The classroom air hung thick with unspoken tension, clinging to Drake's throat like acrid wildfire smoke. Hostility and detestation refused containment, no matter how gilded their cages. Nobles and commoners shared the same red blood, the same fragile mortality, yet the former carried themselves as if their veins ran with liquid gold.
Pathetic.
Vince had been merely the first test today—an obvious pawn moved by unseen hands. The weight of noble stares burned against Drake's skin, their disdain radiating like forge heat. He met each gaze deliberately before doing what unsettled them most.
He laughed.
It began as a quiet chuckle, then deepened into something darker that made silk-clad students shift in their seats.
"Something amusing, gutter filth?" spat a noble, fingers twitching toward his belt dagger—a rule violation none would challenge.
Drake simply let the laughter build, watching their discomfort curdle into rage.
Then—
The door hissed open.
Silence fell.
Jackson Storm stood framed in sunlight, golden hair glowing like a halo around steel. His cobalt eyes swept the room, lingering on Drake a heartbeat too long before he took his seat with predatory grace.
Alexis and Xian arrived moments later, the latter arching an eyebrow at the charged atmosphere. Professor Harken shuffled in behind them, his usual confidence absent. The aging instructor's hands trembled as he adjusted his spectacles, his gaze darting repeatedly to the windows.
Drake's instincts prickled. This tension hadn't existed yesterday. Even Jackson sat unnaturally rigid, jaw clenched tight.
The lecture dragged, Harken reciting basic principles of Aether Core mechanics in a hollow monotone. By the time the dismissal bell rang, the unease had deepened.
The rumors had reached Drake by now, mostly through Xian and Alexis's hushed conversations. It appeared the students from elite families weren't as discreet as they imagined. Breaking Dawn Academy—an institution similar to Arachis—had been completely annihilated by an emerging terrorist faction. More recently, they'd wiped out House Grimmjaw, though it had been one of the less prominent noble houses. Yet regardless of its standing, noble blood remained noble blood. Their destruction sent tremors through the established order—no one was safe.
With club activities suspended and instructors absent, Alexis made an uncharacteristic suggestion: "Let's watch Xian's Support training."
Drake's eyebrow climbed. "Since when do you care about healing arts?"
Alexis's reddening ears betrayed him. Xian seized his arm, grinning. "Since he learned divine perfection wears my face."
"Gods preserve me," Alexis groaned, making no move to escape. Drake suppressed an eye roll.
Crossing the quadrangle, movement near the administration building snagged Drake's attention. Two Sentinels marched a disheveled Maya Frey toward Winston's office—no, dragged her.
The unshakable instructor looked broken. Emerald hair hung in tangles. Her uniform sleeve was torn, revealing livid bruises. Most shocking—the dark contusion marring her cheekbone.
Then she turned.
Their eyes locked.
For one terrifying heartbeat, Drake felt her gaze dissect him. Recognition flashed in her widened eyes before she looked away.
But not before Drake saw the impossible—genuine terror in Maya Frey's eyes.
"Alright?" Alexis nudged him.
"Fine," Drake lied.
Because if something could break Maya Frey, the coming storm wouldn't just threaten Arachis—it would scour their world to bedrock.