Elemental Theory Classroom 3-B
Ten minutes later
Professor Granitebeard's voice rumbled like an earthquake in a bad mood.
"Resonance pairs! Mana circuits open, shields down. I want to feel harmony, not a bloody war!"
Theron sat perfectly still, shoulders square, left eye fixed on the blackboard.
Behind him, Camael's presence pressed against his back like winter fog. Cold. Heavy. Hungry.
The angel's hand still hovered in the air, waiting for the traditional resonance clasp. Pale fingers, black nails, faint shimmer of holy runes crawling under the skin like golden worms.
Theron didn't move.
"Altaire," the dwarf barked, beard bristling. "Handshake. Now. Or I fail both of you."
Alysia twisted in her seat ahead of him, blue eyes sharp. She mouthed a single word:
Problem?
Theron gave the tiniest shake of his head.
He reached back without looking, fingers brushing Camael's.
Contact.
The moment skin touched skin, the classroom vanished.
White fire exploded behind Theron's blindfold.
His golden eye snapped open beneath the seal, runes screaming as they tried to contain the surge. Mana roared through the connection like a dam breaking; Camael's circuits were pristine, perfect, terrifyingly vast.
The angel's voice slid into his mind, silk over razors.
«So the rumors were true. A child with the Eye of the First Sin. How much do you think your head is worth, little merchant?»
Theron answered the only way he knew how: with numbers.
He flooded the link with raw calculation, interest rates on dwarven ore futures, shipping tariffs across the Minotaur Straits, projected inflation on dragonbone dust. Thousands of figures per second, cold and merciless.
Camael flinched. The holy circuits stuttered under the avalanche of pure, weaponized greed.
Theron pulled his hand away.
The classroom snapped back into focus.
Students were staring. Alysia's knuckles were white on her desk. Mathon, for once, was wide awake.
Professor Granitebeard looked ready to explode. "What in the nine hells was that spike? Altaire, you nearly fried the containment array!"
"My apologies, Professor," Theron said, voice flat. "Incompatible mana signatures."
Camael smiled like a cat who'd found the cream and the canary already dead inside it.
"Indeed," the angel murmured. "Most… incompatible."
The bell saved them all.
Students surged for the door. Theron stood, coat settling around him like black water.
Alysia grabbed his sleeve the second they were in the hallway.
"Talk. Now."
Mathon leaned against the wall, yawning but alert. "Yeah. That winged creep just tried to read your soul like a cheap pamphlet. What the hell, Theron?"
Theron glanced once over his shoulder. Camael was already gone, melted into the crowd like smoke.
He exhaled through his nose.
"Someone in administration sold my name," he said quietly. "Angels don't enroll in primary institutes for fun."
Alysia's eyes narrowed. "How high up?"
"High enough that running isn't an option." He adjusted the blindfold; the runes were still smoking faintly. "Not yet."
Mathon scratched his messy brown hair. "So what's the play, boss? We skip town? Fake your death? I've got three different corpse suppliers on retainer."
"Four," Theron corrected automatically. "You forgot the elf undertaker in South Quarter."
Alysia punched his arm. Hard. "Focus. They want your eye. We can't fight the entire Third Choir."
"We don't have to," Theron said. "We just have to make it not worth the cost."
He started walking. His friends fell in step without question.
"First," he continued, voice low, "we find out exactly who inside the academy is taking bribes from heaven. Second, we make them regret it. Third—"
A small, reckless voice cut in from the side.
"Third, you let me help."
Liora Sylvarei stood there, ears flat, clutching her spirit-binding book like a shield. Grass stains still on her knees. Emerald eyes burning with something that looked a lot like determination and very little sense of self-preservation.
Theron stopped.
Alysia raised an eyebrow. "This the hallway crasher?"
Mathon grinned. "Told you. Pine sap and trouble."
Liora lifted her chin. "I felt your eye. I know what it is. And I know what they'll do to get it." She took one step closer, voice dropping. "My clan owes your father a blood debt from the Minotaur Incursion. We pay our debts."
Theron studied her for a long second.
Then he did something that surprised even Alysia.
He smiled.
Not warm. Not kind.
The smile of a boy who had just found a new asset on the balance sheet.
"Interest rate?" he asked.
Liora blinked. "What?"
"Your help. What's the interest rate?"
She hesitated, then answered with the reckless honesty only elves seemed capable of. "Name it."
Theron turned away, already walking.
"Zero percent. For now." He didn't look back. "Try to keep up, elf. Class is over."
Behind them, high in the rafters where shadows pooled like spilled ink, six wings unfurled silently.
Camael watched the four children disappear around the corner.
He touched two fingers to his lips and tasted copper, his own blood from where he'd bitten his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.
Four little ants.
One golden prize.
The game had only just started.
And heaven always collected its debts with interest.
To be continued…