Chapter 2: Pawns and Promises
Adrian slouched against the dormitory wall, the Academy's cold stone biting through his thin cloak. His bed—a creaky cot in a corner—was a far cry from the feather mattresses of his childhood, but it was better than the archive floor he'd slept on for years. The other scholarship boys were already snoring, their dreams probably filled with glory. Adrian's were haunted by a single word: Draven.
Cassian's sneer from the strategy game still lingered in his mind, like a splinter he couldn't pull out. The Draven boy wasn't just a bully—he was a reminder of everything Adrian had lost. House Draven had risen as the Valorians fell, their estates now sprawling over lands that once bore his family's crest. Coincidence? Adrian didn't believe in those.
He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion tugging at him. The scholarship got him through the gates, but staying here meant outsmarting nobles who'd rather see him scrubbing floors than sharing their air. His magic, a pathetic flicker compared to theirs, wasn't going to help. But his brain? That was a blade, and he'd sharpen it until it cut through their schemes.
Morning came too soon, the dormitory bell clanging like a hammer on his skull. Adrian dragged himself to the dining hall, where the scent of fresh bread and spiced tea made his stomach growl. He grabbed a plate, keeping his head down as nobles swept past, their cloaks flashing gold and crimson. At a corner table, he spotted a girl with a tangle of dark curls, her nose buried in a book. She looked as out of place as he felt.
"You're the Corveth kid, right?" she said without looking up. "The one who humiliated Cassian Draven."
Adrian froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Word travels fast."
She closed her book with a snap. "I'm Lira. Scholarship, like you. And trust me, Cassian's not used to losing. Watch your back."
He studied her—sharp eyes, no nonsense. "Thanks for the tip. But I'm not here to make friends with snakes."
Lira snorted. "Good luck with that. This place is a pit of them."
Before he could reply, a shadow fell over the table. Cassian stood there, flanked by two smirking lackeys. His serpent-crest ring glinted as he leaned in. "Corveth, is it? Enjoy your little victory. It won't happen again."
Adrian met his gaze, keeping his voice low. "Careful, Cassian. Overconfidence is a lousy shield."
Cassian's smile didn't waver, but his eyes hardened. "We'll see who's shielding what in the dueling yard today." He sauntered off, his cronies trailing like loyal dogs.
Lira raised an eyebrow. "You've got guts. Or a death wish."
"Neither," Adrian muttered, though his pulse was racing. The dueling yard was no game board. Magic ruled there, and his was barely a whisper.
The yard was a sprawl of packed earth, ringed by students eager for blood—or at least a good show. Professor Elara presided, her robes billowing as she called out pairs. When Adrian's name came up against Cassian's, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Lira, standing nearby, shot him a look that said, You're screwed.
Cassian stepped into the circle, his hands already sparking with blue flame. Adrian's magic could barely summon a breeze, but he'd spent years reading his father's tomes on magical theory. Power wasn't everything—precision was.
"Begin!" Elara barked.
Cassian hurled a fireball, fast and vicious. Adrian dove, the heat singeing his sleeve. The crowd laughed as he scrambled up, but he was watching Cassian's stance, the way his flames flared when he exhaled. Predictable.
Adrian reached into his pocket, fingers closing around a small glass bead—one of his makeshift tricks. He'd etched it with a rune from an old text, meant to refract light and disrupt focus. As Cassian prepped another blast, Adrian flicked the bead into the dirt. It caught the sun, flashing a blinding glare into Cassian's eyes.
Cassian flinched, his fireball veering wide. Adrian seized the moment, channeling his weak magic into a sharp gust that kicked dust into Cassian's face. The noble coughed, staggering, and Adrian tackled him to the ground, pinning his arm.
"Yield," Adrian hissed.
Cassian spat dirt but nodded, his face twisted with rage. Elara called the match, her expression unreadable. The crowd was silent, stunned by a commoner's win.
Lira caught up as Adrian limped away, his ribs aching. "That was insane. How'd you pull it off?"
"Homework," he said, flashing a tired grin. "And a cheap trick."
She laughed, but her eyes were serious. "Cassian's not done with you. Neither are his family. You know that, right?"
Adrian nodded, his thoughts drifting to the coded letter he'd read about in his father's notes—a hint that the Dravens had orchestrated the Valorians' fall. If it existed, it might be here, in the Academy's archives. Getting to it meant climbing higher, earning access to restricted halls. And that meant more duels, more risks.
As he headed to his next class, a figure blocked his path—Toren, a lanky boy with a noble's accent but a threadbare cloak. "Heard you took down Cassian," Toren said, his grin crooked. "I'm Toren Vael. My family's in the dirt, too. Want an ally?"
Adrian hesitated. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford, but Toren's eyes held the same hunger for redemption he felt. "Maybe," he said finally. "Prove you're worth it."
Toren chuckled. "Fair enough, Corveth. Let's see how long you last."
Adrian watched him go, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. The Academy was a chessboard, and he was a pawn with no margin for error. But pawns could become queens if they played smart. And Adrian intended to play very, very smart.