Rivan tore backward, ripping his blade free before Valenna drained the last drop of its glow. He stumbled two steps—small, but enough for the stands to erupt in confused murmurs. House Estrix attendants leaned forward, suddenly unsure.

Rivan stared at his sword as if it had betrayed him. The runes flickered, unstable. His breath hitched.

"What—did you—"

Soren rose from his knee without hurry.

"You leaned on the blade instead of yourself," he said. "That's the mistake."

Rivan's jaw clenched so hard the tendons stood out like cords. Rage, humiliation, disbelief—he wore them all like fresh scars. He came in again, reckless for the first time.

'Good,' Valenna whispered.

Rivan slashed wide, strength over technique. Soren slid past the swing, pivoting on the ball of his foot, and struck Rivan's ribs with the flat of his blade—not enough to break bone, but enough to knock the breath from his lungs and send him staggering sideways.

Rivan gasped, knees dipping.

"S-stand and fight—!"

"I am," Soren said.

No taunt. No heat. Just fact.

Rivan lunged again, desperate. His form unraveled—too much anger in the feet, too much pride in the shoulders. He thrust for Soren's throat, hoping speed alone would win what skill already lost.

Soren slipped left.

Rivan's blade carved air.

And Soren's guard struck his wrist with a brutal, downward smack.

Bone crunched.

Rivan cried out, dropping his sword. It clattered across the stone, runes flickering out like dying fireflies.

The arena erupted—gasps, shouts, the rustling shock of hundreds of bodies leaning forward at once.

Rivan fell to one knee, clutching his wrist.

Salvek took half a step forward, ready to call the duel—

But Rivan surged back up, wild, humiliated, furious. He reached for the fallen sword with his other hand.

Mira muttered from the stands, "Don't you—Idiot, don't—"

Rivan grabbed the hilt.

Before he could lift it, Soren's boot came down on the blade.

Hard.

The metal groaned, pinned.

Rivan froze, breath ragged. His eyes rose, blazing.

Soren said nothing.

He only looked down at him, steady as winter, sword held low at his side—not threatening, not cruel, not triumphant.

Just done.

Rivan swallowed. Pride warred with survival on his face, but survival won.

Slowly, shaking, he released the blade.

Salvek's voice rang out, clear and undeniable:

"Yield is given."

The arena went silent.

Then exploded.

Some cheered in disbelief, some shouted outrage, some simply stared, trying to reconcile what they'd seen with what they thought they knew.

A nobody from nowhere had just dismantled an Estrix heir in front of half the Academy.

Mira sprinted onto the field, sliding to a stop beside Soren.

"Do you understand," she hissed, "what you just did?"

Soren watched Rivan's attendants carry him out of the arena. "Yes."

"No," she said, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You really don't."

She grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the exit.

The crowd parted without being asked.

Arilyn of Hallowmere stood among them, expression cool and unstartled—as if she'd expected this outcome all along. When Soren passed her, she didn't nod this time.

She bowed.

Not deeply.

But not shallowly, either.

The kind of bow one trained for diplomacy, not deference.

He kept walking.

Valenna's voice threaded through him, soft as breath:

'Now the Houses see you. Now they will come. Prepare yourself, Soren. This was only the invitation.'

Soren didn't answer her aloud.

But his jaw tightened.

His pulse steadied.

His grip on his sword remained loose, practiced, ready.

He didn't rise to fame.

He hadn't sought recognition.

He simply walked into the trap they'd built—

and stepped out with the jaws broken.

Behind him, the Academy roared like a living storm.

And ahead of him, a new shadow waited at the gate.

Someone was blocking his exit. Waiting patiently.

Someone he did not expect.

House Estrix's patriarch, Lord Vaelor Estrix himself—

the man who commanded Rivan's bloodline.

And he was smiling.

The crowd noise dimmed—not because it grew quieter, but because Soren's awareness narrowed to a single, immovable point.

Lord Vaelor Estrix stood at the gate with his hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed, expression far too measured for a man whose heir had just been publicly broken.

Mira halted beside Soren so abruptly she squeaked in her boots.

"Absolutely not," she whispered. "No. Turn around. Go anywhere else. Climb the damn wall."

Soren didn't turn.

Valenna coiled tight in his wrist. Careful. This man plays with kingdoms, not swords.

Vaelor inclined his head, faintly amused—as if sensing Valenna's warning somehow through Soren's bones.

"Coren Vale," he said, voice deep and unhurried. "You made quite a spectacle this morning."

Soren remained still. Mira hovered like a terrified sparrow prepared to die fighting a hawk.

Vaelor's pale eyes roamed over Soren with unsettling calm.

"Most challengers tremble when facing an Estrix," he said. "You did not. You broke my son's rhythm. His confidence."

A pause.

"His arm."

"That was his mistake," Soren said.

Mira pinched his sleeve hard enough to bruise. "Stop talking," she hissed.

Vaelor only smiled wider. "Yes. His mistake—and your opportunity."

Soren's jaw flexed. "If you're here to accuse me—"

"I am not." Vaelor lifted a hand. "I'm here to congratulate you."

That silenced even the crowd at the edge of hearing.

Vaelor stepped closer. The air around him shifted—cold, heavy, the quiet presence of a man used to commanding without raising his voice.

"You've caught the attention of my House," he said softly. "And attention is a currency not lightly spent."

Soren didn't respond. His eyes locked on Vaelor's. Measuring. Calculating.

The patriarch continued, "You fight with a precision not taught here. You don't trade blows—you dismantle intent. Someone crafted you carefully, Coren Vale."

Soren's pulse tightened.

Valenna whispered, He senses the edges of you. Not the truth, but the absence of it.

Mira scratched her forehead violently. "We should leave."

Vaelor ignored her entirely.

"A word of advice, young man," he said. "What you displayed today—restraint coupled with devastation—that is not the performance of a student."

His eyes sharpened.

"That is the performance of a threat."

Soren's fingers closed around his sword hilt—not drawing, not tensing, just anchoring.

"I fought because your heir challenged me," Soren said calmly. "Nothing more."

"Mm." Vaelor's smile thinned. "You misunderstand. Rivan's defeat is a bruise to my House, yes. But far more concerning is what you showed the other Houses."

He leaned in slightly.

"You showed them that you are not to be measured."

Soren stared back without blinking. "Then they shouldn't try."

A soft breath escaped Vaelor's nose—something between approval and warning.

Mira made a desperate throat-cutting gesture behind Soren.

Vaelor straightened. "This Academy thrives on balance. Power is tolerated when predictable. You"—he pointed a single finger, almost lazily—"are not predictable."

Soren didn't speak. The silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.

At last, Vaelor clasped his hands behind his back again.

"Very well," he said. "Let us see how far your unpredictability takes you… before it takes something from you."

He stepped aside, clearing the gate.

A gesture of permission.

Or dismissal.

Or challenge.

Soren walked past him without bowing. Without stopping. Without looking back.

And Vaelor Estrix let him.

But the smile never left the patriarch's face.

—

Once they were far enough away, Mira slapped Soren's arm—not hard enough to hurt, but absolutely hard enough to express the depths of her panic.

"Do you have any concept," she hissed, "ANY concept of how monumentally stupid what you just did was?"

Soren exhaled. "I didn't provoke him."

"You didn't BOW," she cried. "No one doesn't bow to Vaelor Estrix. I'm pretty sure even the sun bows a little when he walks past!"

Soren kept walking.

Mira threw her hands up. "You're going to get murdered. Not even cleanly. House Estrix is going to political-assassination you in a very tasteful, very expensive way."

Valenna's voice brushed cold reassurance into his thoughts. 'They won't risk it yet. Not while they are unsure whether he is weapon or wildfire.'

He murmured under his breath, "He didn't know anything."

Mira leaned in. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

She eyed him hard.

"You do realize this duel just rewrote your entire life here, right?"

Soren didn't answer.

Because he did know.

And that knowledge felt like cold iron settling around his ribs.

As they reached the far hall, a group of students scattered out of their path, not in fear—worse.

In deference.

Recognition.

Whispers followed behind them like smoke.

"That's him—"

"Did you see the way he—"

"Estrix is going to—"

"Hallowmere already reached out—"

"Who trained him—?"

Soren walked on.

Valenna's whisper curled through him.

This is the first ripple, Soren. The wave comes next.

And deep in the underbelly of the Academy, messages were already being drafted.

All addressed to one name.

Coren Vale.

He was the student who wasn't what he seemed.

The Houses would move soon.

And soon, Soren would have to choose which ones he met with a sword… and which ones he let get close enough to regret it.

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