[***]
The buzz of student voices filled the afternoon air, conversations mixing with footsteps on stone. Kein moved through the courtyard's familiar chaos, but his attention caught on the quiet space where Celia sat alone, separated from the warmth of her classmates' laughter.
The carefully rehearsed words waited on his tongue, but something made him hesitate. Should he proceed with the calculated invitation, or acknowledge what was actually happening here?
As he walked toward her with measured steps, shoulders back and chin raised, his confidence never wavered. This was the moment to reconnect, to show her that despite everything, he still valued her skill.
A voice called out. "Celia!"
It was Vel, approaching from the opposite direction, his unstable attunement emblem visible even from this distance.
Celia's expression immediately brightened, her entire demeanor shifting as she turned toward Vel. They began talking animatedly, their hands moving with excitement. Kein could only hear fragments of their conversation.
"—I just need to sign here?" Celia's voice carried across the courtyard, filled with enthusiasm.
Nearby, Lysithea's head turned sharply at the sound, surprise flickering across her features. The enthusiasm in Celia's voice clearly wasn't what she'd expected to hear.
Kein's steps slowed, the rehearsed speech dissolving in his mind as he watched them. Their easy camaraderie was painfully familiar—a reminder of simpler days in Elnor.
They both turned their gaze to Kein as he approached, conversation pausing. Vel's face remained neutral while Celia's showed a mixture of wariness and confusion.
Kein resumed his pace and approached them, then altered his course at the last moment, walking past without acknowledgment. His attention settled on Lysithea Fairwind who stood behind them with several other noble students.
"Lady Fairwind," he said smoothly, voice carrying just enough to ensure bystanders to hear. "Would you consider joining my team for the Ternion Tournament? Your air affinity would complement our current strategy perfectly. Plus, it's important to have teammates from established houses—people who understand discretion and loyalty."
Whispers rippled through the nearby observers. An elite like Kein Atherwind approaching Lysithea Fairwind, a standard class candidate? Everyone watching understood the significance.
"Lord Atherwind," Lysithea replied with practiced grace, her copper-blonde hair catching the sunlight. "I'm honored by your consideration."
Several female elite students exchanged glances, their expressions shifting between jealousy and calculation. One girl with elaborate braids whispered something behind her hand to her companion, eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange.
Lysithea smiled, clearly pleased by the public attention. "I would be delighted to discuss strategy with you. Perhaps after afternoon classes?"
As they spoke, Lysithea's gaze shifted deliberately toward Celia, who stood watching with Vel beside her.
"An interesting choice you've made," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Though I suppose it's not surprising for someone from an orphanage to team up with an unstable student. Birds of a feather, as they say."
The crowd tensed. Celia's fingers twitched at her side, her jaw tightening visibly. Vel placed a subtle hand on her arm.
Before Celia could respond, Kein stepped forward, positioning himself slightly between the two groups.
"Save it for the tournament, Lady Fairwind," he said, his voice cool but commanding. "We nobles should demonstrate true strength instead of engaging in petty bickering. It reflects poorly on our houses."
Lysithea's smile faltered momentarily, but she quickly recovered with a small curtsy. "Of course, Lord Atherwind. How right you are."
Vel watched as Kein and Lysithea walked away, their forms perfect representations of nobility in motion. Though most wouldn't notice, Vel caught the subtle change in Kein's posture—a slight stiffness in his shoulders, a fractional increase in tension that hadn't been there before his public display.
When they disappeared around the corner, Vel turned back to Celia, whose eyes still lingered in the direction Kein had gone.
"I wasn't expecting that," Vel said quietly, breaking her concentration.
Celia blinked, refocusing on Vel. "What? Him defending me or him recruiting my nemesis?"
"Both, actually." Vel scratched his head. "Every time I think I understand Kein, he does something like this. I've stopped trying to figure out what he's planning."
"How about we find Tomas and actually practice together—you two still barely know how each other fights."
Celia nodded, her expression shifting from distracted to determined. "You're right. The tournament's not far off, and we haven't even run through basic formations yet."
They began walking toward the Academy's central building, leaving behind the whispers and stares that followed in Kein's wake.
"Do you think Kein meant what he said?" Celia asked suddenly. "About nobles demonstrating true strength?"
Vel considered this for a moment. "I think... part of him did. The Kein we knew is still in there somewhere." He paused, watching the direction Kein had gone. "But people adapt to survive. Just like we did in Elnor. Just like we're doing here."
---
Vel approached the administration office with registration form in hand, eager to finalize their tournament team, making it official. As he neared the door, raised voices from within made him pause mid-step.
"The students in my class are already assigned into perfect teams. Why did you have to come in and ruin it?" The sharp tone belonged unmistakably to Instructor Caldwen.
"From what I heard, the girl didn't even have a choice. The tournament regulations clearly state students may form teams of their choosing. I merely facilitated their request." Lyvenna's voice remained measured but firm.
Vel slowed his step and pressed himself against the wall beside the door, concealing himself behind a large ornamental vase. His heart raced as he realized they were arguing about Celia joining his team.
"If you truly cared about the students' welfare, you would deny her petition to enter your team. She has far greater chances of advancement among the regular class."
"The students know what's best for themselves," Lyvenna said. "Strange how it's not Atherwind's decision that troubles you."
"Atherwind is an elite student. How could you possibly equate him with your kind?" Caldwen's words dripped with disdain.
"My kind?!" Lyvenna's voice dropped dangerously low. "I suggest you clarify that statement, Instructor Caldwen."
Vel's grip tightened on the registration form, crinkling the parchment. The tension in the room was palpable even from his hiding spot. He'd known there might be resistance to their cross-class team, but he hadn't anticipated this level of animosity between the instructors.
Vel held his breath as the argument continued to escalate.
"You already know what I mean. The students were divided into different teaching groups for a reason. Going against tradition does not make one innovative." Caldwen's voice had taken on a patronizing tone.
"The Academy teaches collaboration and balance, why would we stop the students from exercising such lessons?" Lyvenna countered.
"You call forcing a potential student to team with weak ones 'balance'?" The venom in Caldwen's voice made Vel flinch.
"Your unstable students will drag her down, and you know what would happen to students who fall behind. Especially the instructor in charge of them."
"Need I remind you of Instructor Morivan's dismissal three years ago?" Caldwen continued, his words precise and cutting. "His 'experimental' approach resulted in the lowest tournament rankings in Academy history. The board didn't even wait until term's end to replace him."
Papers rustled inside the office.
"Your probationary period ended just last year, Lyvenna. Your position here isn't as secure as you might believe. One significant failure, especially one this public, would undo all your hard work."
"So this is just about reputation and appearance?" Lyvenna's question carried a hint of weariness beneath her defiance.
"It's about reality," The sound of knuckles rapping against wood punctuated Caldwen's words. "Your sentimentality blinds you. Not everyone is meant for greatness. Some students simply lack the proper foundation."
For the first time, Vel heard Lyvenna speak with unflinching confidence. In the usual spats between instructors, she was always the first to back down and de-escalate. But not today.
"Or perhaps some instructors lack the imagination to see beyond traditional foundations. The tournament will reveal which of us is correct."
"Until then, I think our 'discussion' ends here."
"This is far from over. I hope you are ready for the consequences."
Footsteps approached the door rapidly. Vel pressed himself flat against the wall as Caldwen stormed out, face flushed with anger, ignoring his surroundings completely as he marched down the corridor.
Vel remained frozen in place until Caldwen's footsteps faded down the corridor. His mind raced as he processed what he'd just overheard. This wasn't merely about team formations or crossing class boundaries anymore—Lyvenna's career hung in the balance.
He glanced down at the registration form in his hands, now crumpled from his tight grip. What had begun as a strategic decision to combine their talents had escalated into something far more consequential.
Vel took a deep breath and straightened his uniform before entering the office. Lyvenna stood by the window, her back to the door, shoulders tense.
"Instructor?" Vel called softly.
She turned, quickly composing her expression. "Velarian. Come in."
"I brought the registration form for our tournament team," he said, holding up the wrinkled parchment. "Though I couldn't help overhearing..."
Lyvenna's eyes narrowed slightly. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," Vel admitted. "I had no idea forming this team would put your position at risk."
Lyvenna took the form from his hands. "My career isn't your concern. Velarian"
"It is if I'm the reason you lose it," he countered. "I had no idea instructors could be dismissed for their students' performance."
Vel watched as a small, determined smile formed on Lyvenna's lips.
"There are always stakes at the Academy," she said, her voice calm but weighted. "Politics and reputation often overshadow actual learning. That's the nature of this place."
She walked to the desk, smoothing the crumpled registration form with deliberate care. Vel noticed her movements lacked their usual grace—her fingers slightly trembling as she pressed the parchment flat.
"It's a harsh world out there, Velarian," Lyvenna added, her gaze shifting to him. "And in here, everyone is constantly pushed to their limit. That's what the Academy does: it tests all of us, instructors and students alike. Failure has repercussions, more than you realize."
Vel felt a weight settling on his shoulders as he absorbed her words. His plan had been simple, almost naive in retrospect: learn just enough to grasp the intricacies of this world, stay unnoticed, gather information, and keep a low profile. His choices weren't supposed to carry this kind of impact.
But now, the fallout was undeniable. Celia's academic future, Lyvenna's precarious standing—his decision to form this team had already started rippling outward in ways he hadn't anticipated.
"So the question is do you still wish to proceed?" Lyvenna asked.
If his actions were going to affect the people around him, then he would make sure those effects were worth the risk they were all taking.
"Yes. Instructor"
Lyvenna's expression softened momentarily. "Prove that there's still hope for those who fall behind, Velarian. Give me a reason to believe redemption is possible."
The click of the door closing behind him sounded like the turning of a lock—sealing his commitment to a path that would either vindicate Lyvenna's faith or confirm her critics' doubts.
His responsibilities were stacking faster than he could process them, each new obligation pushing deeper until something threatened to overflow.