; buscaba el gimnasio, el lugar donde las actividades basadas en la fuerza y la agilidad física tenían lugar bajo techo.

El gimnasio era un edificio grande y moderno, lleno de ventanales altos. Al entrar, el olor era diferente: no a podredumbre, sino a goma, metal pulido y un leve aroma a sudor limpio. Era un espacio amplio con un suelo brillante de madera o material sintético, marcado con líneas de varios deportes. Había canastas de baloncesto plegadas contra las paredes, redes de voleibol recogidas, y, a los lados, equipos de gimnasia: colchonetas apiladas, una barra de equilibrio baja, quizá unas anillas y pesas de diferentes pesos y tamaños.

Charlotte se movió con cautela por el suelo liso, el sonido de sus pezuñas resonando suavemente en el vasto espacio, un ruido muy diferente al de las zapatillas deportivas que otros estudiantes llevaban. Se sentía expuesta; sus movimientos eran menos fluidos y silenciosos que en la tierra o la piedra de la Isla.

Miró a su alrededor. Algunos estudiantes entrenaban en una esquina, levantando pesas o corriendo en cintas. Otros practicaban lanzamientos, deteniéndose al ver a la recién llegada, con una mirada de curiosidad e incredulidad. Por supuesto, los hermanos Gastón estaban allí, desarrollando más sus músculos que su deficiente cerebro. Pero ella buscaba algo más específico: alguna señal, algún horario, algún tablón de anuncios dedicado a actividades de gimnasia o cualquier cosa que no implicara volteretas, saltos o ejercicios en el suelo.

Quizá no había una actividad formal de gimnasia o animación que pudiera acomodarla, o quizá no estaba anunciada allí. Pero la idea de practicar, de probar sus límites, de ver qué podía hacer su cuerpo híbrido en un entorno seguro y con equipos adecuados… esa posibilidad estaba ahí. La conversación en la cafetería había encendido algo: la fuerza que una vez fue solo para la supervivencia, la diferencia que era una vulnerabilidad, ahora se sentía como un potencial sin explotar.

Se sumió en sus pensamientos, analizando las posibles actividades que anunciaban los carteles, hasta que una voz la sacó de su concentración:

Turning a wide corner, they were met with an impressive sight: the Auradon cafeteria. It was not a dim, utilitarian dining hall like the ones they had seen on the Isle. It was a huge, sunlit space, with towering windows letting in streams of natural light. There were tables of various sizes and shapes, filled with students in bright, colorful clothing, laughing and talking loudly. The air smelled of delicious food—a complex, mouthwatering aroma that made the three stomachs growl almost imperceptibly. Food stations were scattered everywhere, displaying a variety of dishes they never could have imagined seeing together, let alone having access to.

Claudine shrank back slightly at the sudden assault of sound and motion, pressing herself closer to her companions. It was overwhelming. So many people, so much noise, so much… abundance.

Petra, for her part, paused at the threshold, eyes wide, taking in the scene with a mixture of pure wonder and the intensity forged on the Isle. The “real food” she had talked about seemed to be here in industrial quantities. It was like entering a treasure she didn’t know where to start exploring.

Charlotte stayed close to them, feeling the same overwhelming mix of awe and slight apprehension. She had been in large halls in Auradon before her exile, but never in a place so full of young people, vibrant and… noisy. She felt the weight of persistent gazes at the edge of her awareness, noticing some heads turning toward them as they entered. They needed to find a spot. They had to navigate this new social ecosystem.

“Well,” Petra said, breaking the brief silence with her pragmatism, her voice a little louder to be heard over the din, “I guess we need to grab trays. And… figure out how this works.”

Stepping forward together, the three girls ventured into the vast, noisy Auradon cafeteria, ready to face the next challenge: lunch.

The sprawling, bustling cafeteria was a whirlwind of activity—a microcosm of the school’s social hierarchy. Students clustered at tables, Auradon-born often together, easily identifiable by their flawless uniforms and inherent air of ease. The newcomers from the Isle tended to stick together as well, united by their more modest clothing and shared caution, though even among them were tacit divisions based on their parents’ notoriety.

They moved through the dining area, marveling at the quantity and quality of the food: scrambled eggs, steaks, salad, fresh fruit, mashed vegetables… things that would have been a luxury on the Isle of the Lost.

Charlotte, Petra, and Claudine found a relatively quiet corner and delighted in their trays full of food, a simple yet immense pleasure. The chatter around them buzzed constantly, punctuated by the clear laughter of Auradon students and, occasionally, the harsher tones of other Isle kids. They felt somewhat isolated in the crowd, united at their table like a small island within the Isle.

As they ate and shared first impressions, the atmosphere around them remained a subtle source of tension. Curious glances, hushed whispers, the sense of being constantly observed.

The relative calm at Charlotte, Petra, and Claudine’s table lasted only briefly. The general hum of the cafeteria pressed in around them, a constant reminder that they were neither alone nor invisible. As Petra took another bite of stew and Charlotte watched the movement around them, a mocking, drawn-out voice shattered their bubble.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” said the voice, and a figure stopped near their table. A young Auradon boy, in a pristine uniform and with a smug smile, accompanied by a couple of friends laughing quietly. He had the air of someone who had never had to fight for anything in his life.

Petra looked up, her expression shifting from relaxation to immediate caution. Claudine shrank slightly in her seat, making herself as small as possible. Charlotte felt tension knot again in her stomach.

The boy’s eyes landed on Charlotte, his smile widening into a cruel sneer.

“So this is the… novelty,” he said, eyes scanning Charlotte’s ears and hooves with open contempt. “A donkey at Auradon School? I didn’t know we were admitting farm animals now.”

The air around Petra turned icy. She dropped her spoon with a metallic clink onto her tray. Her green eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and she straightened in her seat, body coiled like a spring.

“Excuse me?” Petra said, her voice low but brimming with contained fury. “Say that again, wannabe prince.”

The boy laughed, clearly enjoying the reaction.

“Oh? The coachman’s daughter gets angry? What are you going to do? Turn me into a donkey too?” He mocked, imitating a low bray.

The mention of the donkey transformation, cruelty aimed directly at Charlotte, was the spark that lit Petra’s fuse. She jumped to her feet, the chair screeching as it dragged across the floor. Petra was not one to seek fights, but she defended her own fiercely, fueled by the injustice of the Isle and the danger Charlotte represented.

Before Petra could do more than tighten her fists, the boy turned his mocking gaze to Claudine, who was nearly trembling.

“And look at you, Frollo’s daughter,” he said, his tone a mix of derision and disgust. “Ready to burn down the cafeteria? Or maybe… the whole school, like daddy tried to do with Paris.”

That was too much. Petra’s face twisted in rage. Nobody talked to Claudine like that. Nobody mocked Frollo and his madness… not when you knew how real Claudine’s fear was. With a growl of pure fury, Petra lunged toward the boy, her fist already poised to strike his arrogant face.

But a hand closed around Petra’s wrist mid-swing. It was Charlotte. Though her face showed obvious distress and her ears were pinned back from fear of escalation, her blue eyes burned with determined intensity.

“No, Petra,” Charlotte said, her voice tense. She stopped her, grip firm.

The boy stepped back a pace, more due to the interruption than actual fear of Petra, but still with that hateful smirk. His friends laughed again.

Before he could savor his victory or hurl another insult, two figures abruptly stepped between him and the girls’ table.

One was Pin, his bright clothes paired with an expression no longer merely friendly, but serious and disapproving. The other was an athletic-looking young man with straight blond hair and eyes that seemed to see through the soul, dressed in practical but well-made clothing. It was Zephyr—son of Esmeralda and Phoebus.

“That’s enough,” said Pin, his voice clear and firm, surprising even Petra and Charlotte. His tone wasn’t aggressive, but carried the weight of conviction. “Leave them alone.”

“Yes,” Zephyr added, his calmness more intimidating than anger. His eyes were fixed on the boy, and his stance was protective. “You have no right to speak to them like that. Leave.”

The Auradon boy’s smile faltered. He looked at Pin and Zephyr—two respected figures in the school, one known for his history and kindness, the other for his sense of justice and physical prowess. He evaluated the situation and decided it wasn’t worth it. Rolling his eyes, he huffed and turned away with his friends, weaving through the tables, though not without casting one last disdainful glance over his shoulder at the three girls.

Silence returned to their table, heavy with the tension of what had just occurred. Petra released Charlotte’s hand, her fists still clenched, trembling slightly from contained rage. Charlotte lowered her gaze for a moment, relieved and exhausted. Claudine remained curled in her seat, pale, hands shaking.

Pin and Zephyr turned toward them. The severity in their faces softened, replaced by expressions of apology and concern.

“We’re sorry about that,” said Pin, his voice returning to its friendly tone, though tinged with seriousness. “That guy… he’s a jerk. Not all of us are like that, I promise.”

Zephyr nodded. “He’s right. Some students here… aren’t too happy about more Isle kids coming. They think… nonsense. Prejudices.” He shrugged, a gesture of understanding. “It’s unfair. Nobody deserves to be spoken to like that.”

They looked at the three girls, noticing their shock. Zephyr stepped forward, warmth in his eyes reminiscent of his mother’s compassion. “I’m Zephyr, by the way. Zephyr de Chateaupers.” He extended his hand toward the table, inviting a formal introduction, a gesture of welcome that contrasted sharply with the hostility they had just faced. “Son of Esmeralda and Phoebus.”

Petra, still recovering from her outburst and surprised by the intervention, looked at Zephyr. Son of Esmeralda and Phoebus. The captain of the guard who defended the gypsies. The dancer who saw the goodness in the ‘monster.’ People who fought against a religious fanatic… like Frollo. Irony and hope mingled again.

Charlotte briefly took Zephyr’s hand with her own, her ears still slightly pinned back from anxiety. “Charlotte. I’m Petra’s friend. Sorry you met her in such a bad mood.” She didn’t mention her exile or her form, only her safe origin.

Petra, having composed herself, also shook Zephyr’s hand. “Petra. Daughter of the Coachman.” Her tone was cautious but grateful. “And this is Claudine,” she said, gesturing to the remaining girl.

Claudine simply nodded, too frightened to speak, but acknowledging the protective and welcoming gesture from the two boys.

Pin smiled again, a little more relaxed now that the confrontation was over. “And I’m Pin, son of Pinocchio. I met Petra in Elemental Magic.”

Zephyr nodded, glancing between the three of them. “Well. Seems you’ve had a… typical welcome, unfortunately.” He looked at Pin, then at the table, as if making a decision. “There’s space here.” He pointed to the empty seats beside him and Pin. “If you don’t mind, we can sit with you. At least that way, that jerk and his friends will think twice before coming back.”

Petra and Charlotte exchanged a look. The offer was simple, but it meant a lot. It was an outstretched hand, a protection in a place where they felt vulnerable.

“No, we don’t mind,” Charlotte said, with a small, relieved smile.

“Please,” added Petra, feeling the knot of anger in her chest begin to loosen, replaced by cautious hope.

...-Ya basta,- dijo Pin, su voz clara y firme, sorprendiendo incluso a Petra y Charlotte. Su tono no era agresivo, pero llevaba el peso de la convicción. -Déjalas en paz.-

-Sí,-añadió Zephyr, con una calma que era más intimidante que la ira. Sus ojos estaban fijos en el joven, y su postura era protectora. -No tienes ningún derecho a hablarles así. Vete.-

La sonrisa del joven de Auradon flaqueó. Miró a Pin y a Zephyr, dos figuras respetadas en la escuela, uno por su historia y su bondad, el otro por su conexión con la justicia y su capacidad física. Evaluó la situación y decidió que no valía la pena. Puso los ojos en blanco, soltó un resoplido y se dio la vuelta con sus amigos, alejándose entre las mesas, aunque no sin lanzar una última mirada de desprecio por encima del hombro a las tres chicas.

El silencio regresó a su mesa, cargado de la tensión de lo sucedido. Petra se soltó de la mano de Charlotte, sus puños aún apretados, temblando ligeramente de rabia contenida. Charlotte bajó la mirada un momento, aliviada y exhausta. Claudine seguía encogida, su rostro pálido, sus manos temblorosas.

Pin y Zephyr se giraron hacia ellas. La severidad en sus rostros se suavizó, reemplazada por una expresión de disculpa y preocupación.

-Sentimos eso,- dijo Pin, su voz volviendo a su tono amable, aunque teñida de seriedad. -Ese tipo... es un cretino. No todos somos así, lo prometo.-

Zephyr asintió.

-Tiene razón. Algunos estudiantes aquí... no están muy contentos de que más chicos de la Isla vengan. Piensan... tonterías. Prejuicios.- Se encogió de hombros, un gesto de comprensión. -Es injusto. Nadie merece que le hablen así.-Miraron a las tres chicas, notando la conmoción. Zephyr dio un paso adelante, con una calidez en sus ojos que recordaba la compasión de su madre. -Soy Zephyr, por cierto.Zephyr de Chateaupers. - Extendió la mano hacia la mesa, invitando a una presentación formal, un gesto de bienvenida que contrastaba con la hostilidad que acababan de enfrentar. -Hijo de Esmeralda y Febo.-...

FANFIC

El incómodo silencio que había quedado tras la partida del bravucón se disipó lentamente a medida que Pin y Zephyr tomaban asiento. El aire en la mesa se sentía un poco menos denso; la presencia de los dos chicos ofrecía una inesperada burbuja de seguridad en medio del bullicio de la cafetería. Los murmullos de los estudiantes cercanos persistieron, pero ya no se sentían tan dirigidos.

Pin, con su característica franqueza, rompió el hielo una vez que estuvieron sentados y habían tomado sus propias bandejas de comida:

—Perdón de nuevo por ese idiota —dijo, con expresión sincera—. En fin… ¿Cómo fue vuestro primer día, aparte de eso? ¿Las clases? ¿Muy diferentes de… donde venís?

Miró a Charlotte, Petra y Claudine, genuinamente curioso.

Petra, aún sintiendo la adrenalina de su casi puñetazo pero agradecida por la intervención, soltó un resoplido divertido:

—Diferentes es quedarse corto, Pin. Es como comparar… bueno, como comparar la Isla con esto.

Hizo un gesto amplio con la mano, abarcando el limpio y luminoso comedor. Cogió un trozo de comida con el tenedor.

—Mi primera clase fue Magia Elemental con el Hada Azul. ¡Flota! ¡Y mueve el agua con el pensamiento! En la Isla, la magia que vemos es… hechiceros haciendo pociones asquerosas o brujas lanzando maldiciones que hacen que te salgan verrugas. O te convierte en burro —añadió, mirando de reojo a Charlotte con una sonrisa cómplice—. Aquí es… ordenado. Y bonito. Y te enseñan cómo funciona, ¡paso a paso! No solo te dicen: “aquí tienes un caldero, intenta no explotar”.

Pin y Zephyr se rieron un poco ante la descripción de Petra. La idea de una "clase de calderos" les parecía fascinante y un poco alarmante.

—¿En Dragon Hall no os enseñan magia así? —preguntó Pin, con los ojos muy abiertos.

—¿Dragon Hall? —Petra se rió de nuevo—. Dragon Hall te enseña lo que necesitas para ser un mejor villano. O simplemente para sobrevivir en la Isla. Teníamos Historia de Crímenes Famosos —dijo, poniendo los ojos en blanco—. Básicamente, quién robó qué y a quién. Engaño 101. Cómo escabullirse de la guardia. Fundamentos de la intimidación.

Se encogió de hombros.

—Magia… solo si tu padre era un hechicero te enseñaba algo en casa. La escuela no perdía tiempo en eso, a menos que fuera para identificar un objeto maldito y cómo robarlo sin que te matara.

Zephyr, que había estado escuchando con expresión contemplativa, asintió:

—Suena… pragmático, a su manera.

Miró a Charlotte.

—¿Y tú, Charlotte? ¿Técnicas de Combate y Biología Mágica? ¿Cómo fueron comparadas con el “plan de estudios” de la Isla?

Charlotte dejó su tenedor, pensando en la pregunta.

—En la Isla, el combate era más bien… peleas callejeras. Supervivencia pura. O emboscar a alguien por lo que llevaba encima —dijo con expresión sombría—. Aquí es… estructurado. Movimientos. Disciplina. Es diferente. Y útil.

Recordó el entrenamiento, sintiéndose capaz.

—Y Biología Mágica… fue… desafiante —miró a Claudine brevemente—. Habló de… de cómo todos los seres vivos comparten cosas básicas. Células. Y cómo… cómo el entorno te cambia. Cómo te adaptas.

Le pareció que las palabras de la maestra resonaban con su propia experiencia, pero también contradecían directamente lo que Claudine había sido enseñada.

—En la Isla, si algo te cambiaba, era una maldición. O un castigo. No… no adaptación.

Pin frunció el ceño, concentrado en absorber la diferencia:

—Entonces, ¿allí las clases son sobre cómo ser malos y aquí sobre cómo… funciona el mundo?

—Básicamente —confirmó Petra, dando un bocado a un sándwich de bacon con huevo—. Aunque supongo que en Auradon se espera que uses ese conocimiento para… cosas buenas. En la Isla, para lo que te sirva.

Todos se giraron hacia Claudine, que había estado escuchando en silencio, picoteando su comida con lentitud. Parecía aún pálida y un poco perdida.

—¿Claudine? —preguntó Charlotte suavemente, animándola a compartir—. ¿Tu clase de Ciencias? Dijiste que fue confusa.

Claudine dio un respingo, su mirada aún ansiosa:

—Sí —susurró—. Mucho.

Miró a la mesa, evitando el contacto visual con Pin y Zephyr.

—Hablaba de… de cómo empezó la vida. De… de cosas que no son… no son como padre dice —apretó los labios, incapaz de articular la herejía científica en voz alta—. En la Isla… Padre me enseñaba… su versión. De todo. Las clases… no sé qué enseñaban a los demás.

Su voz se volvió aún más baja:

—Pero lo de hoy… era… todo diferente. Las reglas… de cómo funcionan las cosas. No… no eran las que conozco.

Zephyr la escuchó con expresión pensativa, sus ojos mostrando comprensión. Él, quizás más que Pin, podía imaginar la rigidez y el control que alguien como Frollo ejercería sobre su hijo, distorsionando la verdad para encajar en su propia visión del mundo.

—Eso suena… difícil —dijo Zephyr con suavidad—. Empezar con cosas que contradicen lo que siempre te han enseñado. Si necesitas ayuda… podría ayudarte a estudiar.

—Bueno… gracias por la oferta… lo pensaré…

Pin asintió lentamente, sus ojos reflejando la sorpresa por las diferencias:

—Guau. Dragon Hall suena… intenso. Habéis aprendido muchas cosas… diferentes. Y ahora aquí… para aprender magia y… biología mágica. Es… es un gran cambio.

—Lo es —dijo Charlotte, mirando a sus amigas y luego a Pin y Zephyr, los chicos que, a pesar de provenir del “lado bueno” y de historias que se entrelazaban con sus propias penurias, los habían defendido y ahora escuchaban sus historias con interés—. Pero… es lo que hay.

Petra asintió, con cautelosa esperanza brillando en sus ojos. Habían llegado a Auradon, enfrentado la primera hostilidad, encontrado aliados inesperados y empezado a navegar un mundo de reglas, conocimientos y realidades completamente nuevos. La comida en la cafetería sabía a oportunidad, mezclada con el regusto persistente del miedo y la incertidumbre, pero por primera vez no la estaban degustando solas.

El murmullo de la cafetería seguía siendo una constante, pero en su mesa, la conversación había pasado de impresiones de clase a posibilidades futuras. Habían terminado de comer, y la abundancia de la comida seguía siendo un silencioso telón de fondo de su nueva realidad.

Pin, que había estado escuchando con interés las descripciones de Dragon Hall, se inclinó ligeramente hacia adelante:

—Suena… muy diferente —dijo, reflexivo—. ¿Y habéis pensado en apuntaros a alguna actividad extraescolar? Hay de todo aquí: clubes, equipos deportivos… Es una buena forma de conocer gente. Y de hacer cosas divertidas.

Zephyr asintió con entusiasmo:

—Sí, hay muchísimas opciones. Desde el club de esgrima, ajedrez… hasta el coro de Auradon. Y deportes, por supuesto: torneo, atletismo, natación —hizo un gesto hacia un tablón de anuncios lejano donde se veían folletos de colores con información sobre actividades—. Es una parte importante de la vida en Auradon Prep.

Claudine se removió incómodamente en su asiento, evitando la mirada de los chicos. La idea de unirse a un club o un equipo, de estar aún más expuesta, de tener que interactuar fuera del aula y las comidas… le causaba intensa ansiedad.

—No sé —susurró—. Con las clases… ya es bastante. Y sesiones de estudio… creo que por ahora es suficiente actividad extra para mí.

Se abrazó a sí misma ligeramente, como si la idea de más interacción pública fuera un frío del que necesitaba protegerse.

Charlotte y Petra se miraron, entendiendo la reticencia de Claudine. Sabían lo profundo que era su miedo a ser vista, a ser juzgada, a que su precario equilibrio se rompiera.

—Eso está bien, Claudine —dijo Charlotte suavemente—. Ve a tu ritmo. Lo importante es que te sientas segura.

—Sí —añadió Petra—. Nadie te va a obligar a unirte a nada si no quieres.

Petra se giró entonces hacia Charlotte, una chispa de una nueva idea brillando en sus ojos. Había estado pensando en las clases de Charlotte, en su elección de Técnicas de Combate, y en la fuerza que había sentido al ser detenida por ella en el altercado con el bravucón.

—Pero tú, Charlotte —dijo Petra con energía renovada—. Con la fuerza que tienes ahora… ¡podrías apuntarte a algún deporte!

Hizo un gesto hacia las patas de Charlotte, un movimiento que en la Isla podría haber sido cruel, pero que aquí, dicho por Petra, sonaba como un reconocimiento genuino de una habilidad:

—Esas patas tuyas no son solo para correr por callejones o subir rampas difíciles, ¿sabes? En Auradon las puedes usar para… para ganar cosas.

Charlotte parpadeó, sorprendida por la franqueza y la sugerencia. Miró a Petra, luego a sus propias piernas, y de vuelta a Petra:

—Un deporte… ¿yo?

Siempre había visto su forma transformada como una desventaja social, una marca de exilio y trauma, aunque reconocía la fuerza y velocidad que le daba. La idea de usar esas características activamente, en público, en una competición… era extraña.

—¡Claro! —exclamó Pin, entusiasmado—. ¡Serías genial en lucha o en atletismo! Tienes que ser rapidísima —sus ojos brillaban con la emoción de la posibilidad—. Y te serviría para darle una lección a esos que se ríen de ti.

Zephyr asintió, su mirada evaluadora posándose en las piernas de Charlotte, no con juicio, sino con el ojo de alguien que entiende el potencial físico:

—Pin tiene razón. Tu constitución… es única. En muchos deportes podrías tener una ventaja increíble. Y no se trata solo de ganar, Charlotte. El deporte te enseña disciplina, trabajo en equipo… y es una forma de liberar energía y conocer gente de otra manera.

—Un deporte —pensó Charlotte—. Usar… esto… para algo que no sea sobrevivir o escapar.

Siempre había usado su fuerza para huir o defenderse, pero la idea de correr, saltar, competir bajo la mirada de la multitud de Auradon… era intimidante. ¿Y si tropezaba? ¿Y si se burlaban de ella? Pero la idea de convertir una marca de su pasado en fortaleza en su presente… era extrañamente tentadora.

—No sé, Petra —dudó Charlotte—. Es que… ¿cómo funcionaría eso? Nunca he hecho… deportes organizados. Y… mi forma…

Miró a los otros estudiantes en la cafetería, recordando que era diferente.

—¿Y qué con tu forma? —replicó Petra, restándole importancia con su energía isleña—. Tienes patas que corren rápido. Y apuesto a que patadas que duelen. Usa lo que tienes. ¿Por qué esconderlo? Aquí, tal vez, no tienes que esconderlo. Tal vez aquí eso es… una ventaja.

Pin y Zephyr sonrieron, confirmando tácitamente las palabras de Petra. No la veían como una abominación ni una víctima; veían a alguien con un potencial físico inusual.

Charlotte los miró a los tres, sus amigas y sus nuevos aliados, todos instándola, cada uno a su manera. Claudine, aunque callada, observaba con mezcla de aprensión y asombro ante la idea de que una diferencia pudiera ser vista como una ventaja.

Una ventaja… la palabra sonaba extraña en su mente. Siempre había sido un problema. Pero aquí… en Auradon… con el apoyo de Petra y la aceptación práctica de estos chicos… quizás podía ser algo más.

The Natural Sciences classroom smelled of something Claudine couldn’t quite identify: a faint mix of fresh earth, dry leaves, and… perhaps clean glass. It was spacious and bright, with large windows looking out onto the gardens. Colorful illustrations of plants and animals hung on the walls, none appearing dangerous or twisted, unlike the few depictions she had seen in the dusty books from the Isle. This room wasn’t limited to simple desks; there were several models of human bodies at different levels, a skeleton, a life-sized 3D figure of muscular tissue, scientific illustrations of various organs and animals, a poster of the solar system, and even the dissected scales of dinosaurs that had once roamed the lands of the Fantasy Kingdom’s Spring Rite, with brief explanations of their origins and functions.

The teacher, a dark-haired woman with kind eyes and a calm but enthusiastic energy, introduced herself as Mrs. Porter. She spoke with a clear voice, fascinated by her subject, drawing diagrams on the board that seemed to light up without any magic.

“Today we begin with the fundamental unit of life,” Mrs. Porter explained once everyone was seated, pointing to a diagram labeled ‘cell.’ “Every living thing, from the tiniest bacterium to the largest trees in the Enchanted Forest, is made of cells. They’re like the bricks that build a building, but incredibly complex and capable of performing all the functions necessary for life.”

Claudine, seated at one of the polished wooden desks, felt a pang of confusion. She pulled out her notebook with slightly trembling hands, opening to a clean page.

“Each cell has internal structures,” Mrs. Porter continued, detailing the nucleus, cytoplasm, and membrane, which she drew on the board. “The nucleus contains the ‘blueprint’ for the entire creature… the DNA. Cells reproduce by dividing. One cell becomes two, then four, and that’s how organisms grow and develop from a single original cell.”

This… this isn’t what Father taught, Claudine thought, her pen hovering over the paper. Father says life was created complete, all at once. He says each creature was made… already made. Not grown from something so small you can’t even see it.

She began taking notes, her handwriting careful but hesitant: Cell. Unit of life. Like a brick. Nucleus – DNA. Grow by dividing.

Mrs. Porter’s words, logical and based on observation of something that apparently existed in the world, clashed violently with her father’s teachings, which were rooted in blind faith and the condemnation of any knowledge that wasn’t the ‘Word.’

“The cell theory, which states that all life forms are composed of cells and that all cells arise from preexisting cells, is one of the pillars of modern biology,” Mrs. Porter said, her voice full of respect for scientific knowledge.

Preexisting cells, Claudine repeated in her mind. But… where did the first one come from? Father has the answer. Father says… She closed her eyes for a moment, the image of her father’s stern face and the weight of his judgment stabbing at her even from miles away. Father says the world was created in seven days. That life was placed here by… by the Creator. Not born from… tiny invisible sacs that divide.

She opened her eyes and looked at the cell diagram. It seemed… orderly. Fascinatingly complex. The idea that something so tiny could hold the blueprint for a living being… it had a strange internal logic.

But Father says worldly logic is a temptation from the tempter, a conditioned voice whispered in her head. He says these explanations are sinful—man’s attempt to deny the Creator’s power.

Claudine’s hand tightened around her pen. Was it a sin to hear this? Was it a sin to find a strange… truth… in the way Mrs. Porter described the growth of a living being?

She glanced at Mrs. Porter, speaking with genuine passion about the wonder of the microscopic world. She didn’t seem to be preaching sin. She seemed… to be sharing a discovery.

Why would Father hate it if these things were explained? The question arose timidly and dangerously in her mind. If life works this way… does it deny the Creator? Or does it simply explain how He made things?

She began writing faster now, filling the page with strange terms and descriptions of the inner workings of the cell. She wasn’t fully accepting everything Mrs. Porter said; part of her still clung, terrified, to her father’s teachings. But another part… another part was hungry for this new knowledge, however contradictory. She was taking notes not just to learn the lesson, but to document evidence of a way of seeing the world that challenged everything she had been taught—a perspective that, in this bright, calm classroom, smelled not of fear or judgment but of fresh earth and the promise of understanding.

Hours passed, and the minds of the three young girls filled quickly with knowledge in their subsequent classes: mathematics taught by Milo Thatch, the intrepid scientist who had once reached Atlantis; language lessons given by Belle; or philosophy, surprisingly taught by Rafiki, one of the few non-human teachers whose teachings, based on experiences in the savanna, were easily applicable to the human realm in which they now lived.

***

Finally, the bell rang, marking the end of the first half of the day. It was eleven o’clock, lunchtime. Students poured into the hallways as the teachers, struggling a little through the crowded corridors, headed toward the faculty room to find some privacy. Charlotte left her classroom, slipping her books into the cloth bag she had been using as an improvised backpack. She paused by the lockers, waiting for the throng of students to thin so she could walk more comfortably, careful not to step on anyone with her hooves or trip. Gradually, the hallway cleared, and she dared to walk down the center of the corridor lined with metallic blue lockers along the walls. They were internal lockers, so she didn’t need them.

The murmur of voices subsided, though echoes still lingered in the wide hallway. The young girl could have sworn she heard fragments of conversations—not offensive, but curious whispers about seeing someone like her here. Blending in wasn’t an option, at least not for her, not in that form. She let out a soft sigh before moving toward the now-empty center of the hall. Charlotte walked deliberately, her hooves making a gentle tapping on the polished floor. She had just come from her math class, a mandatory subject for all students. She wasn’t an expert, but she managed. The class had been… interesting. She noticed the stares, of course, but the start of the teacher’s lecture had diverted some attention from her form. Still, the underlying fear of judgment never fully vanished.

At the far end of the hall, she saw a familiar figure emerge from a dispersing cluster of students. Petra. She moved with her usual energy, though she seemed slightly lost in thought, her gaze blank for a moment before scanning the corridor. Her eyes, hardened by life on the Isle, found Charlotte.

A wave of relief crossed Petra’s face, and she approached with determined steps.

“Charlotte!” she whispered, relief clear in her tone.

“The cafeteria should be around here,” Petra said, consulting her schedule with her usual efficiency. “We’ll have to go down to the main floor, but…” Her voice trailed off as a male voice called out to them.

“Hey, Petra! Don’t you know pets aren’t allowed in here? Get Charlotte out of here!” It was Gaston III, flanked by his brothers, Gaston II, and other children of villains who had been accepted into Auradon that year.

“Idiot!” Petra snapped, turning toward the muscular teen in sportswear who was leaving with his brother, laughing. She turned back to Charlotte. “Don’t pay them any mind…”

“I know,” Charlotte said, her spirits sinking slightly. She knew she shouldn’t care—the Gastons were as simple as stones—but it still bothered her. Being called a “freak” by Frollo didn’t faze her; he was conditioned by his beliefs. But the twins’ mockery was pure malice. They knew how to hurt with both fists… and words. “It’s incredible that they were allowed to come, and yet Smee’s twins stayed behind on the Isle.”

“I remember, before I was exiled,” Charlotte said, “the henchmen, since they weren’t considered a serious threat, didn’t prioritize them in Auradon’s program.”

The smell of new paper and fresh ink from the textbooks they had just collected from the Administration Office was yet another strange and fascinating scent of Auradon. Heavy in her arms, they promised knowledge—a kind of power very different from the one valued on the Isle. Petra checked her schedule, following the clear and concise directions to the east wing of the school, where the more specialized classes were held.

The hallway leading to the Elemental Magic classroom was surprisingly quiet, free from the rush and bustle of other parts of the school. At the end, the door stood slightly ajar, and a soft blue light spilled out from within, accompanied by a low, harmonious murmur. Petra took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and excitement.

Elemental Magic. Father says knowledge is power. This is pure knowledge, she thought.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The classroom looked nothing like anything she had imagined. The walls seemed to be made of frosted glass through which the blue light filtered. In the center, a small pond appeared to float in midair, its water lilies glowing with a light of their own. The desks were arranged in a semicircle, made of polished wood and paired with comfortable chairs. The air smelled faintly of ozone and damp earth.

At the front of the room, hovering slightly above the ground with ethereal grace, was the Blue Fairy. Her gown was the color of the night sky, and her shimmering wings emitted a gentle glow. Her face was serene and welcoming, her eyes shining with ancient wisdom. She was the very embodiment of the magic Petra had always heard about but never seen up close.

Several desks were already occupied by other students—a mix of impeccably dressed Auradonians and a few Isle youths Petra vaguely recognized from the ship. All of them sat in reverent silence, waiting for class to begin.

The Blue Fairy offered her a small, kind smile.

“Welcome, dear. Please find a seat where you feel comfortable.”

Her voice was melodic and soothing.

Petra nodded, feeling her cheeks flush slightly as more students entered the room. She moved carefully across the polished floor, aware of the discreet glances from some of her classmates. She found an empty seat near the center of the semicircle and dropped her books onto the desk with a dull thud.

As she sat down and adjusted her somewhat rumpled clothes—she had barely changed her wardrobe, wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled to her elbows, gray trousers, and her cleaned-up work boots—a young man at the neighboring desk turned toward her with a friendly, curious smile. He had light brown hair, open and sincere eyes, and wore bright clothing in shades of red and yellow—unusual even for Auradon.

“Hi,” he said warmly. “You’re new, right?”

There was no trace of mockery or prejudice in his smile—just simple interest.

Petra nodded, slightly surprised by his frankness.

“Yes. I arrived yesterday. It’s my first day.”

He looked at her again, his eyes lingering briefly on her features before settling on her face.

“Oh, right. You’re… Claudine, aren’t you? One of the new Isle kids.”

His tone was casual, as though identifying a newly arrived exotic bird.

Petra’s shoulders tensed.

Claudine? He thinks I’m Claudine. And ‘Isle kids’ said like that…

It was her identity, yes—but it sounded like a label here. And to be confused with Claudine, so different from her, with all the drama surrounding her father… it stung strangely.

“No,” Petra corrected gently but firmly. “I’m Petra. Daughter of the Coachman.”

She said it with a hint of defiant pride, even though she knew “the Coachman” did not carry the same infamous weight as Frollo or Maleficent.

The young man’s face showed mild confusion.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I thought—well, you’re a big group from the Isle.” He blushed slightly. “I’m Pin. Son of Pinocchio.”

He extended his hand in friendly greeting.

Petra’s hand, which had moved automatically to shake his, froze halfway.

The world seemed to slow for a moment.

Pin. Son of… Pinocchio.

The son of Pinocchio. The wooden boy who wished to be real. The one who had been tricked into going to Pleasure Island. The one who escaped and became a real boy. In a way, the enemy of the Coachman—of her father. The reason Pleasure Island became what it was, and why… why what happened to Charlotte had happened.

A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions rushed through Petra’s mind. The stories she had heard on the Isle about Pleasure Island, the distorted versions of Pinocchio’s tale, the resentment some felt toward the “good boy” who had escaped. And now his son sat beside her in bright, magical Auradon, offering his hand with a smile.

The irony was so profound it nearly choked her. Her father made a living off the ruins of the “business” that had collapsed because of this boy’s father, and now she was about to learn magic beside him.

Pin’s hand remained extended, his smile unchanged, completely unaware of the history and bitterness his name evoked in Petra.

Father… look where I am, Petra thought, picturing the Coachman’s weathered face. In magic class, sitting next to the son… of him.

She forced herself to react, shaping a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She extended her hand and shook his briefly.

“Pin,” Petra said. The name felt strange in her mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t entirely sincere, nor entirely insincere. It was… complicated.

“Nice to meet you too, Petra,” Pin replied, withdrawing his hand. He seemed not to notice anything unusual in her response. He turned toward the front just as the Blue Fairy floated slightly higher, ready to begin.

“Well then, young minds,” the Blue Fairy said, her voice capturing everyone’s attention. “Today we begin our journey into the heart of Elemental Magic. We will open your eyes to the forces that shape the world around you…”

Petra forced herself to focus on the Blue Fairy, to concentrate on the words about magic. But the image of Pin’s kind face, the simplicity of his greeting, and the weight of his connection to her adoptive father’s past lingered at the edge of her thoughts.

Life in Auradon was going to be even stranger and more complicated than she had anticipated. Learning to control magical elements suddenly seemed almost as challenging as navigating the complex—and sometimes painful—connections between her two worlds.

The soft blue glow of Elemental Magic filled the classroom, making the floating pond shine and casting dancing reflections across the walls. With graceful movements, the Blue Fairy levitated a droplet of water from the pond, shaping it into glowing spheres before letting it fall back with a faint plink. Other students watched intently, some holding discreet wands, their eyes following the water’s motion with concentration.

Petra tried to absorb everything. The Blue Fairy’s melodic voice explained the basic principles of water manipulation. Though she didn’t understand the magical terminology, the demonstration was hypnotic. The feeling of being in a place where magic was not dark or feared but taught in a luminous classroom was almost overwhelming.

As the Blue Fairy moved on to explain how water’s cohesion allowed it to be shaped, Pin leaned slightly toward her. He had been watching the demonstration with innocent concentration.

“Excuse me,” Pin whispered kindly, low enough not to disturb others. “I’ve noticed… you don’t seem to have manifested magic, right?” He added quickly, perhaps realizing how direct the question sounded. “I don’t either. But I’m interested in magic. After all, it’s what gave life to my father when he was a puppet. And the same thing happened to me later.”

Petra turned slightly toward him, careful not to draw attention.

“You don’t have magic?”

“My father made me like a puppet—just like my grandfather Geppetto made him.”

The question was a subtle reminder of her fundamental difference in this room. For a moment, she felt that familiar sting of being the other, the same feeling she sensed under the hallway stares. But Pin did not seem malicious—only genuinely curious, as if cataloguing an interesting fact.

“No,” Petra replied quietly. “I don’t have magic. On the Isle… magic is different. Not everyone has it. Only sorcerers, witches… and sometimes curses or spells gone wrong.” She thought of Charlotte, of her altered form. She shrugged. “I just… don’t.”

She looked back at the Blue Fairy, who was now making small gusts of air dance around her hand.

“That’s why I chose this class,” Petra continued, explaining a motivation she had not even fully articulated to Charlotte. “On the Isle, the magic we see is… twisted. Or used to hurt. Or just strange. Here, it seems… different. More controlled. More like a natural force. I’m curious how it works. How… how you use it.”

“You” encompassed Pin, the Blue Fairy, everyone in Auradon who understood this kind of magic.

Pin listened attentively, his eyes thoughtful. He seemed to consider her distinction between the chaotic, often destructive magic of the Isle and the controlled, natural magic of Auradon.

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Isle magic. Yeah, I’ve heard stories. It sounds… complicated.” He glanced back at the front, where the Blue Fairy combined water and air currents. Then he turned to Petra again, offering a simple, sincere smile. “I’m curious about magic too. Very curious. I’ve always wanted to know how things work. How life… how everything moves. And magic is part of that, right? It’s amazing.”

His enthusiasm was pure and contagious, devoid of any desire for power or control—just simple wonder at how the world functioned.

Petra looked at him—the son of Pinocchio, the boy who had wished for life and received it through magic. It made sense that he would have such a fundamental curiosity about it. And suddenly, sitting beside him, talking about magic in a classroom filled with light and wonder, the strangeness of meeting the son of her father’s “enemy” lessened slightly, replaced by the simple connection of shared curiosity.

The son of Pinocchio, Petra thought, studying him with a new perspective. Curious about magic. Like me. Even though he was born from it, and I wasn’t.

The irony was still there, a constant undertone in her life in Auradon. But in that moment, in the Elemental Magic classroom, sitting beside Pin with the possibility of learning something extraordinary—something entirely removed from the life she had known—felt more real than ever.

Should Claudine has more stories in the fandom of Descendants? Which ideas do you have for her? SHARE HERE!!