Lionhearth never truly slept.
Even at night, there was weight in the air—stone holding heat, banners stirring just enough to remind you they were still there. Torches lined the outer walls like watchful eyes, their light steady, disciplined, unwilling to flicker more than necessary.
I stood alone in the training yard long after curfew.
The ground beneath my boots was packed earth and scarred stone, worn smooth in places where generations of knights had stood exactly where I was now. The racks at the edge of the yard were mostly empty, weapons already returned, but my sword rested against the wall beside me, untouched.
I wasn't training.
I was thinking.
Which, lately, felt more exhausting.
Lionhearth pressed down on you when you stood still long enough. You could feel the expectations in the stone, in the insignia carved into the walls, in the way the place had been designed not to comfort but to endure.
I flexed my hand slowly, opening and closing my fingers.
Commands.
That was what this place taught you to live with.
Orders given. Orders obeyed. Results accepted.
I'd given commands in the chambers.
My friends had paid for them.
No matter how much logic I buried it under, responsibility had weight. And Lionhearth didn't let you pretend otherwise.
I exhaled and picked up my sword, sliding it into the sheath at my side. Standing here longer wouldn't change anything.
What would change something was getting back before someone noticed I was missing.
In hindsight, that optimism was my greatest mistake.
The corridors leading to Class 2-S training wing were quiet in the wrong way.
Lionhearth had a lot of quiet spaces—solemn ones, respectful ones. This wasn't that. This was the kind of quiet that happened when too many people were deliberately not making noise.
My steps slowed.
The doors to the common room were closed.
Normally, they weren't.
I placed my hand on the handle and paused.
I had the distinct, deeply unpleasant sense that I was being hunted.
I opened the door anyway.
Every single person was already inside.
Every. Single. One.
They weren't scattered. They weren't lounging. The furniture had been rearranged into a deliberate semicircle, chairs dragged in, couches angled inward like the teeth of a trap. The table had been shoved aside, clearing space in the center of the room.
They weren't talking.
They were waiting.
I stood there, sword at my side, cloak half-unfastened, staring at them.
They stared back.
"…Why are you all looking at me like that?" I asked.
No one answered.
Then Kai spoke, his voice calm, thoughtful, and dangerously casual.
"Oh. Serain's here."
Something in my spine went rigid.
"…Don't call me that."
Seraphyne was seated near the center of the couch—my couch, I realized distantly—idly adjusting the wrap on one of her wrists. She hadn't looked up yet.
Then she said, perfectly even,
"You hear that? He acknowledged it."
The room detonated.
"HE ACKNOWLEDGED IT."
"WRITE THAT DOWN."
"THAT COUNTS."
"THIS IS OFFICIAL."
"I did not," I said flatly.
"You responded," Kazen replied from the corner. "Response indicates recognition."
"That's not how—"
"That's exactly how," Kai cut in, nodding sagely.
I took one step backward.
Varein stepped forward.
He didn't block the door aggressively. He just stood there—calm, balanced, unavoidable.
"…Move," I said.
"No."
I sighed, walked inside, and let the door close behind me.
They made me sit.
No shoving. No force. Just pressure from all sides until I found myself guided toward the couch. The moment I lowered myself onto it, Seraphyne stood and crossed the room.
She sat down beside me.
Not leaving space.
No hesitation.
"For balance," Arion announced. "So the investigation is fair."
"This isn't an investigation," I said.
Kai folded his hands. "Rain, everything is an investigation if you pretend it isn't."
I glanced at Seraphyne.
She was completely composed.
This was not helping.
The questions started immediately.
"Scale of one to ten," Kai said. "How observant are you?"
"Eight."
Seraphyne hummed. "Generous."
"Scale of one to ten," Arion continued eagerly, "how emotionally perceptive are you?"
"…Seven."
Dead silence.
Then laughter.
"That was the worst lie tonight," Kazen said.
"I don't lie."
"You round," Seraphyne corrected calmly.
They started listing things.
I shouldn't have let them do that.
"You always check Seraphyne first after fights."
"You adjust formations to match her range."
"You slow down without realizing it when she's injured."
"You gave her your cloak once."
"It was cold," I said.
"You didn't give me yours," Arion complained.
"You have thicker armor."
"That's emotional favoritism."
"It's physics."
Seraphyne still hadn't denied anything.
She just sat there, close enough that when I shifted, our shoulders brushed.
I stood up.
Varein turned sideways and blocked me again.
"Sit," he said.
I sat.
At some point, food appeared.
I didn't notice who brought it. It simply materialized on the low table—snacks, cups, something warm. Seraphyne picked up a plate and handed it to me without even looking.
I took it automatically.
Ate.
Mid-chew, I realized what I'd done.
The room fell silent.
Kazen leaned back. "He didn't even question it."
"It was instinct," Kai said softly.
"I hate all of you," I muttered.
But… I wasn't angry.
That unsettled me more than anything else.
They weren't mocking me to tear me down. This wasn't cruelty. It was… familiarity. Something steady. Something that didn't demand anything from me except to stay.
Then someone crossed a line.
A joke sharper than the rest.
I felt it before I processed it.
So did Seraphyne.
"Enough."
One word.
Flat. Controlled. Final.
The room stopped.
She spoke without raising her voice.
"I care if he comes back hurt."
"I notice when he skips meals."
"I notice when he stops sleeping."
Her hand lifted, adjusting my collar, smoothing a crease that didn't exist.
"I don't like how quiet things get when he doesn't return."
My chest felt tight.
Then she leaned closer.
Close enough that her voice dropped, quiet and precise.
"You know," she said, "you're very easy to read when you're flustered."
My brain shut down.
Heat rushed to my face.
I stood up too fast.
The world tilted.
I went down.
Hard.
Flat on my back.
Silence.
Then—
"SHE DID THAT ON PURPOSE."
"RAIN'S DOWN."
"IS HE DEAD?"
"NO, HE'S JUST RED."
"I TOLD YOU SHE'D KILL HIM FIRST."
Seraphyne blinked.
Then smiled.
Just a little.
"Oh," she said. "I underestimated the effect."
I covered my face. "Please… stop."
She helped me up, hands steady.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"…You did that on purpose."
"Maybe."
They were still yelling as we left.
"SERAIN CONFIRMED."
"THIS IS CANON."
"WE SAW EVERYTHING."
The corridor was cooler.
Quieter.
I exhaled.
"…Don't do that again," I said.
Seraphyne walked beside me, shoulder brushing mine.
"No promises."
And for once—
I didn't mind the weight.