Valenna whispered, voice low with something close to amusement. She speaks as though she's your keeper.

Atrius tapped the stone railing. "You need controlled aura discipline. Immediately. You need to learn to suppress what you produce, not unleash it."

"I can suppress it," Soren said.

"No," Atrius corrected, "you think you can suppress it. There's a difference."

He stepped back, crossing his arms again.

"This is going to hurt."

Soren stood. "I'm ready."

Mira groaned into her palms. "Oh good. More pain. Because we haven't had enough of that this week."

Atrius gestured toward the training grounds.

"Let's go."

They walked.

The path down to the lower field was quiet but tense, students stepping aside to watch. Some whispered. Some stared with open curiosity. A few looked at Soren the way predators look at competition.

By the time they reached the grass, Atrius signaled for Mira to stay back.

"Not her," he said. "This gets… volatile."

Mira hesitated. "He'll be okay?"

Soren answered before Atrius could. "Yes."

Atrius added, "Probably."

"That doesn't help!" Mira shouted after them as they walked onto the field.

Once they reached the center, Atrius turned to him.

"Draw your aura," he ordered. "Fully."

Soren blinked. "Here?"

"Here."

Students were watching from the upper terraces.

"Atrius—"

"Do it," Atrius said quietly but firmly. "You need to see what it looks like. And I need to measure it."

Soren inhaled slowly.

Valenna's voice whispered against his pulse. I will contain what I can. But you must be careful. Too much, and the whole Academy will see.

Soren nodded almost imperceptibly.

Then he reached inward.

The shard pulsed.

Cold spread through his arm, through his chest, down his spine like liquid winter.

The air trembled.

Grass flattened in a widening ring around him.

The terraces above fell silent as the aura rippled outward—darker, sharper than anything an Academy student should have been capable of.

Atrius's eyes widened just a fraction.

"Core ," he breathed. "Stop."

Soren clenched his jaw and forced it down, like slamming a door on a storm.

The aura snapped shut.

Silence.

Atrius exhaled. "Gods."

Students whispered from the terraces.

Mira swore loudly from the edge of the field.

Atrius stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Core … that wasn't controlled. That was contained rage. Where did that come from?"

Soren didn't answer.

Valenna's cold presence curled protectively around his heartbeat.

Do not speak. Not this.

Atrius shook his head slowly. "This is worse than I thought."

Soren looked at him. "I can fix it. Train. Learn."

"You'll have to," Atrius said. "And fast. Because after what they just felt, the Houses won't wait long."

A shout echoed from the far steps.

Soren and Atrius turned.

A student sprinted toward them, clutching a scroll with shaking hands.

He skidded to a stop, panting.

"Atrius—Instructor—Sir—there's a… situation."

Atrius frowned. "What kind?"

The student swallowed. Hard.

"House Feldren just issued a summons," he said. "Not a challenge. Not a claim."

He held out the scroll.

"It's a warning."

Atrius took it, broke the seal, and read.

His jaw tightened.

Mira ran down from the terrace, breathless. "What now?"

Atrius handed the scroll to Soren.

Two lines.

Written in cold, perfect Feldren script.

Your existence disrupts order.

Stand down, or be corrected.

Mira read over his shoulder.

"Oh," she whispered. "Fantastic. We're so dead."

Valenna's voice slid like frost down his spine.

They will push you.

Test you.

Fear you.

Good.

Let them.

Soren folded the scroll slowly.

He didn't feel fear.

Just certainty.

"They can try."

Atrius closed his eyes for a moment, the kind of breath where a man rearranged his priorities in the span between heartbeats.

"We're changing the schedule," he said. "Effective now."

Mira threw her hands up. "We had a schedule? Since when do we have a schedule?"

"Since the Houses decided to start circling him like sharks," Atrius snapped. "Feldren isn't subtle. If they're issuing written warnings, it means their heir or their envoy is already moving. And Feldren never moves alone."

Soren asked, "What now?"

Atrius turned toward the eastern training hall. "Now we train until you stop radiating enough killing instinct to make an archivist leave the building."

Mira squinted at Soren. "He looks totally normal to me."

"You're desensitized," Atrius muttered.

They moved quickly. The field around them cleared; students stepped back as though afraid the scroll itself might explode. The Feldren sigil carried that kind of weight: cold iron, silent ranks, an expectation of obedience. If Rivan Estrix was arrogance sharpened into dueling form, Feldren was discipline forged into doctrine.

Inside the eastern hall, the doors shut behind them with a heavy thud.

Atrius gestured toward the center mat. "Stand."

Soren did.

"Again," Atrius said. "Aura. Only to the threshold. I want to see if you can hold it without bleeding."

Mira perched on a railing, legs swinging restlessly. "You know, in normal circumstances, I'd say this looks like we're summoning a demon."

Atrius didn't look at her. "Given the week we've had, that wouldn't surprise me."

Soren inhaled.

Valenna pressed against his pulse. Steady this time. Let it rise slowly.

He obeyed.

The cold unfurled, controlled this time, a thin layer instead of a wave. The shadows along the walls deepened. Dust quivered on the floor. A pressure—light but undeniable—settled over the hall.

Atrius watched his hands, his shoulders, his stance.

"Better," he said. "Still too sharp at the edges. You need to soften the release."

Soren focused. Tempered. Valenna guided, like ice smoothing to polished glass.

The tension diffused.

Atrius nodded once. "Good. Now maintain it."

Soren held.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Twenty.

Mira leaned forward. "This is the part where something explodes, right? If something's going to explode, can it please not be me?"

"Quiet," Atrius said.

Soren's aura flickered, but only for a heartbeat. He forced it level again.

Valenna murmured, A little more. Pull back from the spine.

He did.

Atrius's expression shifted minutely — not approval, but recognition.

"This," Atrius said quietly, "is what will make Feldren hesitate."

The door slammed open.

All three turned at once.

A student stood in the doorway — not one of theirs, not from any House that favored noise. Her uniform was black-trimmed. Feldren colors.

Mira muttered, "Oh no. No no no. That was way too fast."

The girl stepped inside without waiting for permission. Her posture was perfect. Her eyes were sharp enough to pin a man to a wall.

"Coren Vale?" she asked.

The false name. The mask.

Soren lowered his aura but didn't hide it completely. "Yes."

She held out another parchment, smaller than the earlier one, but stamped with the same Feldren insignia.

"A message from the heir," she said.

Atrius moved to intercept it.

She shifted subtly — not refusing, but making clear that the message was not for him.

Soren stepped forward and took it.

The moment his fingers touched the paper, he felt it — weight, cold, a faint echo of Feldren discipline woven into the ink. The kind of message meant to assess the recipient as much as inform them.

He unrolled it.

One sentence.

We do not issue warnings twice.

Report to the northern terrace at dusk.

Alone.

Underneath, a signature:

Aren Feldren.

Mira whispered, "Oh that's bad."

Atrius's jaw tightened. "They're testing him."

"No," Mira said. "They're claiming him."

Valenna's presence coiled like a storm in Soren's wrist.

If you go, they will measure you.

If you do not, they will escalate.

Choose the battlefield.

Soren folded the parchment.

"I'll go."

Mira threw her hands in the air. "Of course you will! Why do I even speak?"

Atrius stepped closer. "Core . Feldren does not test with words. They test with blood, obedience, or breaking point. If you go alone…"

"I'm going alone," Soren said.

Atrius stared at him, searching for something in his face.

Then — reluctantly — he nodded.

"You have four hours," Atrius said. "We use all of them. Feldren will not accept uncertainty. You must walk into that terrace as if you chose the meeting, not as if they summoned you."

Mira hopped off the railing. "Training montage? Fantastic. Let me go get the bandages I'll definitely need later."

"Coren," Atrius said, voice low, serious. "When Aren Feldren looks at you… do not flinch. Do not bow. Do not apologize. They respect only two things: power and precision."

"That's fine," Soren said. "I have both."

Valenna whispered approval, proud, cold, sharp as steel.

Yes. Now sharpen them.

Atrius gestured to the center of the room.

"Then let's begin."

Atrius didn't waste a second.

He moved Soren onto the center mat and barked, "First form. Slow. Precision over power."

Soren lifted his sword.

Valenna slid cold guidance into his pulse. Shorter steps. Less shoulder. More wrist.

He adjusted, and the blade moved cleaner.

"Again."

Atrius watched every angle, every mistake, every breath. Soren worked through the sequence, then again, faster. Dust lifted around his boots. His aura thinned to the faint shimmer Valenna had taught him to control — visible only to those looking directly for it.

"Good," Atrius said. "Now break the form. Adapt."

Mira sat against the wall wrapping cloth around her knuckles. "Translation: he wants you to invent a new way of killing someone politely."

Atrius ignored her. "Feldren won't follow Academy patterns. They'll test how you think, not how you repeat."

Soren shifted into a stance that wasn't in any textbook — low guard, weight on the back foot, blade angled slightly downward. Atrius's eyebrow lifted.

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