Chapter 51 – Re-Evaluation
My room in the dorm was quiet.
Single bed. Single desk. Single wardrobe. One slit window with a view of stone and a slice of sky. The Academy believed in equality, at least in how many walls they put between first-years and the rest of the world.
I lay on my back and watched the faint glow of the night-crystal above the door.
*Status,* I thought.
The familiar pale panels slid into view.
[ System ]
[ Current Main Route Status – Academy Hub: ]
[ Next Large-Scale Trigger: Year 3 ]
[ Estimated Time Until Trigger: 2 years, 1 month, 9 days (approx.) ]
I stared at the text for a long time.
"…You're serious," I muttered.
[ System ]
[ Seriousness: 100% ]
[ Advisory: Current Environment – Low Risk / Low Return ]
I snorted.
"You mean 'leave'," I said under my breath.
The panels faded as a soft knock came at the door.
Three light taps. Pause. Two more.
Noel's pattern.
I stood, crossed the room in a few steps, and opened the door.
Noel stood in the corridor, hugging a stack of papers to her chest.
She wore the Academy's night-robe—a simple pale thing that fell to just below the knee—with a loose cardigan over it. Her hair, once kept in an awkward compromise between what her father demanded and what she wanted, was now cut into a short, clearly feminine style: soft around the ears, a little volume on top, a fringe that brushed her brows. It suited her. It also made it very hard to pretend she was "just" the fourth son.
She had a touch of gloss on her lips, a faint hint of colour at her cheeks, and small earrings that caught the corridor light—nothing flashy, but undeniably not "boyish."
She looked more like the girl she was trying to be than the "son" her House had tried to insist on.
"Hey," I said quietly. "It's late."
"I know," she said, voice just as soft. "Curfew-late. 'The prefect will nag you about propriety' late. That one."
She tried for a smile. It wobbled.
"…Can I come in for a bit?" she asked. "Just a bit. I'll sit by the door."
Individual rooms existed for a reason. People gossiped. Noble children got dragged into "honour disputes" for less.
I should have told her no.
But Noel had that look again—the one she'd had in the infirmary, when she'd stopped shaking just long enough to realise she might actually live. The one she'd had in the arena stands when her father's sword aimed at my neck.
"Yeah," I said. "Come in."
She slipped past me like a guilty cat, light on her feet, hugging the papers tighter.
I closed the door.
She went straight for the desk chair, set the papers down, and sat on the floor instead, back against the side of the bed, knees pulled up. The cardigan slid off one shoulder; she tugged it back up absently.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Too noisy in my head."
"Nightmares?" I asked.
"Not exactly," she said. "Just… thinking."
She glanced up at me.
"You were, too," she added. "Thinking, I mean."
I didn't bother denying it.
"I was going over some projections," I said. "Divination charts. Timelines. Trying to see how long the Academy stays… important for me."
Her fingers folded over her knees.
"And?" she asked.
"And everything I see says the same thing," I answered. "Nothing big tied to these walls for the next two years. Tests, duels, tournaments, yes. But the heavy things? They're somewhere else."
She went very still.
"Oh," she said.
The word was small. Too careful.
I sat on the bed, above and slightly to her side.
"You figured this might happen," I said.
"I did," she admitted. "You're not the sort of person who hears 'you're safe here' and thinks, 'good, I'll stay.' You hear it and think, 'what's happening outside the walls?'"
A dry huff escaped me.
"That obvious?" I asked.
She twisted the edge of her cardigan between her fingers.
"It's obvious if you've watched you throw yourself between monsters and people who can't even scream properly," she said. "You're… always moving. Even when you're sitting still, your eyes aren't."
She took a breath.
"You're going to ask for something," she said, voice a little hoarse. "A way to… leave."
"Not completely," I said. "But enough."
Her throat worked.
"I thought so," she whispered.
The ward crystal hummed softly above the door. Somewhere down the hall, a prefect's footsteps passed and receded.
"You can tell me to go back to my room," Noel said. "I just… wanted to sit where you were before you start walking away."
The words were too honest.
"I'm not leaving tonight," I said. "And if the prefect gives you trouble in the morning, I'll lie."
She huffed, a tiny sound.
"You're terrible," she said. "You can't bribe a prefect with your face and your crest."
"I have a sword," I said. "I can try."
"That's worse," she muttered.
She stopped fiddling with her sleeve and looked up properly this time, blue eyes clearer than they had been in months.
"I know you're going," she said. "I know I can't stop you. I just… don't know how to not want to."
I could have told her that attachment was dangerous. That relying on one person too much hurt more when they left.
I didn't. It would have been hypocritical.
"Then don't try," I said.
She blinked.
"…What?" she asked.
"I'm not asking you to be fine with it," I said. "I'm asking you to be honest about not being fine with it, and still let me walk."
Her mouth trembled, then firmed.
"That sounds unfair," she said.
"It is," I said. "I'm selfish."
A small sound somewhere between a laugh and a curse slipped out of her.
"You are," she agreed.
She leaned her head back against the bed and closed her eyes.
"Can I stay until I fall asleep?" she asked. "Just today. I'll sneak back at dawn before anyone sees. I promise."
"Yeah," I said. "Stay."
She relaxed a fraction.
The papers she'd brought slid sideways a bit; the top page showed Divination notes in her neat, careful handwriting. She'd been studying even now.
Fourth child of a House that wanted sons for swords and daughters for marriages. The one who didn't fit their plans properly either way.
More feminine now, less hiding. More herself.
If *Ezra* could see her like this without flinching, we'd have fixed half his route already.
Her breathing slowed.
Within minutes, she'd drifted off, cheek pressed to her forearm, fringe falling over her eyes.
I watched her for a moment.
I could have woken her and sent her back.
I didn't.
If anyone asked, I'd say I hadn't noticed the time.
I pulled a spare blanket from the bed and draped it over her shoulders carefully, so it wouldn't slip.
Then I sat back down and looked at the faint, waiting glow of the night-crystal, the weight of Melody propped in the corner, and the invisible numbers ticking down in my mind.
Two years.
I'd stayed still long enough.
***
Keith's tower always felt a little apart from the rest of the Academy.
The stairs up were narrow and steep, the walls lined with old shields and rusted weapons from when the place had been more fortress than school. By the time I reached the landing, my legs were warmed and the air felt thinner.
The brass plate on his office door pulsed as I approached.
"Erynd Milton," I said. "Requesting an audience."
"Enter," his voice said, the sound carried through stone rather than wood.
I pushed the door open.
Books. Papers. Crystals. The office looked the same as last time: too full, too organised, a mind turned into a room. The window behind his desk showed the courtyard below and the city beyond, roofs like scattered game pieces.
Keith himself sat at his desk, pen in hand, spectacles low on his nose. His robes were a muted blue, his hair going grey at the edges.
His eyes were very awake.
"Milton," he said. "You look serious. That generally means trouble for me."
"I'll try to annoy you efficiently," I said.
He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Sit," he said.
I sat.
He set his pen aside.
"All right," he said. "Tell me."
"I want an advancement," I said.
He didn't blink.
"To which year?" he asked.
"To graduation," I said. "Fourth."
The quiet in the room shifted. The wards around his office hummed a little tighter, like they wanted to lean in.
"That's an interesting joke," he said.
"It's not a joke," I said.
He watched my face for any sign of uncertainty.
He didn't find one.
"You're aware," he said slowly, "that advancement usually means 'one year forward after exhaustive testing,' not 'three years in one jump because you're impatient.'"
"I'm not impatient," I said. "I'm out of slack."
His eyes sharpened.
"Explain," he said.
"I've been looking at what I saw in the Star-Dome," I said, "and matching it against outside reports and my own projections."
I chose my words carefully.
"Most of the heavy things tied directly to these walls aren't coming for a while," I continued. "The Academy will still be important, but not as a cage. As a place to return to. A symbol."
I met his gaze.
"In the meantime," I went on, "I can learn more outside. Fight more. Earn money. Build what I need to keep people alive when the later storms hit. Staying in class full-time for two more years would slow that down."
"The Academy was designed to slow talented people down," Keith said. "On purpose. To stop them from tearing themselves apart or the Empire with them."
"I know," I said. "But at this point, my options are 'go slow and pretend I don't know better' or 'go faster and take responsibility for it.' I'm asking for a way to do the second without the Academy having to pretend I don't exist."
"And in return," he said, "you give us… what?"
"Nothing that isn't already true," I said. "Another graduate on your ledger. One that will either make you look very wise or very foolish."
"That," he said dryly, "is the part that concerns me."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once on the desk.
"You understand that if you walk out of here with a graduate's rune at twelve," he said, "every noble House with more pride than sense will use you to argue both for and against whatever they already believe."
"I assumed," I said.
"You understand," he went on, "that if you collapse in your first real commission, or drag my Academy's name into some catastrophe, there will be letters. Angry ones."
"Then I'll try not to collapse," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"I had hoped you'd wait a little longer before forcing this conversation," he said quietly. "But hoping has never worked well on your type."
He reached for a blank crystal slate, touched his fingers to it, and lines of faint light bloomed across its surface.
"Very well," he said. "You want to be treated as more than a first-year? You'll earn it. No shortcuts. No half-measures."
"I wouldn't trust those," I said.
"Four evaluations," he said, writing as he spoke. "Plus one special condition."
He held up a finger.
"First: combined written exam. Sword, Staff, Divination—everything a fourth-year is expected to know. Tactics, formations, mana theory, rites, record formats. One very long test. If you miss too much, you fail. No arguing."
"Fine," I said.
Second finger.
"Second: Divination practical," he said. "In the Star-Dome. You'll handle records and rites under supervision and undergo a controlled Revelation. If you start screaming when the stars move, I'm not sending you out to negotiate anything."
"I'll keep quiet," I said.
Third finger.
"Third: practical Staff and Sword," he continued. "Evaluation chambers, final-year configuration. Constructs and illusions calibrated to kill anyone who only knows how to swing one kind of spell or sword. You survive, complete objectives, show control. If you brute-force everything and break, you fail."
"Understood," I said.
Fourth finger.
"Fourth: field evaluation," he said. "A small assignment outside the walls, equivalent to a final practicum. You lead a team. We watch from a distance. If your decisions get them 'killed,' even in simulation, you fail."
"Acceptable," I said.
He set the slate down.
"And finally," he said, "you will duel Garen."
"Professor Garen," I said.
"He still remembers how to use his title," Keith said. "Sword Knight, not just a man with a grading slate. Under wards, in a proper ring. If you can push him back once, clearly, then I will admit your sword has no business being stuck in a first-year schedule."
[ System ]
[ New Quest: "Re-Evaluation" ]
[ Objectives: ]
[ – Pass Combined Written Exam ]
[ – Pass Divination Practical ]
[ – Pass Combat Practical ]
[ – Pass Field Evaluation ]
[ – Push Sword Knight Garen Back at Least Once ]
[ Reward: Credit Rune – Academy Graduate ]
[ Penalty for Failure: Acceleration Locked / Reputation - ]
"How long until the first test?" I asked.
"A week," Keith said. "You have that much time to sleep, prepare, and terrify the people who care about you."
I nodded.
"Agreed," I said.
He studied me a moment longer.
"You can still change your mind," he said. "If you come up those stairs before dawn on the first day and say you were being foolish, I'll file this under 'youthful exuberance' and we will never speak of it again."
"I'm not going to," I said.
"I thought not," he said.
He touched the slate again. The lines of light flared, and for a moment I felt the wards threaded through the Academy shiver, accepting new patterns.
"Then it's done," he said. "Now go. I have to explain to the risk board why I've just scheduled four high-level evaluations and a knight duel for a boy whose shoes barely reach the edge of my desk."
"I can stand on the chair next time," I said.
"Get out of my office, Milton," he said mildly.
***
The week passed fast and slow at the same time.
Rion found out first.
Of course he did. He treated the notice board like a personal newspaper.
He burst into my room halfway through the second day of preparations, hair a mess, glasses askew, holding a copy of the latest posting.
"They put your name on the evaluation list," he said. "Not 'advanced quiz.' Not 'special tutoring.' Four evaluation blocks. No year numbers. Garen's name under 'External Examiner.' Do you know what that means?"
"That Keith didn't try to hide it," I said.
"That my entire study group is going to hound me for details," he said. "Again."
He dropped into my chair and flopped dramatically.
"You couldn't just quietly excel like a normal terrifying genius," he complained. "You had to go and make it official."
"I thought you liked interesting stories," I said.
"I do," he said. "I don't like being in them without hazard pay."
"I'll buy you something fried," I said.
He paused.
"…Two somethings," he bargained.
"Deal," I said.
He pushed his glasses up, expression shifting from theatrics to something more serious.
"You're really doing this," he said quietly. "Not just to show off."
"No," I said. "Not to show off."
He studied my face.
"Then I hope you pass," he said. "Selfishly. I want to see what you do when the rest of the world doesn't have the Academy's walls in the way."
"That makes two of us," I said.
Lyra didn't knock.
She waited until I finished a round of practice in one of the smaller training rooms, then closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it, hand resting lazily—not lazily at all—on her sword.
Her braid was pulled tighter than usual. Her eyes were very calm.
"I heard," she said.
I wiped sweat from my face with a towel.
"Which part?" I asked.
"The part where you're trying to graduate," she said. "At twelve."
"I'm trying to get permission to work," I said. "Graduation is a side effect."
She walked toward me, steps light and quiet. Too quiet. Predatory.
"You knew this was coming," I said. "You said yourself I don't belong in the beginner field forever."
"I said," she corrected, "that you don't belong there alone. I didn't say you could just walk off without me."
There it was. The edge under the words.
Her gaze slid to Melody where she leaned against the wall. For a second, her fingers tightened on her own hilt.
"Every time you swing that thing," she said softly, "something big happens. Duels. Monsters. Fathers trying to kill you. Do you think I don't see it?"
"I know you do," I said.
Her eyes snapped back to mine.
"Then you also know," she said, "that if you die somewhere stupid, without me there to drag you out or kill whoever did it first, I'll be very upset."
"Upset enough to…?" I asked.
"Upset enough to follow whatever is left of your path until I find the thing that thought it could take you," she said. "And end it. Slowly."
Her tone never rose. That made it worse.
"You're assuming there'll be something left," I said.
"There will be," she said. "Because I'm not letting you go that easily."
She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the faint heat of her mana humming under her skin.
"Promise me something," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"That you'll come back here to train," she said. "Not just for exams. For me. For us. So I don't have to start wondering if the next rumour I hear about some idiot fighting alone in a cave is you."
I considered the demand.
"I can promise that," I said.
"And if you break it," she added, voice dropping, "I'll come find you."
"I believe you," I said.
Her shoulders loosened a fraction.
"Good," she said.
She let go of the door handle and stepped away, some of the pressure in the room easing.
"As long as you remember that your rival is still here," she said, turning toward the exit. "And she hates being ignored."
"I wouldn't dare," I said.
Tamara cornered me in the corridor outside the library, arms crossed, chin up.
"I hear you're trying to graduate," she said. "At twelve."
"I'm trying to get permission to work," I said. "Graduation is a side effect."
She scoffed.
"You're impossible," she said. "Do you know how hard I had to argue with my mother just to get here on time, and not delayed a year to play 'pretty duke's daughter in social season' while the Academy went on without me?"
"I can imagine," I said.
"And then there's you," she went on. "Picking fights with my father's peers, collecting weird people like books, and now skipping three years because you're impatient."
"It's not personal," I said.
She clicked her tongue.
"It feels personal," she said. "The sword campus finally gets someone fun to watch, and he tries to run away."
"I'll come back," I said. "Keith won't let me vanish."
She narrowed her eyes at me.
"You'd better," she said. "I refuse to admit you're impressive if you're not here for me to say it to your face."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
She flipped her hair, making her braid swing behind her like a banner.
"Good," she said. "Also, if you do something so stupid it makes Noel cry, I will stab you. Politely. In the leg."
"That feels oddly specific," I said.
"She's worse than usual this week," Tamara muttered, almost too low to hear. "Fix it before she starts hiding under your bed."
Noel didn't hide.
She waited until after my last written exam, when the corridor outside the hall was nearly empty, then appeared at my side as if she'd always been there.
Her hair caught the light in a softer way now. The short cut made her neck look more delicate, her jawline clean. The borrowed weight of "son" no longer sat heavily on her shoulders. She'd traded it for something that fit.
"You didn't tell me when the tests started," she said. No greeting. No preamble.
"You would have worried more," I said.
"I worried anyway," she said.
Fair.
We walked in silence for a few steps, boots ringing softly on stone, until she grabbed my sleeve and pulled me toward a side alcove half-hidden by a pillar.
"I don't want to argue in the middle of the hall," she said. "They'll stare."
"Are we arguing?" I asked.
"If you say you're leaving and expect me to smile and say 'congratulations,' yes," she said.
Her eyes were bright. Too bright.
"You know why I'm doing this," I said.
"Yes," she said. "I know you're going because something in you won't let you stay somewhere safe when you think there's work to do outside. I know you're going because you don't trust the world not to collapse if you blink. I know you're going because you hate sitting still."
Her fingers tightened on my sleeve.
"I also know," she said, voice shaking, "that I like it when you sit still. Here. Where I can find you. Where I can knock on your door at night and complain and you're just… there."
She swallowed.
"I know that's selfish," she whispered. "But knowing doesn't make it hurt less."
I looked at her properly then.
Short hair. Softer lines. Tiny, stubborn earrings. The kind of femininity that would draw frowns from half the noble Houses and quiet approval from the other half, but didn't ask permission from either.
The fourth child of House Verdan, who had finally been told she could be "her" and was terrified of losing one of the people who'd stood on her side when it mattered.
"I'm not vanishing," I said.
"You are," she said. "A little. The moment you step outside as a 'graduate,' you'll belong to more than just this place. Jobs. Contracts. Things you can't tell me until later."
"That's already true," I said.
"I know," she said. "But right now I can still pretend you're only a year above me. That we're… going together. That we'll walk out of here one day side by side and laugh at everyone who said I shouldn't send that letter."
Her mouth trembled.
"You're going ahead," she said. "And I'm happy for you. And I hate it."
The words came in a rush, tangled and real.
I let her finish.
"I'm not asking you to be okay about it," I said quietly. "I'm asking you to let me go anyway."
She let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.
"You really are selfish," she said.
"Yes," I said.
She looked away, then back, teeth worrying her lower lip.
"Then I want something too," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"Don't treat this like a goodbye," she said. "Don't disappear. I want letters. I want you to use that stupid graduate rune to come back and bother us. I want you in my life in four years when we're standing in those dumb robes pretending we didn't almost die before our teens."
"I can do that," I said.
"And I want you," she added, voice dropping, "to say it. That you'll be there. Not just 'if I don't die.' Properly."
I held her gaze.
"I'll be there," I said. "When you graduate. When you walk across that stage. I'll stand where you can see me and clap too loud and embarrass you."
She blinked fast.
"That's… a very specific image," she said.
"It's easier to aim at something you can picture," I said.
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but didn't fall.
"Good," she whispered. "Then I'll… keep walking, I guess. Until then."
She let go of my sleeve slowly, fingers sliding away like they didn't want to.
"If you do something unbelievably reckless out there," she added, voice back to a thin thread of dry humour, "at least make it worth the story."
"I'll try," I said.
"You always 'try,'" she muttered.
She stepped back out of the alcove, shoulders a little straighter, hair catching the light like a small banner as she walked away.
I watched until she turned the corner.
Then I went to finish what I'd started.
***
The exams came one after another.
The combined written was a blur of ink and questions.
"Describe three standard siege-breaking formations and their mana-support requirements."
"Show the deviation of this circle's stability equation."
"Draft a basic contract between a minor House and the Temple for shared rites over a village, including escape clauses."
Once, those would have broken me.
Now they were review.
[ System ]
[ Combined Written Evaluation: Passed ]
[ Accuracy: High ]
In the Star-Dome, Professor Elvard watched as I copied ledgers, filed testimonies, and conducted a minor rite for oath-binding under his gaze. When I touched the Star-Pillar, the threads of possible paths tugged at me, but I pulled back before they could sink too deep.
The stars shifted in the dome above, tracing patterns only a few of us could read.
"Hm," Elvard said. "You're still whole. Irritating."
"Thank you, Professor," I said.
"That wasn't praise," he muttered.
[ System ]
[ Divination Practical: Passed ]
[ Revelation Tolerance: Improved ]
The combat evaluation chambers were stone and runes and the echo of orders from instructors outside.
Illusions layered over constructs. Demonkin shapes. Bandits. Wards that triggered if you stood in the wrong place too long.
Melody cut through them with controlled arcs. Ark hummed, leashed tight to her edge. I moved, not fast as such, but efficiently—each step where it needed to be, each strike aimed to end, not impress.
When the last construct flickered and fell, the proctor opened the door, staring at the gouged floor.
"…Pass," he said. "Strong pass."
[ System ]
[ Combat Practical: Passed ]
The field evaluation took us beyond the walls with three older students and a hidden observer.
A caravan gone missing. A trail that split. One path toward an obvious bandit hideout. Another toward something worse.
I chose the bandits.
We found the caravan, or what was left of it, freed the captives still alive, dealt with the bandit leader, and ignored the baited path toward a nest none of us were ready to face.
The hidden instructor stepped out at the end, cloak fading from its concealment shimmer.
"You saw the second trail," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"And you chose not to follow," she said.
"We weren't equipped," I said. "Charging in would have turned a practicum into a funeral."
She nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Some of our graduates still haven't learned that."
[ System ]
[ Field Evaluation: Passed ]
That left Garen.
***
They chose a mid-sized dueling ground for it—larger than a practice ring, smaller than the main arena. Wards hummed around the edge. The stands were full enough to buzz.
Sword campus occupied most of the benches. Staff and Divination filled gaps, murmuring. A few priests stood near one of the arches, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease.
Noel, Lyra, Tamara, Rion—front row, hands on the rail.
Garen waited in the ring.
He'd left his teaching coat somewhere else. Instead he wore fitted dueling gear, sword at his hip, hair tied back. The scars along his forearms caught the light.
"Milton," he called, as I stepped through the ward line. "Last chance to decide you'd rather take another written exam instead."
"I'll pass," I said. "On the exam, I mean."
A ripple of faint laughter ran through the stands.
He snorted.
"You're not seeing the appeal of being a quiet scholar?" he asked.
"I've seen too much already," I said.
His eyes tightened briefly. He'd read the reports. Everyone who mattered had.
"Keith told you the terms," he said. "You push me back cleanly even once, I'll sign off. If you can't, you go back to class and pretend this was a fever dream."
"I understand," I said.
He drew his sword.
The wards flared, lines of light crawling along the edge of the ring.
"Begin," Keith's voice said from above, steady and clear.
Garen moved first.
No rush. No big declaration.
Just a professional advancing on a dangerous unknown.
He tested me with a few sharp cuts—clean, economical, nothing wasted. I met them, feeling out his rhythm. His combat stance—subtle reinforcement across muscles and bone—made his movements smooth, his recovery quick.
"Form's good," he said between strikes. "For someone who hasn't hit their full height."
"Thank you," I said. "For your age it's not bad either."
That got a snort.
"You've picked up bad habits from Verdan," he said.
"From watching," I said.
He shifted.
The next blow came heavier, driving down toward my guard. I bent my knees, let Melody absorb the impact, and let his strength show the difference in our bodies.
He wanted to prove the gap.
He wasn't wrong.
He also wasn't right enough.
He pressed harder, trying to make me give ground.
I gave him inches. Not steps.
Ark stayed low along Melody's edge, murmuring. Waiting.
[ System ]
[ Objective: Push Garen Back – 0/1 ]
"Is this it?" he asked. "I expected something dramatic."
"Saving that for when it matters," I said.
"Good answer," he said.
He came in with a downward cut that would have floored anyone treating this like a class spar.
I met it.
Metal struck metal. The shock jarred my shoulders.
In that instant of firm contact, I let Ark bite.
Not into a cutting edge. Into vibration.
Melody's blade thrummed, a tight, controlled shiver focused exactly where our steel touched.
Garen's sword juddered. His grip compensated by reflex, wrists tightening.
I rolled my own wrists, changing the angle just enough that his momentum had nowhere satisfying to go.
His front foot had committed forward.
The pressure shifted.
His body chose the only sane thing: a small step back to keep his balance.
The sand under his boot scuffed.
The stands fell quiet.
[ System ]
[ Objective: Push Garen Back – 1/1 ]
[ Condition: Clear ]
He felt it.
His eyes widened, then narrowed.
"You little—" he began.
I didn't let him finish.
The duel wasn't about that single step anymore. It was about proving that one step hadn't been a fluke.
He reset his stance, shoulders squaring.
"All right," he said. "Again. Properly."
"Okay," I said.
He came in harder.
Faster.
This time, he stopped treating me like a student entirely.
His swordwork shifted into something weightier—sequences meant to cut down adults who thought rank alone made them safe. His footwork closed angles, his guard adapted quicker.
Good.
I let Melody move the way she wanted to.
Ark rode the blade more openly now, a faint light along her edge. Not enough to slice through the wards. Enough to turn every contact point into a question mark.
When he swung, I was already not there. When he adjusted, I was already in the next position.
To the stands, it must have looked wrong. A grown knight straining to pin down a boy whose uniform still had beginner trimming.
He tried to hammer my guard again.
I stepped to the side, caught his blade on mine, and opened the Ark vibrate for a heartbeat, shoving his sword off-line.
Then I turned, drew Melody's flat around, and slammed it into his chest with controlled force.
He slid back, boots digging furrows in the sand, breath driven out of him.
The ward-lines flared briefly, catching the impact.
He straightened, hand going to where I'd hit him.
"…Depressing," he muttered.
"Sorry, Professor," I said.
"No, you're not," he said.
He looked up toward the stands.
"Keith," he called. "I'm not giving him more chances to show off. Give the boy his stone."
***
The credit rune-stone was light in my hand and heavy everywhere else.
Pale crystal, veined with silver. The Academy sigil etched at its centre, surrounded by script that named the place, the curriculum, the completion.
Keith stood in his tower doorway when he gave it to me, rather than behind his desk. The city lay behind him, the Academy below.
"This is the part where I say something wise," he said. "And you nod and pretend you'll remember it."
"I can try," I said.
He snorted.
"Don't bother," he said. "I'll keep it short."
He glanced down at the rune in my palm, then back at my face.
"When a student stands here and tells me they want to leave, I usually ask them where they're going," he said. "Which House hired them, which order, which temple. I write it down so I can quietly check if they're still alive in a year."
"That sounds like you," I said.
"I'm not going to ask you," he said.
That made me blink.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I've seen enough of your path in the Star-Dome to know the answer won't fit on my form," he said calmly. "And if it did, I would not sleep well."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"I don't need to know where you're going," he said. "I only need two things from you."
I waited.
"One," he said, "when the Academy calls you back for exams, debriefings, or some idiotic crisis we can't admit we caused, you come. Maybe not the same day. But you come."
"I can do that," I said.
"Two," he said, "when that Verdan child of mine—" he caught himself, lips twitching, "—that fourth child looks toward the stands in four years, you're there. Breathing. Preferably upright."
The way he said "mine" was interesting.
"I've already promised her," I said.
"Good," he said. "She needs stubborn people on her side. You qualify."
He stepped back, giving me space.
"The Academy has finished what it can do for you inside these walls," he said. "The rest is yours. I won't pretend to approve of all of it. I also won't stand in your way."
He paused.
"Try not to make me regret that," he added. "Paperwork is annoying when it comes with memorial services."
"I'll hate the paperwork more," I said.
"For once, we agree," he said.
He gestured toward the stairs.
"Go," he said. "Before I think of more conditions."
I bowed, brief but genuine, then turned and started down.
The rune-stone pulsed faintly against my palm, then settled warm against my chest when I slipped it into an inner pocket.
[ System ]
[ Quest: "Re-Evaluation" – Completed ]
[ Reward Acquired: Credit Rune – Academy Graduate ]
[ Academy Relationship: Adjusted – "Safe Zone (Optional)" ]
[ New Operational Freedom: Granted ]
Outside, the air smelled of stone, chalk, and distant cooking fires from the city.
The Academy's towers rose behind me, banners bright in the breeze.
Ahead, beyond the outer gate, the streets waited. Contracts. Nests. People whose routes had never gone well for me before.
I touched Melody's hilt over my shoulder.
"Let's see what the world looks like when we're not stuck in class," I murmured.
She hummed faintly in answer.
I walked toward the gate and didn't look back until the walls were behind me.