The air outside Seraphine's office was cooler, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on Gray's chest. He could still feel her words circling in his mind like vultures. 'The cult is already here. The white-haired boy is a royal. You must watch them.'
As the door sealed behind them with a soft hiss, Renn rubbed the back of his neck. "You think she's serious about us spying on royalty?"
Gray's gaze stayed forward. "She doesn't joke about things like that."
They walked in silence for a while, their boots clicking lightly against the polished floor. The corridor stretched endlessly, sunlight streaming in through long glass panes, splitting into fractured beams that painted the walls gold and white.
After a minute, Gray spoke. "You got any clue where Lira could be?"
Renn hummed thoughtfully, pressing a finger to his chin. "Kinda. I saw her training this morning near the southern courtyard. She's probably still there considering i haven't seen her in sny other class."
Gray nodded. "Good. Let's head there."
They rounded a corner just as a deep bell tolled through the halls, its sound echoing like a heartbeat across the academy grounds. Class periods were over. Doors slid open in unison as students began filing out, their chatter swelling like a rising tide.
Gray stopped. "Split up."
Renn blinked. "What?"
Gray turned toward him. "If we're going to stay undercover, you can't just skip your next class. People will notice. Go on ahead. I'll handle Lira."
Renn frowned but quickly realized he was right. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm just not used to us being undercover agents."
Gray smirked faintly. "Neither am I. But for now, we act normal."
Renn sighed. "Fine. What's the plan then?"
Gray looked down the corridor, his voice low. "Stay quiet. Keep your head low. At night, we meet in your room to share anything we find."
Renn nodded, glancing around before whispering, "Room 214. The code's three knocks followed by one delayed one."
Gray almost laughed. "You're really committing to this spy thing, huh?"
"Gotta have some style, right?" Renn grinned weakly.
"Just don't tell anyone else. Not Korr, not Adel. Not yet," Gray said firmly.
"Got it." Renn adjusted his uniform and began walking away. "Try not to get stabbed again before dinner."
Gray rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. "I'll try."
When Renn disappeared into the crowd of students, Gray turned down another hall that led to the courtyard. The noise of the corridors faded until all that was left was the faint hum of the wind passing through the academy's open arches.
He pushed open the courtyard doors and stepped outside.
The sky was vast and silver-blue above him, streaked with slow-moving clouds. The courtyard spread wide—a circular space lined with pale trees and marble benches. It was mostly empty now, save for one person in its center.
Lira Cael moved with quiet precision.
Her blade cut through the air with practiced grace, her breath steady. Each swing was sharp, controlled, deliberate. The faint shimmer of sweat on her temple caught the light, and for a brief moment, she looked almost ethereal—like a sculpture brought to life.
Gray watched quietly, his presence nearly invisible among the soft rustle of leaves. She didn't notice him at first, too focused on the rhythm of her strikes. But when she paused, exhaling deeply, her eyes flicked toward the edge of the courtyard.
Her tone was cold but not unkind. "Why are you here?"
Gray stepped closer, moving slowly toward the weapon rack at the side. He picked up a wooden sword, feeling its weight in his hand. "Thought I'd get some practice in," he said with a faint smile. "Unless you're afraid to lose again."
Lira blinked once. "Bold words."
Gray raised the sword slightly. "Friendly duel?"
She opened her mouth before closing it again. "Fine."
Gray stood at one end of the courtyard, the wooden sword resting lightly against his shoulder. Across from him, Lira lowered her stance, her eyes focused and steady. The faint sunlight filtering through the trees shimmered against her silver-blonde hair, strands swaying as the wind brushed past.
For a moment, neither moved.
The stillness was tense, like a string pulled to its limit.
Then Gray stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the sanded ground. He swung lightly, testing her guard. Lira deflected effortlessly, the wood clacking sharply. She countered with a low sweep aimed at his ribs. Gray twisted, the blade barely grazing his tunic.
A few more exchanged blows followed—fast, clean, and deliberate. Neither of them were fighting to win. It was a dance of instincts and rhythm. Each strike, each parry, revealed a piece of the other.
"You've gotten faster," Lira said, her tone calm but her eyes sharp.
"Or maybe you've gotten slower," Gray teased, stepping in with a faint grin.
Lira's lips curved upward slightly. "Careful. I'm still above you."
"Not for long."
Their swords met again, the sound ringing clear through the courtyard. The impact echoed, catching the attention of a few students who wandered out after class. One by one, they stopped, forming a small semicircle around the two.
Gray ducked under a vertical strike and lunged forward, his sword stopping just short of her shoulder. She smirked and flicked his blade aside with a quick twist, then used the momentum to spin. Her wooden sword whooshed past his cheek, close enough for him to feel the air move.
He stepped back, breathing out through his nose. "Nice one."
"Wasn't aiming to miss."
The fight continued. Neither used Vyre—this was raw skill, tempered by their shared experience. Gray's movements were rougher, built from survival and instinct. Lira's were precise, shaped by discipline and countless lessons. Yet somehow, they met in the middle, balancing each other perfectly.
As the minutes stretched, both began to tire. Sweat traced along Gray's jawline, and Lira's breathing grew slightly uneven. Still, neither backed down.
Gray feinted left and struck right. Lira blocked, but the force pushed her a step back. She recovered instantly, her gaze narrowing. Their next clash was harder, wood smacking wood, echoing through the courtyard like the rhythm of two hearts refusing to yield.
The small crowd murmured in awe.
At last, they broke apart, both panting. Lira raised her sword again, ready to continue, but then—for a heartbeat—her eyes flickered. A faint golden light shimmered in her pupils, like the spark of a flame trying to escape.
At the same time, shadows pooled faintly around Gray's feet, thin wisps curling from the ground as if drawn to his breath.
Their gazes met. A silent understanding passed between them.
"Maybe we stop here," Lira said softly.
Gray nodded, lowering his sword. "Yeah… before this turns into something else."
A few spectators groaned in disappointment as the two stepped back. The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving the courtyard quiet again.
They sat down on a nearby bench as the small crowd dispersed, disappointed the duel hadn't ended with a victor. The courtyard quieted again. The breeze returned, carrying the scent of wet stone and distant flowers.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Gray leaned back, looking up at the fractured sky. "Strange, isn't it," he said quietly. "How calm it is here. Like the world doesn't care about what's happening beneath it."
Lira glanced sideways at him. "You always talk like that?"
He smiled faintly. "Only when I'm tired."
She rolled her eyes but didn't press further. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—it was heavy in a peaceful way, as though both were waiting for the other to break it.
After a while, Lira spoke. "You didn't come here for a duel. Why are you really here, Gray?"
Gray exhaled slowly, lowering his gaze to the sword resting across his knees. "Because I know."
Lira's brow furrowed. "Know what?"
"That you're a royal," he said.
Her entire posture shifted. The calmness vanished, replaced by surprise and guarded tension. "How—"
"Doesn't matter," Gray cut in, shaking his head. "What matters is that I don't care, aswell as that you don't have to keep this to yourself."
Lira froze.
Gray continued, his voice quieter now. "What I do care about however, is your safety. After everything we went through in Glacierfang… you proved you weren't just some royal looking down on the rest of us. You fought like the rest of us. You risked your life for us."
He stood, turning to face her. "That's the kind of person I trust."
Lira looked down, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. "You shouldn't. My family doesn't want me around non-royals. They made that clear the day I came here."
Gray laughed softly. "Then why listen to them? Why live by someone else's rules?"
She lifted her eyes slowly. He was standing in front of her, framed by the light of the fractured sun above. His ash-gray hair caught the glow, and though his features were sharp and plain, there was something disarming about him—a steadiness she couldn't ignore.
The sunlight poured through the courtyard canopy, casting thin shadows across his face. The faint smell of rain lingered in the air.
Gray extended a hand toward her. "Let's go back to what we were. A team. I need your help, Lira. We all do."
For a heartbeat, she didn't move. The old walls around them seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of wind and their breathing.
Then, slowly, she smiled. It wasn't wide or bright, but it was real. She reached out and took his hand, her grip firm and warm.
"I hope I don't regret this," she murmured.
Gray grinned. "You won't. Probably."
She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
They stood like that for a moment longer, the cracked sun painting the courtyard in shades of gold and gray. Around them, the world felt momentarily distant—its dangers, its secrets, its lies—all held at bay by something simple and human.
Lira looked up again, her tone softer. "You really think I can help with whatever nonsense you got yourself into this time?"
Gray glanced toward the academy's tall spires in the distance. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But together, I know we can overcome any obstacle."
The wind shifted gently, carrying a few fallen leaves past them.
And for the first time in a long while, Lira's eyes reflected something other than caution—something almost like hope.