They barely made it out of the Yard before the next approach.

A girl this time—older, maybe fourth-year, posture carved from confidence. Her uniform crisp. Her House pin a sharp violet fang.

House Veylon.

She blocked their path with the polite arrogance of someone who'd never been told "no."

"Coren Vale?"

Soren stopped but didn't answer.

Mira sighed. "Here we go."

The girl smiled like a merchant about to negotiate a deal she'd already won.

"My House would like to extend—"

"No," Soren said.

She blinked. "You haven't heard the offer."

"I don't need to."

The girl tilted her head, studying him. "You think refusing makes you free?"

"It makes me consistent."

For a heartbeat, she searched his eyes, looking for the flaw in the stance.

She didn't find it.

Her smile thinned, sharpened. "The Academy is not kind to independents."

Soren stepped past her. "Neither am I."

She turned as he left. Her voice followed him like a quiet blade:

"You'll choose someone, Vale. Or someone will choose you."

Valenna's presence tightened in Soren's wrist.

She's right. But not in the way she thinks.

The Remark That Changes EverythingThey reached the main hall—a vaulted, echoing space where instructors crossed paths like migrating wolves.

Atrius stood with another teacher—High Archivist Renly, robed in grey-blue, surrounded by aides carrying stacks of documents and rune-stamped clay tablets.

Renly noticed Soren before Atrius did.

And he smiled.

Not kindly.

Curiously.

Atrius followed his gaze.

The instructors exchanged a look that made Soren's spine sharpen.

Renly spoke first.

"So this is the boy Meridian is discussing."

Soren didn't react.

Atrius didn't blink.

Renly stepped closer, hands folded behind his back in the manner of a man observing a specimen.

"They say you walked a noble through an ambush on the Narrows."

A pause.

"And that you cut through a reinforced shield like wet parchment."

Mira stiffened.

Atrius's jaw clicked almost imperceptibly.

Renly leaned in, eyes gleaming with academic hunger.

"I would like to see that. Personally."

Soren met his gaze, unblinking.

"No."

Renly laughed—a soft, delighted sound.

"Oh, Atrius. He's going to make such trouble."

Atrius replied without turning:

"He already has."

Renly stepped back with a satisfied nod.

"Keep him close, Atrius. The Houses will tear themselves apart to claim something like him."

Atrius's eyes flicked to Soren.

A warning.

A promise.

A truth.

"Let them try," Soren said quietly.

Renly chuckled as he walked away.

"Oh, they will."

AftermathMira elbowed Soren lightly. "You really don't understand how deep this goes, do you?"

"I don't care how deep it goes."

She sighed. "You need to."

Atrius finally spoke, voice low enough that only Soren heard him.

"You're not a ghost anymore, Vale. You're a signal."

Soren frowned. "Signal for what."

Atrius stepped closer.

"For war," he whispered.

Not swords.

Not armies.

Political war.

House war.

Influence war.

And Soren—Coren Vale—

whoever he pretended to be—

had become the spark.

Valenna's voice slid down his spine like a steadying hand.

Walk carefully, Soren. The board shifts under your feet.

He exhaled.

Not fear.

Preparation.

"Let them shift," Soren murmured.

"I'm not moving."

Soren felt it before it happened.

Not magic.

Not intuition.

Pattern.

Pressure.

When the Academy wants to break a student, it doesn't attack from the front.

It tests the edges.

Cuts small pieces.

Waits to see where the flesh is weakest.

He entered the dining hall with Mira at his side, exhausted from drills and the morning's political gauntlet.

The place felt wrong immediately.

Not silent.

Not loud.

Watchful.

Students glanced up, then quickly looked away.

Whispers followed him like dust trails.

Teachers lingered at the edges, pretending to converse.

Mira muttered, "Someone's already tried something. Great."

Soren didn't slow.

Valenna murmured:

Eyes high. Don't look down unless you choose to.

He didn't.

Not until someone deliberately stepped into his path.

A boy—broad-shouldered, well-fed, uniform immaculate.

House insignia of Feldren gleaming on his chest.

He planted himself directly in front of Soren, chin raised just enough to hide his nerves.

Behind him?

Four others, forming a neat, practiced wedge.

Mira groaned softly. "House Feldren. Of all the idiots."

Soren waited.

The boy folded his arms.

"You're Coren Vale, right?"

Soren didn't respond.

The boy's mouth tightened.

"I asked you a question."

Soren tilted his head. "And I ignored it."

A ripple moved through the hall.

Mira pinched the bridge of her nose. "…here we go."

The boy stepped closer—too close—trying to size up a threat he didn't understand.

"Word is, you got a noblewoman killed."

The hall went still.

A few students froze mid-bite.

A cup clattered somewhere.

Someone whispered "Lady Elyndra…?"

Soren didn't blink.

"That rumor," Mira said coldly, "was dismissed by the Council hours after it surfaced."

The boy shrugged. "Rumors start for a reason. People talk."

Soren's voice was flat. "People like you."

The boy's fist clenched. "You're not denying it."

"I don't have to."

"But if you're responsible—"

"I'm not."

"—then you shouldn't be—wait. What?"

Soren stepped closer, gaze slicing through him.

"I said I'm not. You didn't hear me because you were too busy performing."

A snort came from the table to the left.

Another student muttered, "Gods, he's not even intimidated."

The Feldren boy's ears reddened.

One of his companions hissed, "Tallen, just walk away—"

"No."

Tallen lifted his chin. "Someone like him shouldn't be treated like he's special. He's nothing but an outsider with a fancy swing—and a fake name."

The hall whispered at those two words.

Fake name.

Mira tensed. "You don't want to go there."

Tallen grinned. "Why? Afraid he'll crack?"

Valenna's presence tightened around Soren's pulse.

Do not react. Not to the bait. Not to the insult. This is engineered.

And he knew she was right.

This wasn't random.

This wasn't bravado.

Someone told Tallen to do this.

Fed him lines.

Fed him lies.

A test.

A provocation.

A political blade disguised as a teenage ego.

Soren kept his voice calm.

"You said 'someone like me.' Explain."

Tallen blinked. He hadn't expected that.

"You know. Drifters. Strays. People with no House backing."

Soren looked him in the eye.

Steady.

Unmovable.

"So your House sent you to challenge someone with no backing?"

Tallen's breath caught.

His friends stiffened.

A few students at nearby tables exchanged looks.

Because Soren had said it aloud—

the one thing they weren't supposed to acknowledge.

This was a House move.

Mira's expression turned razor-thin.

"You idiots," she whispered, "you just implicated Feldren—"

Tallen snapped, "We act on our own—!"

"Then you're a fool," Soren said quietly, stepping forward until Tallen had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.

"And the people who sent you are bigger fools."

Tallen flinched.

Mira exhaled sharply. "Soren—"

He didn't touch the boy.

Didn't threaten him.

Didn't raise his voice.

He only asked:

"You done?"

Tallen swallowed. "I—yes."

"Good."

Soren walked past him.

Tallen didn't move for several seconds after, breathing in shallow bursts, face pale.

Not from fear of a fight.

From the realization that he'd been used.

And that everyone now knew it.

The AftershockSoren and Mira sat at an empty corner table.

A long beat passed.

Then Mira said under her breath:

"That was not a random confrontation."

"No."

"You think Feldren is testing you?"

"No."

Soren took a slow drink of water. "Someone using Feldren."

Mira nodded. "So either Veylon, Estrix, Hallowmere, or—"

"Or all of them."

She grimaced. "Gods help you."

Valenna whispered, her voice steadying:

Good. Let them reveal themselves early. You learn more from enemies who hurry.

Soren kept eating.

Calm.

Controlled.

But his eyes moved—precise, evaluating.

Dozens of students watching him.

House agents whispering in corners.

Two instructors pretending not to look.

The first strike had landed.

And Soren hadn't budged.

They finished their meal and stood.

A small figure approached—quiet footsteps, neatly held posture.

A girl.

Black hair braided down her back.

Uniform immaculate, not a crease out of place.

House crest: Hallowmere.

But her expression wasn't arrogant.

It was calm. Neutral. Almost diplomatic.

She bowed properly. "Coren Vale."

Mira tensed immediately. "Not now. Not again."

The girl held up a hand—

polite, poised.

"I'm not here to provoke you."

Soren waited, silent.

She continued:

"My House was not involved in that fabrication. I'm delivering that message… personally."

"Why?" Soren asked.

Her dark eyes met his without waver.

"Because you're going to be important. And it's better if you know who isn't trying to sabotage you."

Soren studied her.

"And who are you."

She bowed again.

"Arilyn of House Hallowmere."

A pause.

"My House does not make enemies recklessly. Consider this a courtesy."

And she walked away.

Mira stared after her. "Well. That wasn't ominous at all."

Valenna hummed.

The pieces move faster now.

Soren exhaled once.

Not tired.

Ready.

"Let them," he murmured.

He stepped out of the hall, toward the training yards again.

And behind him, the Academy shifted like a beast waking from sleep.

The notice went up before breakfast.

Not a rumor.

Not a whisper.

Not a quiet hallway threat slipped between careless words.

A parchment.

Stamped.

Signed.

Posted at the center of the Academy's main courtyard where no one could pretend not to see it.

Mira spotted it first.

She cursed.

Loudly.

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