[Mature warning ⚠️ this particular chapter contains lemon]
As the cool night breeze swept over the training field, the two groups met up one final time under the soft glow of floodlights. Victor spotted Aryeh and raised his hand. "There he is!" he called out. Aryeh, flanked by Logan and Arella, smiled as they walked over. The teams huddled close, laughter and exhausted banter filling the air.
"Y'all killed it today," Logan said, giving Victor a fist bump. "Formation looked tight."
"Likewise," Arella added, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You guys made it look like an art piece."
Victor chuckled. "Let's hope the brass feels the same way tomorrow. If not, well… we gave it hell."
As everyone began saying their goodbyes, Ayanna went around, giving each person a warm hug. She squeezed Arella gently, smiled at Logan, and gave Victor a playful shoulder punch.
Then she turned to Aryeh.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and her usual sass was replaced by something quieter—soft, genuine. She stepped in and gave him a firm, lingering hug. As her arms wrapped around him, Aryeh felt the slip of something into the pocket of his jacket. No one else noticed, and Ayanna pulled away with a casual smirk like nothing had happened.
"Catch y'all tomorrow," she said, turning with the others and walking away into the night, her hair catching the light as it swayed.
Aryeh stood there for a second, processing everything. Once he was back in his dorm room and Logan had fallen asleep in the bunk below, he pulled out the note and unfolded it carefully.
It was written in a playful, elegant script:
"Call me before I leave tomorrow night ;)
—Ayanna 💋"
Her phone number was scribbled neatly beneath, along with a small kiss mark pressed in dark red lipstick.
Aryeh stared at it in stunned silence.
No way, he thought. She's really into me?
He replayed the moments in his mind—how she always sat next to him, the way she laughed a little harder at his jokes, how her eyes lingered on him a bit longer than the others.
He grinned.
She fine as hell too…
But now he was stuck in his head. He didn't want to come off too eager… but ignoring her felt dumb. There was only a narrow window before she left for District 12. If he waited too long, he might miss his shot.
After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling and turning the note over in his hands, he made a decision.
I'll call her tomorrow night, just before curfew. Not too early, not too late.
He folded the note carefully and tucked it under his pillow, a smile still creeping on his face.
For the first time in weeks, Aryeh fell asleep with a feeling he hadn't known in awhile —hope.
The morning of the Festival of Unity dawned like a painting—golden skies, clouds trimmed in peach and rose. Across all thirty districts, from the icy coasts of former Canada to the sun-scorched flats of old Baja, millions tuned in. Highways leading to District 2 were packed for miles with cars, mag-trams, and airbikes. News drones soared overhead, broadcasting the carnival atmosphere to the world: face paint, banners, music, and flags from every region flapping in the breeze.
But in the heart of it all, towering above the celebration grounds, stood the grand Crowntrack Stadium, a magnificent architectural wonder capable of seating over 200,000.
On its fourth level sat the Clubhouse—a fortress-like structure shielded behind bulletproof glass, electromagnetic shields, and dozens of armed Royal Guards. It could hold 850 people, but only the most powerful ever walked its halls.
There, surrounded by sweeping balcony views, were the monarch and his immense royal family—over 60 nobles dressed in regal attire and ceremonial armor. The king himself, Alaric II, sat on a high marble-backed throne at the center of the room. His presence was commanding, his beard braided and streaked with gray, wearing a red cloak trimmed in black jaguar fur.
His court dined on the most exquisite feast in the hemisphere—pan-seared gator, lion ribs, ostrich tartare. The animals were flown in from Europia, slaughtered on-site by precision butchers, then crafted into meals by Michelin-starred chefs from Marseille, Madrid, and New Berlin. Servers in platinum uniforms moved in complete silence, gliding like shadows.
Aryeh sat in the general military section of the stadium—front row, near the east wing, close enough to see the Clubhouse balconies. His dress blues were sharp, his boots polished. Though he was only there to join the grand march later, being seated this close was a privilege.
He glanced up at the Clubhouse frequently, watching the families mingling behind the tinted windows. He'd seen them a hundred times on the tabloids and government broadcasts—Duke Aurelian, Lady Bronwyn, the twins of House Ashmere. But one particular face seized his attention.
Lilith.
She stood at the balcony's edge beside another girl her age, one with delicate features, porcelain skin, and flowing pink hair that shimmered in the light. The girl seemed shy, staying close to Lilith as if tethered by emotion.
Aryeh's eyes narrowed slightly.
Lilith... royalty?
He blinked, thinking back to her behavior, her speech, her nervousness at times. It all made sense now—the way she carried herself like some queen among peasants. Her family was not only rich they were royalty by virtue of marrying into the royal family.
He didn't stare too long. Just enough to memorize the image: the wind teasing her absurdly long black hair, her hands resting gently on the marble railing, her eyes scanning the crowd below. She hadn't noticed him.
She really was different.
The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium. The sky lit up with a dozen synchronized drones that began a grand light show, casting illusions of Britannia's founding, its early conquests, and the divine hand of "Providence" that guided its fate.
Dozens of units marched in perfect sync across the center track, showcasing the diversity of the districts. Combat simulations, aerial mechs, and hybrid war-beasts were displayed in a choreographed dance of fire, lightning, and discipline.
Phase 1: Helicarrier Arrival
A helicarrier—a towering beast of a vessel—descended with roaring engines, filling the sky with wind and artificial clouds. It hovered above the main deck as the students prepared to launch their showcase.
A deep voice over the comms counted them in.
"Synchronize. Formation A-117. Launch sequence in T-minus 10 seconds."
Phase 2: Senior Class Mecha Launch
The senior class mecha pilots, clad in neural-link suits, initiated launch from the helicarrier.
Sleek, ten-meter tall combat mechs propelled upward with jets roaring, forming a tight V-formation in the sky. The mechs lit up in brilliant hues—reds, blues, greens, and silvers—each student operating a different class of war machine: tank, scout, or artillery.
As they flew upward in perfect unison, the crowd gasped from the observation platform. One of the instructors barked,
"This is what excellence looks like!"
Phase 3: Junior Class Fighter Squadron
Seconds later, fighter jets blasted off from the deck, each piloted by juniors from Aeronautica Prime.
The jets twisted and curved in elaborate spirals and synchronized barrel rolls. Twin vapor trails painted perfect patterns in the air—some even forming Arcane's emblem, others looping into Aeronautica's falcon sigil.
From below, their display looked like a high-tech ballet in the clouds.
Phase 4: Sophomore Power Armor Display
Next, the sophomores—including Victor—stepped forward.
They stood in shining power armor, each suit customized and loaded with advanced weaponry. As they took flight on short-range boosters, they hovered in perfect alignment with a humming whine of kinetic cores and fusion cells igniting.
Victor was among them, his polished obsidian-colored armor gleaming under the stadium lights, his right arm momentarily shifting into its Gatling mode before transforming back with a snap.
They executed aerial turns, hover holds, and team maneuvers while weapons systems lit up in dazzling formations. Every motion was practiced, precise, and deadly.
Phase 5: Freshman Hoverboard Squadron
Then came Ayanne and the other freshmen, outfitted in sleek battle suits with reinforced chest plates and built-in HUD visors. Each rode hoverboards equipped with gyroscopic stabilizers and thruster fins.
They flew into the air like a swarm of wasps, forming concentric circles and synchronized waves. Several of the boards released smoke trails in bright neon colors—green for Arcane Academy, blue for Aeronautica Prime.
Ayanne led a small squad through a tight corkscrew spiral, her face calm and focused as she balanced on the board with perfect stability. Juno flew behind her, flipping her hoverboard upside-down in mid-flight before twisting back up in time to rejoin the group.
Phase 6: Arcane Academy's Metahuman Exhibition
Back on the helicarrier deck, the metahuman display team from Arcane Academy took the stage. Magical students clad in ceremonial cloaks stood beside elemental warriors wearing specialized bodysuits.
In perfect coordination, flames danced in midair while ice spears formed and shattered in rhythmic bursts. Wind blades sliced into the sky, creating echoing howls that harmonized with sonic bursts from magically-imbued horns.
One group summoned a glimmering dome of layered sigils while others shot waves of fire, lightning, and shadow into the air above the hovering freshmen—who dipped under them gracefully.
Phase 7: Grand Finale – Full March and Volley Display
Aryeh watched with admiration. Everything was executed with military precision, just as rehearsed.
Then came the call.
He stood, exhaled slowly, and approached the teleportation gate stationed just beside the west field tunnel. A cold beam of blue light scanned him, then a hum—
FLASH.
He vanished.
Aryeh reappeared aboard the hovering Helicarrier Ares, already in formation with over two hundred elite cadets from across Britannia. They stood along the edge of the flight deck, overlooking the stadium below.
This was it. The final act.As the magical effects faded, all students landed back on the field.
With military drums beating through the speakers, the entire cohort began a choreographed march. Their boots hit the pavement in perfect rhythm as overhead drones broadcast their formation live on the ArcNet.
Simultaneously, both schools performed a volley gunfire sequence. Non-lethal rounds crackled into the air with perfect spacing and timing, each team alternating salvos like dueling orchestras of destruction.
As music blared across the clouds, they jumped—gravitational boots slowing their descent in perfect waves of motion. They landed one after another in sequence, trails of golden sparks behind them, forming the Crest of the Kingdom in perfect alignment on the stadium floor.
Cheers erupted.
The king stood, clapping slowly. The nobles joined him in applause. Even from the ground, Aryeh could hear the distant roar from the Clubhouse balcony.
He caught a final glimpse of Lilith—this time, she was watching. Eyes wide, stunned, as if realizing something about him she hadn't seen before. Her pink-haired friend whispered something, and Lilith nodded absently, her gaze still on Aryeh.
He didn't smile. He didn't wave.
He just held her gaze, eyes sharp beneath the visor of his helmet, then turned back into formation—perfect and proud.
The performance had ended.
But something had begun.
The king stepped forward, his long purple robe trailing behind him as the hush of the crowd fell over the stadium. From the fourth floor balcony of the Clubhouse, flanked by his royal guard and with his grandchildren standing proudly behind him, his voice echoed through the arena, carried by high-frequency projection spells and broadcast drones hovering above.
"Congratulations to both schools," he began, his voice powerful and composed. "Your performance was nothing short of exemplary. Today, you showed us a glimpse—just a fraction—of the might of Britannia's youth. The discipline. The precision. The loyalty. This is what it means to be part of a kingdom that is destined to reign for generations."
The stadium erupted into cheers and applause. Aryeh watched from his seat in the stands, silently absorbing the moment. Soldiers in silver armor stood at every exit, their visors gleaming under the artificial lights. Floating cameras zoomed in on the royal family, the king's stern face plastered across massive screens all around the arena.
The king lifted a hand and the crowd calmed.
"I also want to thank the people," he said, turning his attention to the thousands packed into the stadium and the millions watching at home. "Your presence here today proves once again that Britannia is not simply ruled from the top—it is supported by the strength and devotion of the masses. You have honored my grandson with your presence."
Polite applause followed.
"Finally," the king said, placing his hands on the golden railing, "a personal thank you to the A.R.G.A.S. Corporation and to the O'Leary family, heirs to its legacy. Without your relentless efforts, this kingdom wouldn't be what it is today—secure, stable, and dominant in every known metric. You are the arms that uphold the crown."
The crowd gave a respectful, almost militaristic applause as the cameras turned to the O'Leary family seated a few rows to the king's left in the Clubhouse. They stood in unison.
First was Mr. O'Leary, a heavyset older gentleman with a thick, curled mustache, a cigar clenched between his teeth, and suspenders that pulled at his finely tailored, old-money vest. He looked like a 19th-century tycoon, the kind who bought and sold nations like properties on a board. He gave the king a deep nod and approached with confidence, shaking the king's hand firmly.
His wife, a statuesque woman with silver-blonde hair in a bun and gloved hands, stepped forward next and offered the king a kiss on the cheek in traditional upper-class formality.
Then came Richard, the eldest son—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cold calculating look in his eyes. And finally, Damian, a freshman at Arcane Academy, wearing his school uniform with a crisp white cloak draped over one shoulder. He waved politely at the crowd, and Aryeh caught him scanning the area with the faintest sneer—until his eyes briefly landed on Logan in the crowd below.
Logan didn't wave back.
When the ceremony concluded, drones backed off and orchestral music swelled. The royal family and V.I.Ps exited the Clubhouse floor by floor while the commoners were escorted out of the stadium. The day faded into early evening.
Later that night, Victor, Ayanna, Terrance, and Chika linked up with Aryeh, Logan, and Arella in downtown New Manhattan, where the city lights bathed the streets in holographic blues and golds. The festival energy still buzzed through the streets—floating vendors sold deep-fried skewers, drones blasted confetti, and revelers danced along musical projections that bounced from building to building.
The group slipped into a sleek hookah lounge nestled on the fifth floor of a skyscraper plaza. The interior was dimly lit, with velvet cushions, glowing smoke pillars, and music from an old jazz-meets-trap fusion playlist humming in the background.
They all sat in a large U-shaped couch, hookah hoses passed between them. Victor ordered mint and pineapple, while Chika convinced them to try a limited "fire crystal mango" flavor that turned the smoke a luminous orange.
Stories flew fast.
"Man," Terrance said between puffs, "they made us run five miles before breakfast every Monday. Rain, snow, didn't matter."
"Please," Arella snorted. "Arcane had us doing psychic simulations at 4 a.m. in hyperbaric chambers. One girl had a mental breakdown and thought she was her own grandmother for a week."
Everyone cracked up.
Logan chimed in with a dry, "Sounds relaxing."
They laughed harder.
Ayanna leaned in and told a hilarious story about Chika getting caught sneaking a baby chicken egg into their dorm room. Victor confessed to hacking the school bell system to give himself longer lunches. Aryeh mostly listened, amused but content, quietly watching the group dynamic and enjoying the rare moment of peace.
At some point, Ayanna glanced at him and smiled—not in a flirtatious way, just warmly—and Aryeh thought again about that note she'd slipped into his pocket. He hadn't called yet. He would. Sunday night. He just needed to figure out what he was going to say.
As midnight rolled around, the group stood outside the lounge, saying their goodbyes. It felt strange to think they might not all be in the same place again for a while. District 12, Arcane Academy, Omsworth—everyone had a different direction.
They hugged and dapped each other up one by one.
Victor clapped Aryeh on the back and said, "Next time we link up, we're throwin' down in the Crucible. Get ready."
Aryeh smirked. "Just don't cry when I beat you."
"Bet."
And with that, they all headed their separate ways into the neon-soaked city night.
The digital clock on Aryeh's nightstand read 14:04 (2:04 a.m.), but sleep still hadn't claimed him.
Aryeh sat on the edge of his bed, his dreadlocks tangled between his fingers as he stared at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The faint glow of his phone illuminated the room just enough to make out the digits scrawled across it. Ayanne's number. His heart pounded in his chest, the memory of her soft body pressed against his earlier that day still lingering in his mind.
He layed on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling of his dorm room, the night's shadows dancing from the moonlight beyond the blinds.
His thoughts spun in circles—Ayanne kept drifting back into focus.
She'd felt distant at the hookah lounge. Quiet. Reserved. Almost like she wasn't sure whether to say goodbye or pretend nothing had happened between them. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was reading too much into her silence. Or maybe… she had already moved on.
He kicked the thought around, told himself to just sleep and forget it.
But he cracked.
Aryeh reached for his phone and typed:
"Hey… are you still up?"
Almost instantly, the dots appeared.
"I didn't think you'd text. I figured you threw the note away."
Aryeh stared at her message for a long second, a slow grin creeping across his lips. His thumbs moved fast:
"I didn't throw it away. I've been thinking about you all night. Can I see you before you leave?"
A pause. Then another message popped up.
"Dorm 4C. Hurry before I change my mind. 😊"
He didn't waste another second. Throwing on a tank top and athletic shorts, Aryeh slipped out of his dorm quietly and made his way through the cool, silent halls of the student complex. The air outside was still and humid, humming faintly with the buzz of distant city lights and late-night hover traffic.
When he knocked, the door opened after a moment. When it opened, his breath caught in his throat.
Ayanne stood, wearing nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties, Her long black hair cascaded down her back, streaks of red catching the glow like fire. Her perky breasts seemed to defy gravity, and her hips curved into a full, round ass that made his mouth water. She was breathtaking—her entire body a canvas of art. Dark, sprawling tattoos curled around her collarbone, across her hips, down her arms, back, breast, calfs and thighs. Symbols, flowers, flames, and wings—each mark told a story, her body a canvas of intricate tattoos that seemed to shimmer under the dim light. and Aryeh could hardly breathe.
Ayanne leaned against the doorframe, her red eyes locking onto his with a heat that sent shivers down his spine. "I'm glad you showed up," she purred, her voice dripping with something between mischief and desire.
Before he could respond, she stepped forward, her arms sliding around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that made his head spin. Her lips were soft yet demanding, her tongue flicking against his in a way that left him craving more. He groaned into her mouth, his hands instinctively gripping her hips, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips.
"You're so freaking hot," she gasped between kisses, her nails lightly scraping the back of his neck.
Aryeh didn't waste time. He trailed his lips down her neck, nipping lightly at her nipples before moving lower, tracing the edge of one of her tattoos with his tongue. She shuddered in his arms, a soft moan escaping her lips as she arched into him.
"God, Aryeh," she breathed, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. He pulled it off in one swift motion, revealing his muscular chest and dark, flawless skin. Ayanne's eyes raked over him hungrily before she pushed him back toward the bed, her fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants.
They stumbled onto the mattress, their hands feverishly tearing at each other's clothes until nothing remained but bare skin and raw desire. Ayanne straddled him, her thighs framing his hips as she leaned down to devour his mouth once more. Her hands roamed over his chest, tracing every muscle before moving lower, wrapping around his throbbing length.
He hissed at the contact, his hips bucking involuntarily as she began to stroke him, her touch firm and sure. "Fuck, Ayanne," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips tighter,
Instead of answering, she smirked and lowered her head, her lips wrapping around him in one fluid motion. The warmth of her mouth was electrifying, her tongue swirling around the tip in a way that made his toes curl. She took him deeper, her hand working in tandem with her mouth until he was gripping the sheets for dear life.
"You taste so good," she murmured against him, looking up through her lashes with a sultry grin before diving back down.
When Aryeh felt like he couldn't take anymore, he gently pulled her up, flipping their positions so she was beneath him. He kissed her deeply as he positioned himself at her entrance, savoring the way her body trembled beneath him.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice rough with need.
She nodded, her eyes dark with lust. "Please."
He pushed into her slowly, savoring the way her tight walls enveloped him. Ayanne gasped, her nails digging into his back as she arched to meet him. He moved with a rhythm that was both tender and urgent, each thrust driving them closer to the edge.
"You feel amazing," he murmured against her ear, his breath hot on her skin as he quickened his pace.
Her moans grew louder, filling the room as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder," she begged, her voice trembling with pleasure.
He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, each one eliciting a gasp or cry from her lips. Her nails left marks on his back as she clung to him, her body writhing beneath his. Aryeh's hands caressed her boob with one hand while licking and kissing the nipple of the other, eventually he moved on to her lips and kissed her.
Ayanne's lips curved into a wicked smile as she shifted her weight, sliding off Aryeh just enough to position herself over him. Her hands pressed firmly against his chest, her nails lightly scraping his skin as she straddled his hips. Aryeh's breath hitched as she leaned forward, her perky breasts swaying tantalizingly close to his face. She smirked, her eyes locking with his, burning with a hunger that matched his own.
"My turn," she purred, her voice dripping with confidence and mischief.
Her hips lowered slowly, teasingly, as she pressed herself against his throbbing length. Aryeh groaned, his hands instinctively gripping her thighs as she began to move. She started with a deliberate slowness, rolling her hips in a way that made every nerve in his body tingle. The sensation was electric, her warmth enveloping him as she took control.
"Fuck," Aryeh hissed, his head falling back against the pillow as she picked up the pace. Her movements were rhythmic, each rise and fall sending waves of pleasure through him. Her breasts bounced with every motion, and she threw her head back, her long black and red hair cascading down her back. The red streaks seemed to glow in the dim light, adding to her otherworldly allure.
"You like this?" Ayanne teased, her voice breathy as she ground down on him harder. Her hands roamed over her own body, tracing the intricate tattoos that adorned her skin. She pinched one of her nipples, letting out a soft moan that only fueled Aryeh's desire. Unable to resist, he reached up, his hands cupping her breasts as he thumbed her sensitive peaks.
She gasped, her hips stuttering for a moment before she resumed her rhythm with even more determination. "You feel so good inside me," she whispered, her voice trembling with pleasure. Her eyes locked onto his again, and there was something raw and primal in her gaze that made Aryeh's stomach tighten.
Her pace quickened, her body moving in perfect harmony with his. Each thrust was met with a gasp or a moan, the sound of their bodies coming together filling the room. Aryeh's grip on her thighs tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he tried to hold on. But Ayanne was relentless, her hips moving with a confidence that left him completely at her mercy.
She leaned forward again, her hands bracing against his chest as she rode him harder, faster. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and her eyelids fluttered shut as pleasure overtook her. Aryeh could feel her walls tightening around him, and he knew she was close. He thrust upward, meeting her halfway, and the sudden change in angle made her cry out.
"Yes! Right there!" she screamed, her body trembling as she approached the edge. Aryeh could feel his own climax building, the pressure coiling low in his stomach. He fought to hold on, wanting to make this moment last forever, but Ayanne's movements were too much.
With one final, shuddering thrust, she came undone, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her nails dug into his chest, leaving little half-moon marks as she clung to him. Aryeh couldn't hold back any longer; he spilled into her with a guttural groan, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he followed her over the edge.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies still connected as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax. Ayanne collapsed onto his chest, her breath hot against his skin as she struggled to catch her breath. Aryeh wrapped his arms around her, his hands tracing lazy patterns across the tattoos on her back.
They lay there in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Ayanne finally lifted her head, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked down at him. She traced a finger along the muscles on his chest, a lazy smile playing on her lips.
"Round two?" she asked
Hours passed in a quiet haze.
Aryeh lay with her in bed afterward, her bare back pressed against his chest as his hand rested gently on her stomach. Her heartbeat was steady. The window was still cracked open, letting in the early scent of morning dew.
She broke the silence.
"I hope you do big things, Aryeh."
He tightened his arm around her. "I'm gonna miss you. Hopefully we'll see each other again soon." He responded
She turned her head and kissed him—soft, slow, final.
Aryeh finally pulled his clothes on and slipped out into the quiet corridor, she stood by the door and whispered, "good luck aryeh."
Back in his dorm, the adrenaline had finally faded. Aryeh lay in bed staring at the ceiling again—but this time his heart was full. A buzz from his phone lit up the darkness.
" I have your sweatshirt, I'm gonna keep it Just so I always have something to remind me of you. ❤️"
Aryeh smiled, typed out a reply:
"its all yours, i can't wait to see you again, good luck out there."
And with that, he finally let sleep take him.
But not for long Logan was already up by the time the first rays of morning light crept through the blinds of their dorm window. The room was quiet, but the faint low hum of turbines outside made them pause, peering through the narrow slats to catch a glimpse of the helicarrier on the launch pad.
With a thunderous whooomph, the engines ignited, sending ripples through the skies above Arcane Academy. The helicarrier, a sleek behemoth of chrome and black plating, hovered for a moment above the distant trees, then began to ascend. Blue sigils lit up beneath its undercarriage, glowing brighter and brighter until—FWASH!—a shimmering vortex ripped open in the clouds. The ship tilted upward and vanished into the dimensional rift with a final pulse of light, leaving only silence in its wake.
Logan folded his arms, his usually animated face solemn for once. "I'm gonna miss that guy," he muttered, eyes still on the sky.
Aryeh glanced at him. "Victor?"
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "He the big brother i never had. Taught me how to fight, how to take a punch—and how not to cry when you get hit by someone twice your size." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Now he's gone. Back to District 12 like none of this ever happened."
Aryeh clapped a hand on Logan's shoulder. "He'll be back. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week—but people like Victor always show up when you need them most."
The two of them dressed and headed down to the mess hall for breakfast, boots echoing in the clean marble corridors of the Arcane Academy dormitories. Students were milling about, some half-awake and mumbling, others already arguing about magical theory or last night's combat simulations.
The scent of fresh bread, fried eggs, and strong coffee filled the air as they entered the large, vaulted lunchroom—sunlight spilling in through the glass dome ceiling.
Arella was already at their usual table in the corner near the wide windows, sipping tea like a queen in exile. Her violet eyes sparkled when she saw them.
"Morning, boys," she said casually.
Aryeh gave her a nod, tray in hand, and Logan flopped down next to her, grabbing a muffin on his way down.
Arella set her cup down and tilted her head, studying Aryeh carefully. He was smiling—genuinely smiling—his shoulders more relaxed than usual, his face lit up like someone who'd just walked out of a dream.
A slow, knowing grin spread across her lips.
"Oh my God…" she whispered, eyes narrowing. "You screwed her, didn't you?"
Aryeh froze mid-sip of his juice, coughing as he nearly inhaled it. His dark skin flushed a shade darker.
"Wait, what!?" he spuddered.
Logan's eyes bulged. "You screwed someone?" he practically shouted, pointing at Aryeh like he'd just caught a unicorn.
"Obviously," Arella said with a smug smirk. "It was Ayanne. You two were practically radiating off each other the whole time. I'm an empath, remember? It was written all over your faces."
Aryeh rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his eyes, lips twitching with guilt and embarrassment. "...Yeah. It's true."
"What?" Logan shouted, accidentally dropping his muffin. "How the hell did I miss this!? When? Where!?"
Aryeh just groaned and covered his face with both hands. "Can we not do this right now?"
Logan leaned back in his seat with a laugh. "Wow. You really are the man. My boy Aryeh! Damn!"
"Was it really that obvious?" Aryeh asked Arella through his fingers.
"Oh my God, totally obvious," Arella replied. "I knew the second you two shook hands. It was like watching two wolves sniff each other out. Plus…" she smirked and leaned closer, whispering, "I saw her slip that note into your pocket."
Logan nearly choked on his tea. "SHE DID WHAT?!"
Aryeh dropped his forehead to the table with a thud, groaning in shame.
"I hate you, Arella."
She and Logan burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as Aryeh sat there like a man on trial.
Their moment of hilarity was suddenly cut short as the academy's PA system buzzed to life with a loud beep.
"Attention all first-years. Freshman Hell Week begins today. We hope you're well-rested. Good luck—you'll need it."
The message ended with a dark chuckle from the announcer, followed by silence.
The three friends looked at each other, their smiles fading in an instant.
Logan blinked. "Hell Week?"
Arella paled. "They actually do that here?"
Aryeh sat up, eyes wide. "Please tell me that was a joke…" The lack of sleep was catching up to him.
Across the room, dozens of other freshmen had gone quiet. Some looked confused. Others looked terrified.
Arella looked between them and whispered, "We're so freaking screwed…"