Nobody seemed to notice. Saren and Calder continued their assessment without pause. Students nearby remained absorbed in their own conversations.
But Cel had spent enough time with Hestia to know. Had watched her maintain composure through sparring sessions where he'd embarrassed himself repeatedly. Had seen her process information with clinical precision while her face revealed nothing. Had learned to read the small signs that leaked through her careful control.
The conversation with the instructors concluded. Saren dismissed her with a gesture, already turning her attention toward the next arriving group. Calder moved to check equipment that students had set down near the village entrance.
Hestia stepped away from them. Her path led directly toward Cel, closing the distance with measured steps.
Cel held her gaze for a moment, turning the question over before he let it out.
"You're not angry because of me, are you?"
The question emerged before Cel could reconsider it.
Hestia's eyes widened fractionally. Surprise cracked through her composed expression for just a moment.
Then she exhaled. The breath released slowly, tension draining from her shoulders with visible effort.
"No." The word came quiet. "Not because of you."
Relief flickered through Cel's chest, though he couldn't entirely explain why her answer mattered. He watched her expression settle back into neutrality, the anger still present but less immediate now that someone had acknowledged its existence.
"Why are you angry then?"
Hestia's gaze cut away from his, tracking across the assembled students.
Then her hand closed around his arm.
Not rough. Not aggressive. Just firm enough to communicate intention as she started moving, pulling him with her toward the tree line. Away from the gathered students and instructors.
Surprise froze Cel's thoughts for a heartbeat. Nobles didn't initiate physical contact without warning, didn't pull people away from groups for private conversations that could be misinterpreted.
But Hestia clearly didn't care what anyone made of it.
They stopped perhaps thirty steps from the main gathering. Far enough that voices wouldn't carry clearly.
Hestia released his arm. Her hand dropped back to her side, fingers curling into a loose fist.
"How do you think the exam is going so far?" Her tone had shifted into something more serious.
Cel considered the question. Organized his thoughts into honest assessment rather than polite deflection.
"It's working great," he said finally. "Nobody's gotten injured or died. To be honest, it's been quite a pleasant journey so far."
Something flickered across Hestia's expression. Not satisfaction. Something closer to resignation.
"That's exactly the problem."
The words landed with unexpected weight. Cel's brow furrowed, trying to understand what problem existed in a scenario where everyone remained alive and uninjured.
"Why is that a problem?"
Hestia's crimson eyes fixed on his with uncomfortable intensity. "Do you remember the reason for this exam?"
The question pulled at memory. Then understanding crashed through.
The exam existed to provide first real combat experience. To force students who'd spent months drilling technique in controlled environments to face actual creatures that wanted them dead. To build the instincts and emotional resilience that only came from genuine life-or-death encounters.
But they hadn't done that at all.
Every whistle brought Theron charging through the forest to eliminate threats before the students who'd called for help could engage. Every creature died at the hands of someone who'd already had more than enough experience. Every potential learning moment transformed into passive observation of overwhelming force.
"It's the worst kind of situation." Hestia's voice had dropped lower, carrying the particular frustration of someone who'd been holding these thoughts for days without outlet. "Everyone feels far too safe. Getting saved by Theron and his group every time a whistle sounds. Even though he doesn't have to."
She gestured toward the village, though her attention stayed fixed on Cel.
"The creatures in this territory are all of the lowest rank. Cursed blight, barely dangerous to trained Chosen. Injuries are to be expected - that's part of learning. But any student here should be perfectly capable of handling them with proper coordination and tactics." Her jaw set harder. "But what happens when they're alone after the exam and encounter a stronger creature for the first time? When there's no whistle to blow, no one to arrive and solve the problem?"
The answer sat heavy and obvious between them.
They'd die.
They'd die believing someone would save them.
"That's why I said we would only assist groups and make plans together. Not fight for them."
She took a breath, forcing control back over her tone.
"Normally, it's the nobles who take charge of groups. Those who already have combat experience, who've faced creatures with their families or during training expeditions. They're supposed to guide the commoners through first encounters. Fulfill the responsibility that comes with their advantages."
Her gaze cut back toward the nobles who meanwhile had arrived.
"But apparently everyone forgot their responsibilities."
Understanding settled over Cel with uncomfortable clarity.
He'd wondered, distantly, why she'd taken on a weight no one asked her to carry. Why she'd spent her time developing a system for strangers instead of drifting toward her own kind, the way everyone else had.
It was because she saw it as her responsibility.
Because she was the heir to House Mortveil, future leader of the entire Death Clan.
And because nobody else had stepped forward to do it.
The other Great Clan heirs had gathered around Theron - Owen Peakscale, Sylvaine Grovethorn, Cordelia Tidecall and Percival Tempest. All clustering around the All-Blessed rather than taking responsibility for students who actually needed guidance.
Kyros and his sycophants had barely been seen the past days. Moving through the forest in their own bubble, contributing nothing to coordination or support.
Hestia had been left alone.
And now even Theron's meddling - despite certainly coming from good intentions - had only made it worse. Students who should have been learning to fight had become spectators instead.
"Very frustrating indeed."
Hestia's expression shifted slightly. Not quite gratitude for understanding. More like relief that someone else recognized what she'd been carrying.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Cel turned, finding Lior making his way toward them, steps a little too quick, shoulders set like he'd had to talk himself into it. His wheat-blond hair caught afternoon light, sky-blue eyes bright with something that looked like excitement despite the obvious nervousness in his posture.
He stopped perhaps five steps away. His gaze cut between them, clearly aware he was interrupting something private. Then he straightened, forcing proper formality into his stance.
"Lady Hestia." The greeting emerged careful and respectful, accompanied by a slight bow. "May I speak with Celvian?"
Hestia's anger had already begun draining away, replaced by her usual composed neutrality. She studied Lior for a moment, crimson eyes assessing without judgment.
He shrank slightly under the attention, shoulders curling inward.
"You may."
Then she turned and walked away. Her black robes swirled around her legs with each step as she moved back toward the main gathering.
Cel bowed slightly as she passed. He watched her go for another moment, then turned his full attention toward Lior.
It wasn't like him to interrupt a conversation - especially one with a noble.
Something had changed. Something significant enough to override Lior's usual anxiety about social hierarchies.
"What's up?"
Lior's face broke into a smile that transformed his entire expression. Genuine excitement replaced nervous energy, his hands moving restlessly like they needed occupation to contain whatever he was feeling.
"It is true." The words tumbled out fast. "I'm sure of it now."
Cel's confusion deepened. "Sure about what?"
"This village." Lior gestured toward the wooden walls, toward the open gate and the buildings visible beyond. His smile widened further, carrying joy that seemed disproportionate to the simple statement that followed. "It's my home."