It had been a rough two months of sleepless nights, all-nighters, and endless cram sessions. Daxom could feel the lack of sleep anchoring itself into his bones, a fatigue so deep it no longer felt like tiredness but an ache that lived under his skin. Every morning blurred into the next, marked only by the sound of the morning bell and the heavy drag of his limbs as he forced himself upright.
Guardian training was not for the faint of heart. While Casters spent their early hours in calm meditation, arcane study, or intricate spellweaving exercises, the Guardians were pushed relentlessly from sunrise until midday. They trained in every combat style known across Semsara—weapon drills, endurance runs, spiritual resistance exercises, close-quarters combat, and survival simulations that left even the strongest panting on their hands and knees.
Under normal conditions, Daxom excelled at the physical strain. His father had prepared him well, drilling him for years with the expectation that he'd one day enter the academy. The Tyrell training regimen was practically legendary; even other noble houses whispered about it. Daxom had endured harsh weather conditioning, day-long endurance treks, and combat practice until his knuckles bled. Physical hardship rarely broke him.
But the academy demanded more than that.
The mental load of Guardian coursework far exceeded what he'd been prepared for. History, strategy, magical theory, public law, battlefield psychology, emergency healing—Daxom's mind was constantly juggling a dozen subjects he'd never struggled with before. His natural physical strength didn't translate to academic grace. The others seemed to absorb information easily while he drowned in it.
Combined with late-night study sessions with Ella and Rose, and the extra tutoring Axel forced him to accept, Daxom's brain never stopped working. Now, halfway through the semester, his exhaustion had reached a dangerous point.
He felt it acutely during morning drills. Today especially hit hard.
"TYRELL! GET A MOVE ON!" the training coach bellowed across the track, his voice cracking like a whip.
Daxom pushed harder, but his legs felt like wet sand. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts. Every time his foot struck the packed dirt, pain flared in his arches and joints. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.
As he was passed by yet another student—someone he normally outran—discouragement carved itself into his expression. He wasn't used to falling behind. He wasn't used to failing.
But today, the exhaustion was different. He felt hollow, as though his body were moving only out of habit, his spirit dragging behind him.
He kept running, forcing his muscles to obey him through sheer stubbornness. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.
Up ahead, standing beside the trail, was Ella.
His heart jolted. Relief washed over him like cool water. But as he blinked, her image flickered… and vanished.
I'm hallucinating, he realized with a spike of fear. I'm really that exhausted.
He kept running, saying nothing, willing his mind to clear—but a minute later, she appeared again. Same smile, same soft wave. And again she faded like smoke when he approached.
His stomach twisted. Was he going insane? Should he stop? If he stopped, he might collapse. If he collapsed, the coach would—
But then, for the third time, she appeared—but this time, she didn't fade.
She ran beside him, her feet gliding over the path as though she weighed nothing at all. A shimmering aura clung to her edges, her form slightly translucent.
"El…" he panted, barely believing it. "How… are you… doing this?"
Ella grinned, keeping perfect pace with him as if she weren't even tired. "We're learning how to astral project in class. Isn't that neat?"
Her voice sounded slightly distant, as though coming through water. Her hair floated behind her as if she moved through a gentle current instead of air. The surreal sight of her—half real, half spectral—sent a burst of warmth through his chest.
Despite his exhaustion, his stride steadied.
Despite the ache in his legs, he found his pace increasing.
Despite the weight on his shoulders, he felt lighter.
Daxom was always happy to see Ella. Even her ghost-like projection eased the heaviness in him. With her beside him, even as an astral shade, he felt energy return to him—like she had pulled him back from the edge of collapse.
And for the first time that morning, he began to run—not because he had to, but because he wanted to reach her.
After his run, Daxom staggered toward the showers with the drained, hollow feeling of someone running on the last fumes of willpower. The water hit him like a blessing—cool, cleansing, and shockingly refreshing. For a moment the world softened, and the ache in his legs dulled to something almost manageable. His mind drifted back to Ella's astral projection: her floating hair, her voice echoing gently in his ears, the way she kept pace effortlessly beside him.
It made the exhaustion worth it.
He dried off quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist before stepping into the narrow stone corridor that led to the locker room. The room was dim, lit by a few enchanted lanterns that cast long shadows over the rows of metal lockers. Daxom was rubbing water from his hair when he froze.
Voices.
He stopped just before the walkway, pressing himself silently against the wall. Two figures were talking in hushed tones. The echoing acoustics of the locker room made it difficult to identify the speakers, but one voice sounded nervous—high, wavering.
"So… these are the answers? To the test tomorrow?"
Paper rustled. Daxom held his breath.
Then the second voice spoke, sharp, coiled with arrogance.
"You dare question my integrity?"
Daxom's eyes widened.
He knew that voice. Conner.
He leaned in closer, heart pounding. The sound of claws tapping lightly on stone made him flinch before Conner continued speaking.
"My father has his connections with the Academy board," Conner hissed, his tone darkening. "But you are sworn to secrecy about this. You breathe a word of it, and it will be the end of your family and their livelihoods."
The threat was vicious.
And very real.
Daxom's jaw clenched. As the son of a noble family, he knew political corruption existed, but hearing Conner admit to using his family to cheat enraged him. He planned to report everything to Headmaster Andros—but before he could take a step back, something shifted behind him.
A shadow fell over the wall.
A low, rumbling voice spoke from directly behind him:
"Can I help you?"
Daxom turned slowly, dread pouring through him.
A massive Cancerian stood there, blocking the hallway entirely. Four legs, armored shell, two hands folded across his chest—but more importantly, two enormous claws, sharp enough to cleave stone, hovered inches away from Daxom's throat.
"I, uh, was just"
He didn't finish.
A huge claw snapped around his neck, cutting off his air. With terrifying strength, the Cancerian dragged him across the floor like a ragdoll. Daxom tried to claw at the grip, but it was useless—the warrior's shell was practically impenetrable.
Thrown violently onto the stone floor of the locker room, Daxom's vision blurred as his head cracked against the ground. A wave of dizziness flooded him. For a moment, he didn't even know where he was.
The voices around him were muffled, distant.
"Look who I found listening."
"That's him? Daxom Tyrell?"
"What a pleasure."
Slowly, painfully, his eyes focused.
A tall figure stood in front of him. Silhouetted by the glow of a lantern, Daxom could make out the outline of a Scorpio—long tail curled upward, posture sharp and predatory. The figure straightened, and the dim light revealed the truth.
Alister Grey.
Daxom's stomach dropped.
The Grey family was infamous. Nobles of the Cancer nation, rumored to hold more dark secrets than any house in Semsara. His father had warned him long ago: "The Grey family always operates outside the norm. What they want people to see is never what is."
Alister smirked. "Ah. Daxom Tyrell. The Tyrell family has always been the thorn in our side."
Daxom forced himself onto his knees, then staggered slowly to his feet. His head throbbed. His vision still flickered at the edges.
"Why would a prominent noble family need to cheat to get through the academy?" he said through clenched teeth.
Alister chuckled, low at first, then louder. "Do you really think I need to cheat to pass these lessons? You are so painfully narrow-minded for a Libra."
Then suddenly a soft flicker of light appeared behind Alister.
Ella. Astral-projected again. She drifted close to Daxom, her expression twisted in panic as she saw his bruised face and the Cancerian guard looming behind him.
He didn't look directly at her, but he gave the smallest wink and tugged his right earlobe—a silent signal they'd used since childhood that meant: Listen carefully. Don't react.
Ella nodded and slipped behind Alister, silent as a ghost.
"So," Daxom continued, "let me guess. These test answers aren't for you. You're planning to use them to frame someone else. Maybe get entire houses disqualified before the tournament?"
Alister froze for half a second, just long enough to betray surprise.
Then he smiled.
"Very good, Mr. Tyrell. Not as slow as you appear. Yes, eliminating a few houses early will make my road to victory much smoother." He tapped a claw against his chin. "Now the question becomes… what do I do with you?"
Ella's hands trembled as she scribbled everything on a floating parchment—documenting every word.
"Do I follow through with my plan," Alister mused, "and keep you hidden until the tournament ends? Or do I adjust and use… a plan B?"
He began pacing around Daxom, tail twitching in anticipation.
Ella's projected form flickered anxiously, struggling to stay stable as tension rose.
Daxom wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. Time to play dangerous.
"Well," he said, lowering his voice theatrically, "we all know Chimera House doesn't stand a chance in the tournament anyway."
Alister paused, intrigued.
"I won't make the grades in time," Daxom continued. "If I fail, my team can't compete. So you can proceed with your plan without worrying about us."
Alister leaned in close, voice dripping skepticism. "Are you telling me you would willingly forfeit your spot?"
Daxom smiled. "Yes."
The Scorpio noble chuckled, leaning closer until his breath brushed Daxom's ear. "Do you really think I'm foolish enough to believe that?"
Daxom whispered back "No."
Then he slammed his shoulder into Alister's chest.
The Scorpio stumbled backward with a startled snarl.
Daxom sprinted for the door.
"AFTER HIM!" Alister roared.
The moment Alister shouted, the Cancerian guard lunged after Daxom with frightening speed. The pounding of armored claws against stone echoed down the hall like thunder. Daxom's feet slapped against the cold floor, the wet soles of his still-damp skin making each step a risk. He nearly slipped twice but caught himself on instinct alone.
He tore around a corner, heart hammering, lungs burning from both the earlier run and the sudden burst of adrenaline. Think, think—! Running straight was suicide. A Cancerian Royal Guard was built for pursuit: four legs, massive endurance, and armor that let them crash through obstacles like living battering rams.
He needed misdirection. Something clever. Something fast.
The guard's voice boomed behind him, "STOP RUNNING, LIBRA!"
Daxom didn't bother answering. Talking would waste precious air.
He spotted an opening in a side wall corridor—one that led toward an old courtyard lined with hedges. An idea sparked. A stupid one. A desperate one. But desperate ideas were often the best ones.
He darted toward the courtyard archway, nearly clipping his shoulder on the stone column as he passed through. The hedges stood tall and unkempt, their leaves brushing his shoulders as he sprinted.
He skidded to a stop behind one particularly thick shrub. The guard's footfalls thundered closer. Daxom yanked off his towel, tossing it over the hedge so it hung visibly on one of the branches—like he'd panicked and tried to hide inside it.
He was now completely, absolutely naked.
"Perfect," he muttered to himself, deadpan.
The guard's massive shadow loomed over the hedge a moment later.
"THERE YOU ARE!" the Cancerian bellowed triumphantly.
He leaped—actually leaped—over the hedge and landed squarely on the towel, claws crunching into the dirt. The realization hit him instantly.
The towel was not attached to a Libra.
A low growl rattled from his throat as he scanned the area again, antennae twitching with irritation.
Meanwhile, Daxom didn't wait to admire his own genius. Bare feet slapping against cold stone, he darted through the opposite doorway that led back inside the Academy halls. Every step echoed louder than he wanted; he prayed no one else was wandering the halls at this hour.
Luck was not on his side.
Two professors were walking toward him—arms full of scrolls—mid-conversation. They stopped dead. One scroll slid from a professor's fingers, fluttering to the ground.
Daxom did not break stride.
"Morning—!" he blurted as he sprinted past.
The second professor blinked in stunned horror. "…Tyrell?!"
By the time either of them gathered the sense to say anything else, Daxom was already fifty feet down the corridor, turning another sharp corner toward the residential halls.
Back in the courtyard, the Cancerian guard stomped out of the hedge, fury radiating off him. His shell rattled with each angry breath.
"Hiding tricks…" he snarled. "I will tear that boy—"
He cut himself off before shouting—the last thing Alister wanted was attention. Grinding his claw tips together, he took one last look around the empty courtyard before making his way back inside the locker room.
His claws hung low in embarrassment. His pride had taken a larger hit than the towel he'd crushed.
When he returned, Alister was waiting with crossed arms and a venomous glare.
"You IDIOT!" Alister snapped, tail lashing behind him like an angry whip.
The Cancerian bowed his head. "My apologies, your grace."
"That boy now knows we intend to sabotage the tournament. You've compromised our timeline." Alister hissed sharply, mandibles tightening. "Now we will need to use plan B."
Daxom burst through the front door of Chimera House at full speed, skidding across the polished floorboards as he tried to maintain balance. He glanced wildly around the entrance hall, praying to every god of Semsara that no one was nearby.
He was not that lucky.
Axel appeared at the foot of the staircase—mid-stretch with a towel around his neck—and froze the moment he saw Daxom.
"Hey Dax, whe—" Axel's face went blank. His eyes widened slowly. "…what happened to you?"
Daxom clutched the remains of his dignity with both hands. "Axel. Please. Follow me. This is important. And quietly. Please."
Axel blinked at him twice. "Do… do you want a robe or…?"
"No," Daxom hissed over his shoulder as he hustled toward his room, bare feet slapping loudly. "No time."
"Okay," Axel muttered, trailing behind him. "Just—wow. Okay."
Once the door closed, Daxom finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding since he fled the courtyard.
"Alright," Axel said, hands on hips, "I'm listening. Explain what level of crazy you just walked into naked."
Daxom paced in a tight circle, still too wired to sit. "Conner was making a deal with someone for test answers. I overheard it. Then a Cancerian guard grabbed me and dragged me to Alister Grey."
Axel's face lost color. "As in—Grey. Grey Grey. The King's cousin's son?"
"The very one," Daxom said grimly.
Axel sat down so fast he didn't even aim for a chair—he landed on the end of Daxom's bed with a thump. "Dax. Dax, what did you do?"
"I listened," Daxom replied. "And he told me everything. He has the test answers—not to use for himself, but to frame rival houses and get them disqualified before the tournament."
Axel's jaw dropped. "That's—Dax, that's treasonous. That's literally political sabotage."
"Oh, it gets better," Daxom continued. "He thought about kidnapping me until after the tournament."
"WHAT?!"
A soft glow shimmered beside the bed, and Axel yelped as Ella's astral form flickered into view. She stepped forward with a parchment in hand.
"I heard everything," she said, looking between the two boys. "I wrote down everything Alister confessed."
Axel pressed a hand to his chest, recovering from the shock. "You can't just—appear—like that! Give a man some warning!"
Ella ignored him. Her projected form knelt beside Daxom, examining the bruise on his forehead and the faint cuts along his jaw. "Are you okay? You look like you got thrown through a wall."
"Not a wall," Daxom said dryly. "A floor. And a hedge."
Ella sighed, shaking her head as she handed him the parchment. "At least you didn't get caught."
Axel glanced between them. "I'm sorry—caught? Daxom ran into the house stark naked! I think 'caught' already happened!"
Daxom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Axel. Focus."
"Right, sorry."
Ella's projection wavered briefly—signs she was nearing the limit of her range. "You need to secure Chimera House immediately. Alister may try to plant evidence, or send his guard to sneak something into your belongings."
Daxom nodded. "Already on it."
He straightened as the instincts of a squad leader took hold—voice firm, posture sharp.
"Make sure all storage areas, foot lockers, chests, drawers, and personal bags are locked and enchanted with owner-bound spells. No one except the rightful owner should be able to open them."
Axel stood, seriousness settling over him. "Done. What about the hallways?"
"Enforce full no-pass enchantments around all Chimera-only areas. And set proximity wards." Daxom handed him the list Ella prepared. "Only Headmaster Andros and academy staff should be allowed past those wards."
Axel let out a low whistle. "This is… this is war-level protocol."
"It's protection," Daxom corrected. "Alister knows we're on high alert now. He'll likely try something tonight."
Ella stepped closer—or as close as a projection could. Her edges flickered softly. "You two need to be careful. If Alister realizes I was listening…"
"He won't," Daxom said firmly. "We'll take this to the headmaster directly."
Ella's expression softened, worry still lingering in her gaze. "Just… promise me you won't do something reckless?"
Daxom couldn't help but smile at that. "Reckless? Me? Never."
Both Ella and Axel gave him the exact same deadpan look.
"…Okay, occasionally," Daxom admitted.
Ella's smile flickered briefly before her form dissolved into shimmering particles of light.
Axel turned to Daxom, breath unsteady. "This is… bigger than us."
Daxom nodded, gripping the parchment tightly. "Which is exactly why we're not facing it alone."
Outside the room, Chimera House erupted into movement—doors slamming, enchantments flaring to life, wards humming, squadmates calling out to each other. For the first time since choosing Chimera, the house buzzed with purpose, unity, and fire.
They weren't just preparing for class.
They were preparing for war.
The rest of the evening unfolded in a flurry of movement throughout Chimera House. Word spread quickly—Axel had a talent for rallying people, even when half the house still thought Daxom's earlier naked sprint was some kind of hallucination or stress dream.
Doors opened and shut in rapid succession.
Arcane symbols flickered to life on chests, drawers, footlockers, and storage cabinets.
Guardian runes glowed faintly along hall thresholds as wards settled into place.
Even the walls seemed to thrum with guarded tension.
Taya paced the common room muttering Sagittarius battle calculations, Vin and Reed worked together to triple-check ward stability (arguing every step of the way), and Damon reinforced physical barriers with Taurean earth-binding techniques—stubborn as granite and twice as strong.
By the time the preparations were done, Chimera House felt like a fortress—protected, sealed, impenetrable. Exactly what Daxom needed it to be.
He leaned against the wall near his room, finally catching a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle, every tendon, every thought. His bruised ribs throbbed. His forehead ached from where he'd hit the stone.
Yet his mind refused to rest.
Too much was at stake.
As the commotion died down, a soft shimmer illuminated the far end of his room. Threads of iridescent light gathered like swirling dust, forming Ella's astral projection once again. She hovered just inside the doorway, her expression lined with worry.
"You should be lying down," she said gently, drifting closer. "Your energy is shot. I can practically feel the strain from here."
Daxom tried for a smirk. "I've been worse."
Ella crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You were thrown across a stone floor by a Cancerian royal guard. That qualifies as 'worse' in my book."
He chuckled softly before wincing—apparently a rib protested that motion. "Fine. Maybe a little worse than normal."
Ella sat beside him—even though her projection didn't press into the mattress, she mimicked the motion perfectly, tucking her knees up and resting her hands on them. Her form flickered like a candle flame when she moved, the edges of her aura softening each time she shifted.
For a long moment, she just studied him, her gaze flicking over the purple bruising on his cheekbone and the faint scratches left by the guard's claws.
"Dax…" she breathed. "Are you scared?"
He didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to lie to her. He also didn't want her to worry more than she already did. Eventually he spoke, his voice low.
"A little."
Ella's aura dimmed slightly. "I don't like the idea of them targeting you. Alister isn't just a bully. He's dangerous. His family has power… connections… secrets." Her voice trembled. "And he already hates you."
Daxom turned his head slightly toward her projection. "He hates everything that threatens his ego."
"That makes it worse," she replied quickly. "You embarrassed him today. In front of his guard. In front of his pride. Someone like him won't forget that."
Daxom swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know."
Ella reached out as if to touch his cheek—her hand passed through him like a warm breeze, but the intention alone soothed him. "Promise me you won't go anywhere alone until this is over."
He managed a small smile. "I can promise I'll try."
"Daxom—"
"I'm serious," he said, turning fully to face her. "We're going to take the evidence to Headmaster Andros. We'll tell him everything. He'll know what to do."
Ella's projection flickered anxiously. "And if Alister tries something first? If he gets desperate?" Her voice dropped into a whisper. "Dax, what if he tries to remove you from the tournament entirely?"
Daxom stared down at the parchment of handwritten testimony lying on his knee. Ella's neat script documented every threat, every confession, every piece of information they needed.
"He won't get the chance," Daxom said firmly. "Not if we act before he does. Not if Chimera House stays alert. And not if we stick together."
Ella's expression softened, pride mingling with fear. "You always think you have to protect everyone, even when you're exhausted and bleeding."
"And you always show up when I need you most."
The projection glowed a little brighter at that, her outline sharpening as if responding to his words. "Dax… please be careful tomorrow."
"I will," he whispered.
She lingered a moment longer, reluctant to leave. "Once I return to my body, I'll make a copy of the evidence. Just in case. Rose will help me. We'll meet you before morning training."
Daxom nodded. "Good. Thank you."
Ella stepped back. "Goodnight, Dax."
Her projection dissolved into glittering particles of light, leaving the room dim and quiet.
Daxom sat alone on the edge of his bed, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
Chimera House was depending on him.
Ella was depending on him.
And tomorrow, everything would change.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to the empty room, "the truth comes out."
Then he lay back, finally letting the exhaustion pull him under, unaware of the storm that awaited him with the dawn.