As usual, Lorien continued practicing until it was late into the night. He trained relentlessly, swinging his katana through the air in elegant yet powerful arcs, his body moving through each form with a rhythm that only came from years of repetition. The night had settled deep into the academy grounds, and the only source of light was the soft glow of the moons above, casting pale silver across the stone tiles of the training ground.
At some point, the ambient noise of distant chatter and footsteps from the dormitories had completely faded. It was the usual sign for him that everyone had gone to sleep—when even the whispers of nightly gossip and the sound of clinking time crystals had disappeared into silence.
Satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted, Lorien finally brought his routine to an end. His breathing was slightly heavy, but his face betrayed no emotion. He stopped practicing his sword forms and turned toward the exit of the training ground, rusted katana in hand. He didn't own a sheath or any form of protection for his weapon. It was old, a relic of the past, and possibly not even worth much, but it was his. So he held it by the hilt as he walked, the weight of it oddly comforting.
By the time he reached his room, the entire dormitory was as silent as a grave. The hallway lights had dimmed, and the cold air made him aware of how damp his training clothes were with sweat. He reached for the door handle, ready to step inside and collapse onto his bed, but just as he was about to enter, something unexpected happened.
He felt his feet leave the ground. His body swerved violently to the right, and he immediately knew what was about to happen. He was going to get slammed against the wall. Despite the sudden assault, Lorien's eyes showed no panic. They remained as calm and unimpressed as ever, even as he braced for impact. He had just enough time for one final thought before his back collided with the wall in a painful crunch.
'Fuck.'
"Where are your time crystals?" a deep voice asked, booming with authority and intimidation. The voice belonged to a big, bulky boy who looked about two or three years older than Lorien. He had his left hand wrapped tightly around Lorien's throat, pinning him to the wall effortlessly. His right hand was clenched into a fist, raised threateningly, hovering inches away from Lorien's face.
"I don't have them, Myro," Lorien said, his voice strained as he struggled to speak through the chokehold. "You took them from me last week."
"I did?" Myro asked, furrowing his brow with genuine confusion.
"Yes, you did," Lorien replied. "When you held me just like this and punched me in the face." To emphasize his point, Lorien used one of his free hands to tilt his face slightly, revealing a faint purple bruise on his cheek.
"Ooh," Myro grunted, finally letting go of Lorien and allowing him to collapse onto the floor. The brute gave Lorien a quick pat on the shoulder, almost like a friend would. "Apologies then," he said casually, as if he hadn't just nearly strangled someone. "I don't have a problem with you, Lorien, but I need them more than you do."
"Of course you do," Lorien muttered once Myro had walked away. He coughed slightly, rubbing his neck before reaching into his pocket and pulling out two shiny crystals. They shimmered faintly in the hallway light. "Of course you do," he repeated to himself bitterly.
Unbeknownst to him, a short distance away, someone else had witnessed the entire scene. Hidden just behind the corner of a hallway pillar, the blonde-haired girl from the training ground watched with mild amusement. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she turned away.
"Interesting," she muttered under her breath.
---
The next day arrived quicker than expected. Lorien's alarm buzzed faintly at six in the morning, and he groggily pulled himself out of bed. After a few light stretches and some morning exercises, he went into the bathroom, took a cold shower to shake off the lingering exhaustion, and then put on his standard-issue school uniform. It fit well enough but wasn't exactly the most comfortable piece of clothing.
He stared at the books that were scattered across his desk, their covers slightly worn and pages bent at the corners. With a sigh, he muttered under his breath.
'Ah shit. Here we go again.'
He lazily gathered his books, shoving them into his bag with little care before slinging it over his shoulder. His walk toward the classroom was slow and uneventful, the corridors still empty at this early hour. But when he opened the door to his classroom and saw that it was empty, he smiled to himself.
He liked this. The ten minutes of quiet he enjoyed every morning before everyone else arrived was something he looked forward to. It was his peace, his sanctuary.
He walked to the back of the classroom and slumped into his usual seat. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of serenity. The stillness, the quiet... it was perfect. It was a precious slice of calm in the chaos of the academy.
That peace, however, lasted a grand total of ten seconds.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
'No one's ever that earl—damn it!'
Walking into the classroom was the one person he hadn't wanted to see. The blonde-haired girl from the previous day—the same one who had tried to murder him under the guise of "training"—entered the room with quiet confidence. She locked eyes with Lorien, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Lorien quickly looked away.
'I was right. She's new,' he thought with mild annoyance. 'No one else comes this early to class.'
Much to Lorien's dismay, the girl took the only available seat next to him. She didn't hesitate. It was clear she wanted to talk. Unfortunately.
"Hi. I'm Nymera," she said, extending her hand toward him.
Lorien stared at her hand for a few seconds, his face blank. He didn't want to shake it. Every instinct in him told him not to. But he did it anyway—reluctantly. Teenage demigods were notoriously petty. A simple refusal to shake hands could spiral into a full-blown scandal. And in a place where people already wanted him gone, he didn't want to give anyone more ammunition.
"I'm Lorien... talentless, gift-less w—"
Nymera interrupted him before he could finish.
"Alright, I'm sorry for calling you a gift-less, talentless waste of space," she said, surprisingly sincere. "I didn't mean to be rude. I was just trying to confirm your identity."
"Apology accepted," Lorien said after a beat. She looked like she meant it, and honestly, he didn't mind what she had said. It wasn't like everyone else didn't say it too. The only difference was that they said it behind his back, while she had said it to his face.
"So, back to business," Nymera said, folding her arms confidently. "I want to practice with you."
"Why?" Lorien asked, puzzled. He didn't understand her obsession with training alongside him. There had to be countless powerful and well-known demigods who would be more than happy to practice with a girl like her—strong, confident, attractive.
"Because you're better than me," Nymera said simply. "And I want to get as good as you."
"That's a dumb reason," Lorien muttered under his breath. "Very dumb, in fact."
"So you'll think about it?"
"I already have," Lorien replied. "And I won't."
"I saw you with the big guy last night," Nymera said, her voice calm and deliberate. "If I get rid of him, will you reconsider?"
Lorien stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. "Stay out of my business and no—"
"I guess I'll just have to tell him that you lied to him then," Nymera interrupted, clicking her tongue. "He's quite stupid, but I think he'll be angry all the same when I tell him you were hiding crystals from him."
Lorien let out a long groan. "Alright then," he said, defeated. "I'll practice with you if you get rid of him."
Nymera smiled and stretched out her hand for another handshake. "Nice doing business with you."