The arena was still settling. Residual light flickered where the barrier had been pierced, its surface slowly knitting itself back together. Even then, the damage was undeniable.
A first year had broken it.
Zmey stared at the cracked barrier in open disbelief.
Then she burst out laughing.
"Ahahaha… wow," she said, clapping her hands together. "Did you all see that?
She leaned forward, squinting at the still flickering shield. "You know, when I installed that barrier, the third years could barely manage to nick it, and here we are."
Her eyes snapped back to Waffel, suddenly sharp and gleaming. "A first year breaking it. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
Zmey straightened, spun on her heel, and pointed dramatically toward the arena floor. "Match concluded. Winner. Waffel Popovich Erlin."
The announcement landed like a spark in dry grass. Cheers erupted, mixed with stunned whispers.
Waffel froze, rifle half lowered. "I won...."
"Yes, you won," Zmey repeated, grinning. "And you just shaved several years off my teaching career."
Waffel let out a shaky breath and bowed deeply before hurrying off the field. Her steps carried her straight toward Azalea's seat.
I did not catch the words exchanged between them. I did not need to. Azalea leaned in, said something with that infuriatingly smug smile of hers, and Waffel immediately stiffened. Her cheeks turned red as she waved her hands in protest, completely flustered.
Zmey clapped again, louder this time. "Alright, alright. Save the flirting and trauma bonding for later."
She paced in front of the students, hands clasped behind her back. "We started as only using looms as a practice, but ended up with a deathmatch. Vice head is going to nag me again about this."She mumbled.
"Anyway," Zmey said, clapping her hands together, "you should already feel how important a loom is to a weaver."
She paced in front of the class, staff tapping lightly against the floor. "All of you have a well of power inside you, being your core. Now imagine trying to scoop water straight out of a well using only your hands. You might get something out of it, though most of it will spill through your fingers."
Zmey spun the staff once and rested it on her shoulder. "A loom exists to give shape to that power. It is the pail that lets you draw water cleanly, direct it, and use it efficiently. The better the loom, the less power you waste and the more precise your magic becomes."
She raised a finger. "That said, overreliance on a loom is a real problem. If your hands grow too weak to lift the pail, then the well might as well not exist."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Zmey grinned. "Balance, remember? Train your body, train your core, train your control. Use your loom as an extension of yourself, not a crutch."
She tapped her staff lightly against the floor. "Still, a good master never blames the tool. If your magic fails, it is your understanding that needs work, not the loom."
Her gaze swept across the class, lingering just long enough to make the lesson sink in.
Her gaze flicked back to the barrier, now fully restored. "Also, remind me to bill someone for repairs."
A few students laughed.
"Class dismissed," Zmey added, waving a hand. "Try not to break anything else on your way out."
Tasora fell into step beside me. "Come with me to the training grounds. Your concept is still lingering in the training grounds. We need to fix it."
I nodded. "Go on ahead. I will catch up."
She studied my face for a second, then gave a short nod. "Don't take to long."
Nagi approached next, hands clasped behind her head. "Finster and the others are heading to the Entertainment District of Exelia. You should come. It will be fun."
I almost laughed.
Oh. That side arc.
If memory served me right, Finster was going to clean house over there. Wins stacked on wins. A ridiculous artifact wagered and somehow won. When it came to gambling, he never lost.
I considered it carefully.
There was no danger there. If anything, my presence would complicate things. Butterfly effects were already piling up faster than I liked.
"I will pass," I said politely.
Nagi shrugged. "Your loss, see you in dorms then."
As they left, laughter trailing behind them, the hall gradually emptied. My gaze drifted to the far exit.
Speaking of the butterfly effects.....
I turned sharply and broke into a jog.
Cwal was already disappearing down the corridor, posture relaxed, as if the arena had never happened.
I chased after him.
The moment he rounded the corner, he vanished completely.
I stopped short, breath catching.
This would not work. Searching for him directly was physically impossible; however, given his background, he had already noticed me moving toward him. That meant I was already on his radar.
If I couldn't find him, then I needed him to appear before me.
Getting his attention was easy.
Surviving it was the risky part.
I turned around and headed back to the classroom.
The room was empty when I arrived. Afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, dust drifting lazily in the air. I returned to my seat, reached beneath the desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen.
I sat upright, facing forward, as if this were any other quiet moment after class.
Then I started drawing.
An apple.
A snake coiled around it, fangs sinking deep into the skin.
I would not call myself an artist. The lines were rough, uneven in places. Still, I had drawn this logo enough times in college's idle moments that my hand remembered the shape. It came together faster than expected.
Almost finished.
Before I could complete the final line, steel slammed down.
A knife pierced through the paper, pinning it to the desk. The blade skewered the snake's tail and split the apple down the center.
At the same instant, a sharp, itching pressure crawled up my throat, tightening like invisible fingers around my neck.
Cold breath brushed my ear.
A voice followed, low and precise.
"Who are you," it asked, "and why do you have information about us?"
I swallowed against the pressure.
"Who are you?"
That made it the second time today.
Finster's voice flashed through my memory, along with how poorly I had handled that moment. I refused to repeat the mistake.
Slowly, I raised one hand, palm open.
"Calm down," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I am here to hire you, Cwal Solace."
The pressure increased.
"Or," I added carefully, "should I say Snow White?"
The grip around my throat tightened until breathing turned shallow. The air grew colder.
"You should not know that name," Cwal said quietly.
"I should not," I agreed. "Which is exactly why you need to hear me out."
Silence stretched.
The blade did not move. The pressure remained. Still, it stopped tightening.
I took that as permission.
"I am not your enemy," I continued. "I am someone who knows what you can do, what you are hiding, and why you cannot afford to reveal it yet."
A faint shift behind me. I could sense his attention sharpening.
"I also know," I said, "that you are going to need resources soon. Access. and most importantly, you need allies."
The cold eased slightly.
"And I can provide that," I finished. "If you listen."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the pressure around my throat loosened enough for me to breathe properly.
Cwal's voice came again, closer this time.
"You have exactly one chance," he said. "Speak."
"Roy planted something around your heart," I continued. "A serpent woven from corrupted thrum. It tightens every time you disobey him. Eventually, it will decide you are no longer useful."
The air behind me shifted.
"That knowledge of his name alone," Cwal said coldly, "is enough to get you killed."
"Then let me add something Roy does not know," I replied. "It is not permanent. The weave is incomplete. The original heart-grasp serpent art is lost through the generations. What you have now is a mere defective replica. It relies on your own core to stay anchored."
The pressure faltered for the first time.
"You have felt it," I said. "Moments when it burns hotter than it should. Moments when it almost slips."
Silence.
"And your mother," I went on. "Comatose. No healer can wake her because the damage is not physical. Her core was fragmented during an experimental infusion."
The knife twisted slightly, wood creaking.
"You stop," Cwal said.
I took a slow breath. "I am offering you two things. A method to safely remove the serpent without triggering its failsafe, and a way to restore your mother's condition ."
Cwal laughed softly.
It was hollow.
"You expect me to believe that," he said.
"I expect you to doubt me," I replied. "That is why I am not asking for trust."
The knife lifted.
The pressure vanished.
I turned slightly in my seat, enough to see him standing there at last.