The morning air outside the duelling arena had that sharp, clean bite that made everything feel a little too crisp, like the world had decided to be awake whether you were ready or not, and yet Soren didn't mind it.
He simply breathed it in, slow and even, as if the cold could rinse the last of sleep from his bones.
He sat on one of the benches lining the outside of the arena, bag settled by his boots, posture relaxed enough that, if someone didn't know him, they might have assumed he was waiting for a lecture rather than a duel, elbows resting loosely on his thighs, hands calm, not fidgeting, not picking at his sleeves, not doing any of the little nervous habits he'd had when he first arrived here.
It was strange, in a way.
A month ago he would have been chewing through his own thoughts, imagining a dozen ways things could go wrong, his mind sprinting ahead of him until it tripped, but now there was a blank, quiet steadiness, like his brain had learnt that panic was expensive, and that you couldn't pay for it twice.
Even just the night before there had been anxiety, but now?
Nothing.
He yawned anyway, jaw cracking, eyes watering, more from lack of sleep than stress, and leaned his head back against the bench for a moment, letting his shoulders drop.
He had gone to bed late, but not because he had been pacing, rather because sleep still came awkwardly when his body felt "ready" and his mind didn't, and the leftover buzz of magic practice lingered behind his eyes like a faint aftertaste.
Even so, when he thought about today the idea didn't tighten his stomach the way it should have, it just… landed, simple and factual.
A mock duel.
A public one, yes, and tied to a quest window with an irritating penalty, but still, a duel with rules, healers nearby, professors watching, an arena built for this exact purpose, it was not the forest, it was not mud and torches and a timer bleeding down while something laughed at him.
If anything, the academy's careful structure made him feel almost… insultingly safe.
And underneath that, quiet but present, there was something else too, something that had nothing to do with fear.
Curiosity.
A small, stubborn interest in seeing what he could do now, in testing whether the steadiness he had drilled into his hands and breath would hold when someone was actually trying to knock him over, in finding out what his new skill felt like in motion rather than in practice, and in watching, later, a scene he had memorised a hundred times on a screen play out with real light and real voices.
Footsteps came down the stairs, light and confident, and Soren didn't bother turning his head because he already knew the rhythm.
"Did our little hedgehog not get enough sleep?"
Felix slid into his field of view with a grin that looked permanently attached to him, hair perfect, uniform immaculate, not a crease in sight, like he had stepped out of a painting instead of out of a dorm bed.
Soren stared at him for a second, expression flat, then let his eyes fall shut in a slow blink that was more annoyance that exhaustion.
"Ugh… just shut it," he muttered, voice rough with sleep rather than nerves, "it's too early for you to be talking."
Felix's smile widened, delighted rather than offended.
"It's never too early," he said cheerfully, dropping onto the bench beside him with casual ease, shoulder brushing Soren's in passing, "and wow, you look like shit, did you even sleep?"
"Only a bit, but thanks so much."
Felix let out an exaggerated sigh, as if he were witnessing a tragedy.
"So you decided to mess around the night before a test? And here I thought I was the bad one."
Soren opened one eye and gave him a look that promised violence.
Felix just grinned back, entirely unrepentant.
Soren didn't respond, partly because it wasn't worth it, and partly because if he did respond he might actually just curse the guy out.
Instead, he rolled his shoulders once, sat up, and looked around the arena bleachers, where students were gathering in loose clusters, nobles speaking in soft, precise voices, commoners sitting straighter than they needed to, everyone wearing a version of vague expectation on their face.
The academy had turned even mock duels into a spectacle, the air full of polite excitement, restrained competition, and the faint metallic edge of pride.
Felix followed his gaze, clicked his tongue lightly, then looked back at Soren with a bright, almost conversational expression.
"Alright," he said, as if he were about to ask what Soren wanted for lunch, "so who're your opponents?"
Soren paused.
It was such an obvious question that Soren felt momentarily stumped that he hadn't thought to check until now.
"Ah, right," he said, tone mild. "I should probably check that."
He crouched, pulled his bag closer, rummaged through it until his fingers found the crumpled sheet, then he unfolded it on his thigh, smoothing it down with the heel of his hand, eyes scanning quickly.
"Arcane Studies," he read, voice neutral at first, "Rank 89, Doron Inenklees, and Rank 83, Eugene… just Eugene, apparently."
Felix made a soft, amused sound.
Soren ignored him and kept reading, because the last line had already pulled his attention like a hook.
"And for Martial Studies…"
He paused, eyebrows drawing together, and for the first time that morning something sharp flickered in his chest, not full anxiety, but a sudden, instinctive question mark that made him reread the line just to be sure. "Rank 83, Yuli Enron."
Felix's eyebrows lifted.
"Huh? Really?"
Soren stared at the paper like it might decide to apologise and change itself if he glared hard enough.
"Yeah."
A small tension gathered under his ribs, the memory of academy matchmaking patterns sliding into place, the way it was meant to go, lower, similar, higher, the way Arcane Studies usually got a lower-ranked Martial opponent because magicians were inherently worse at one-on-one combat unless they were monsters.
This wasn't kind.
It felt almost pointed.
And for a heartbeat, the old reflex tried to rise, that tight, spiralling urge to map out every possible failure, to imagine the worst and live in it before it happened, but it didn't catch, it fizzled out before it could get its claws in.
Soren's expression stayed composed, and even he couldn't fully tell whether that was because he had grown, or because his brain had decided, without consulting him, that it simply wasn't going to do that right now.
Felix leaned over and plucked the paper out of his hand with zero warning.
"Wait, let me see."
"Hey—"
Felix had already unfolded it properly, eyes scanning, then he let out a low whistle, amusement fading into something sharper.
"Soren,aren't you ranked 96?" he asked, tone still light but now edged.
"Yeah, I don't know why they've got me fighting people over ten ranks higher."
Felix tapped the paper with one finger, then pointed at the last name as if it were incriminating evidence.
"It's not even just 'over ten', look," he said, "your last duel is against Rank 83 of Martial Studies, that's… kind of fucked for a mage."
Soren nodded once, because that was exactly what his brain had tried to latch onto, and yet, as Felix said it out loud, the tension that should have tightened in Soren's chest… didn't rise.
Instead, it faded further, almost imperceptibly, the way a knot loosens when you stop pulling at it.
He couldn't explain it.
He should have been more bothered, more nervous, more offended, and instead his thoughts simply shifted, practical, measured, as if the problem was already filed under something he could handle, as if some part of him had already accepted that difficulty was normal.
Felix tilted his head, still holding the paper, still far too calm for someone discussing potential humiliation.
"You know what it looks like?" he said, voice casual, "it looks like the professors think your rank's wrong."
Soren's lips pressed together.
"That's what I thought, too, but I don't see why considering I haven't really done anything."
Felix flicked the paper lightly, like it was an annoyance rather than a death sentence.
"Well, there's literally no other explanation, is there?" he said, then his grin returned, crooked and aggravating, "And honestly, Arcane Studies is already at a disadvantage in duels, people call it 'strategy', but half the time it's just warriors getting excited about the idea of bullying a mage in public."
"There's literally no other explanation, is there?" he said, confident he was correct, then his grin returned, crooked and aggravating. "Well, anyway, sucks to be you. It'll be fun watching some muscle-brained bastard knock you down a peg."
Soren snorted, because if everything went as planned, things would go the complete opposite of what Felix wanted.
Felix leaned back, stretching one arm along the bench, posture loose, voice still playful.
"Usually, if they're even attempting to be fair, which they clearly aren't in your case, they'd give the mage a knight that's lower ranked, because what good is a fancy circle when someone's boot is in your ribs?"
Soren looked at him, unamused.
"Wow, thanks for the image of how severely fucked I am."
Felix grinned.
"You're welcome, sir," he said, then his expression shifted just a fraction, the grin still there but his eyes more serious, "but for real, are you gonna be okay? Knights can be… enthusiastic."
Soren found it strange how genuine that sounded, and stranger still how little it rattled him.
"I'll be fine," he said, tone even, not defensive, not bravado, simply stated, then, after a beat, he added with quiet honesty, "It's not like I was expecting a free ride."
Felix studied him for a moment, as if expecting a crack, then gave a slow, approving hum.
"As long as you're fine, because I'd hate for my favourite hedgehog to break before the semester even gets interesting."
"You're disgusting," Soren muttered, and this time the words came out almost automatic, the bite dulled.
Felix laughed, then leaned forward, eyes bright again, concern tucked away like it never existed.
"Anyway," he said, "enough about your tragic little underdog arc, wanna know who I'm fighting?"
Soren narrowed his eyes.
"I can tell you've been waiting to brag about this all morning. What a show off."
"Me? A show off?"
"Sure."
Felix produced his own paper with an unnecessary flourish, holding it out like a gift.
"Anyway, take a look."
Soren took it, scanned the names, and his eyes widened despite himself.
Rank 25 of Martial Studies.
Rank 21 and 18 of Arcane Studies.
For a second he just stared, brain stalling, because the numbers didn't fit with Felix's personality, didn't fit with how casually he had been lounging here like the world was a joke.
Then Soren slowly lifted his head to look at him like he was seeing a new species of insect.
His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, because there were too many insults trying to get out at once.
"Fuck," he hissed finally, voice low, scandalised on principle, "why is human garbage like you so strong? It's unfair. The world is wrong."
Felix laughed, entirely unbothered.
"Hehehe, what can I do? I was just born blessed."
"Ugh," Soren muttered, throwing the paper back at him, stomach twisting, "I'm gonna puke."
Felix caught it easily, still smiling like a menace, and there was something almost fond in the way he looked at Soren, like Soren's outrage was familiar entertainment.
Before Soren could say something else, a voice echoed through the arena, amplified slightly by magic, formal and clear.
[Rank 96 and 89 of Arcane Studies, come down to the arena.]
Soren's gaze shifted to the entrance.
The noise of the arena spilt out in waves, the crowd's murmur, the faint ring of metal, the sharp scent of dust and sweat, and he felt that same strange calm settle into him again, smooth and steady, as if his body had already decided what it was doing.
He didn't fully understand it.
He didn't try to.
'My turn,' he thought, simple, and pushed himself to his feet.
————「❤︎」————