The energy from their breakthrough session still hummed under Vel's skin as he stepped out into the main courtyard. He was still smiling to himself when he spotted a familiar figure on the stone bench beneath the oak tree.
Celia sat alone, staring at the Academy grounds with unfocused eyes.
Strange. She usually stays late for extra practice.
Vel approached, and Celia's expression shifted the moment she noticed him. Her posture straightened, and she managed a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Finished already?" she asked, turning to face him properly.
"For now." Vel settled beside her on the bench. "No extra class today? Why are you sitting alone out here?"
Celia paused. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She looked away, searching for words that wouldn't come.
"Celia, what happened?" Vel asked gently.
She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes.
"We've been friends for how long?" Vel's voice softened. "You can tell me anything."
Her shoulders sagged. The careful mask she'd been wearing finally cracked.
"I tried to be independent. To stand on my own without running to you every time something went wrong." Her voice grew quieter. "But look where it got me. An outcast."
"What do you mean?" Vel leaned forward slightly.
Celia told him what had happened during team formation—the averted eyes, the polite excuses, the way every potential spot evaporated the moment she approached.
"Even Merin, who I thought was my friend," she continued, her voice growing quiet. "Even groups that desperately needed a third member. Excuses so thin they might as well be insults."
Vel leaned back against the bench, the calculated cruelty of it settling in his mind. This was too coordinated to be a coincidence.
He watched her stare blankly at the path, her hands clenched in her lap. He couldn't leave her like this. A moment passed in silence.
"You know," Vel said finally, his voice carefully neutral, "there are only five students in my class. So we have to find someone eventually, otherwise two of us fail by default."
Celia looked up at him, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
"How about us outcasts stick together?" he offered, his tone more a serious proposition than a lighthearted joke.
Her expression brightened. "Really? You'd want me on your team?"
"Are you serious? Of course," Vel replied without hesitation.
"But... is it even allowed? A standard class student teaming up with... your class?" Celia asked uncertainly.
"Well, there's no rule against it as far as I know. Even elite students can team up with standard classes, right?" Vel reasoned.
"Master Vel, Miss Celia."
Both turned toward the voice. Vel wondered how long she'd been standing there.
Hileya approached with measured steps, setting her tea tray on the bench with practiced grace. She began preparing the service as she spoke, her movements deliberate and smooth.
"Forgive the interruption. I came because I have some information that concerns you both," Hileya said as she arranged the cups.
She handed Celia a cup, steam rising from the amber liquid. "Lysithea... Lady Fairwind," she corrected herself with a slight bow, "has been meeting privately with several students from your class."
"Initially, I thought little of it," Hileya continued, offering Vel his tea. "I couldn't determine the purpose of these meetings."
"However, it became clear she was applying pressure. That's when the gossip began among the servants," she explained, settling into a respectful position nearby.
"Pressure? You mean threats?" Vel asked, his voice sharpening.
Hileya nodded. "Indeed. Marcus was told she would claim he assaulted her. Jana was warned her academic recommendations would disappear. As for Merin... Lady Fairwind made it clear that one word to the right ears could close her family's apothecary permanently."
Celia's hands tightened around her teacup.
"The exact phrase I overheard was, 'People will believe my word over yours, won't they?'" Hileya's voice was quiet but laced with disgust. "I did not realize it was all designed to isolate you specifically, Miss Celia. This went far beyond her typical cruelty."
The systematic rejections, the coordinated excuses—it all clicked into place. "I suspected she was manipulating things, but not to this degree," Vel said grimly.
"House Fairwind's influence is considerable. Using it against other students would be... effortless for her," Hileya observed.
"Vel," Celia said suddenly, her voice hard as steel. The hesitation was gone, replaced by cold resolve. "How quickly can you arrange the registration paperwork?"
"A day. Maybe two."
"I need to leave this class immediately. I'm done caring what any of them think." she declared.
Vel studied her face, seeing the duelist she was meant to be. "The unstable class isn't what people believe. I'll speak with Lyvenna tomorrow."
"I should warn you, though, our training is... intense. We meet before dawn."
"Early mornings?" A genuine smile finally touched her lips. "After today, I'd welcome the solitude. Besides," she added, her voice regaining its confidence, "I've always preferred the quiet hours. Less chance of unwanted interference."
---
[**]
A report lay open across Kein's mahogany desk. He closed it with quiet finality, Clara Freznoria's name visible on the cover along with the title: Unstable Rift Reports.
As if on cue, a knock came at the door.
"Lord Atherwind, a message has arrived. The messenger indicated it was a matter of some discretion."
The letter bore quality paper but no family seal. Inside, elegant script read:
Lord Atherwind - A proposition of mutual benefit awaits discussion. The reflecting pond in the eastern gardens, this afternoon when the sun reaches its zenith. Your discretion would be valued.
No signature. Someone required anonymity, which at the Academy usually meant either scandal or significant political stakes. With the tournament moved to first year, many had been forced to show their hand earlier than planned.
"Did they wait for a response?"
"No, my lord. They departed immediately."
* * *
The eastern gardens were reserved for the Academy's most prominent families, where private conversations could unfold without casual intrusion. Stone pathways wound between manicured hedges toward the reflecting pond at its heart.
Delicate harp music drifted through the afternoon air as Kein approached—complex melodies that spoke of exceptional training, the kind reserved for the highest nobility.
The pond stretched wide and natural, its dark waters now contained within a low marble barrier. Columns supported shaded walkways around the perimeter, while a modest fountain sent ripples across the surface.
Two figures occupied the far side. A young man sat on the marble steps with his back turned, golden hair visible as he focused on his harp. Near the columns stood someone older, alert but dressed to blend rather than command attention.
The standing figure approached as Kein drew near. "Lord Atherwind. I am grateful you could accommodate this request."
"Your message suggested a matter of some urgency."
"Indeed. I have the honor of representing my companion in matters requiring particular care." The servant gestured toward the harpist, who continued playing without acknowledgment. "I trust your afternoon finds you well?"
"Well enough. Though I confess curiosity about the nature of this proposition."
A soft questioning arpeggio flowed from the harp—notes ascending from low to high, ending on a tone that hung in the air like an unfinished thought. The servant listened to the musical phrase before responding.
"My companion seeks a partnership for the Ternion Tournament. However, the alliance he envisions extends beyond the arena itself."
The harp music shifted to something more complex, layered with harmonies that suggested depth beneath the surface. The young man remained with his back turned, seemingly absorbed in his playing and unbothered by their conversation.
"He requires someone of proven capability and absolute discretion. Someone who could serve as both tournament partner and... guardian, should circumstances demand it."
So they wanted a bodyguard who could masquerade as a peer. The request made sense—obvious protection would draw exactly the attention they sought to avoid.
"Protection from what manner of threats?"
"There are those who would view my companion's presence at the Academy as opportunity. Political leverage, personal advancement, or worse." The servant's tone grew more serious. "His position requires someone who understands the weight of responsibility and the necessity of genuine loyalty."
A gentle breeze stirred the water, sending new ripples across the surface. Kein studied both figures—the servant's professional bearing, the harpist's continued absorption in his music.
"Why approach me specifically? Many students could provide such a partnership."
Another musical phrase, more personal this time. The servant nodded.
"My companion has observed your conduct, Lord Atherwind. Your principles during the examination period, your refusal to leverage family connections for unearned advantage. He seeks not merely protection, but genuine friendship."
The servant reached into their jacket and withdrew something that made Kein's breath catch—a medallion bearing the royal crest of House Garnos in gold and precious stones.
Direct connection to the crown. The implications crashed over Kein like a wave. Such an alliance could elevate House Atherwind beyond his father's wildest ambitions, open doors that had remained closed for generations, provide influence at the very heart of the kingdom.
The harp fell completely silent.
In that sudden quiet, Kein found himself remembering what authentic friendship felt like. Laughter shared without calculation, loyalty given freely, trust built through shared experience rather than mutual benefit. Those bonds had been real in ways that political alliances never could be.
He looked from the medallion to the servant, then to the still figure by the water.
"If your companion truly seeks friendship, then that bond cannot be built upon what advantage it might provide. True partnership must be founded on character rather than opportunity."
Kein offered a slight, formal bow—not of subservience, but of respectful closure.
"The honor proposed by House Garnos is significant, and I do not take it lightly," he said, his voice the epitome of noble decorum. "However, your proposition links two separate concepts: a strategic alliance and a bond of friendship. The first may be negotiated. The second must be earned."
"Therefore, on the terms you have presented, I must refuse."
The servant nodded slowly, as if this response had been expected. Still, they pressed forward. "Lord Atherwind, surely you understand the magnitude of what is being offered. Direct access to the crown, influence that could reshape your family's entire future. Are you certain you wish to decline such an opportunity?"
Kein met their gaze steadily. "I am certain. Genuine friendship must come from both sides and cannot be purchased. Loyalty built on influence is a foundation of sand. If that is what he seeks, then I am not the man he requires."
The silence that followed felt absolute, broken only by the rustle of leaves as a breeze swept across the pond.
Then, a trio of notes answered from the harp—clear, precise, and ascending. The sound was unmistakable: the chime of a correct answer to a question Kein hadn't known he was being asked.
The young man set his harp aside and stood. When he turned, his features were aristocratic—refined cheekbones, pale skin, deep blue eyes that held intelligence and something unexpected.
Hope.
He approached, lifting the harp as he moved. A clear, uncomplicated melody flowed from the strings, its simple notes closing the distance between them. It was not a performance, but an introduction—a simple phrase that spoke of beginnings. He came to a stop at a comfortable distance.
When the last notes faded, he offered a small smile. Not the practiced expression of court training, but something genuine that Kein felt as much as saw. This wasn't the indulgent smile of nobility toward a lesser house, but something rawer—an expression that carried loneliness so familiar it resonated in Kein's chest like an echo of his own.
The young man raised his harp higher, fingers poised above the strings. Five notes were then plucked in a slow, deliberate succession.
Each resonant tone did not fade. Instead, it coalesced in the air, shaping itself into a distinct piece of a voice constructed from pure harmony.
Words. Clear and distinct, formed not by vocal cords but by sound itself.
"I. Eldrin. Pleased. Meeting. You."
Understanding crashed over Kein. Eldrin Garnos. The third prince was standing before him.