Applause never came.
That was how I knew I'd done real damage.
The Hall of Concord emptied in pieces—small knots of people peeling away, voices low, faces tight. No cheers. No open condemnation either. Just that brittle, dangerous quiet that followed something people weren't ready to name yet.
I stayed where I was until Valentina dismissed the guards.
Only then did my legs remember how tired they were.
The warmth in my palms finally ebbed, leaving behind that hollow, buzzing ache like I'd held something too heavy for too long. I flexed my fingers slowly, watching them tremble before they steadied.
Seraphina rose from the front row.
She didn't hurry. Didn't look at anyone else. Just walked straight toward me across the stone floor, footsteps echoing too clearly in the hush.
When she stopped in front of me, she was close enough that I could feel the cold she carried—not sharp today, not biting. Controlled. Contained.
"You didn't humiliate them," she said quietly.
"No," I replied.
"You dismantled them."
I let out a slow breath. "That was the point."
Her gaze searched my face, not for weakness, but for certainty. Whatever she found there made her nod once.
"Good," she said. "They will not forgive that."
"I'm counting on it."
Isolde appeared at my shoulder, posture rigid, eyes scanning the thinning crowd. "You're requested again," she said.
"By whom?" I asked, already tired of the question.
"The council," she replied. "Privately. Now."
Lyra drifted over, hands shoved into her pockets, grin gone but eyes bright. "That was fun," she said. "In the 'everything's about to explode' sense."
I glanced at her. "Stay visible."
"Oh, I plan to," she said cheerfully. "I've got three curse theorists hyperventilating in the south wing."
"Perfect."
Seraphina didn't follow us when Isolde turned toward the side doors.
Instead, she spoke once more, voice low. "Whatever they offer you—whatever they threaten—remember this wasn't just about you."
"I know," I said.
Her eyes softened. "Good."
Then she turned away, already being intercepted by a cluster of nobles who'd suddenly remembered how much they admired House Valdris.
The council chamber was smaller than the hall below. No grand seating. No audience benches. Just a circular table and too many people who smelled like power and old fear.
They were already arguing when we entered.
I didn't bow.
I sat.
The arguing stopped.
Valentina took her place at the head of the table, fingers steepled. "You've all seen the demonstration," she said calmly. "Let's not insult each other by pretending otherwise."
A thin man with a healer's sigil on his collar leaned forward. "What we saw was reckless."
"Effective," Valentina countered.
"Dangerous," another snapped.
"Visible," she replied again.
Eyes turned to me.
I didn't speak.
Let them fill the silence.
Finally, the thin man cleared his throat. "Mr. Ashford, your… method undermines established authority."
I met his gaze. "Your authority depends on people not noticing where the pain comes from."
Murmurs rippled.
"That's an accusation," he said stiffly.
"It's an observation," I replied. "You can tell which by how hard you're clenching your jaw."
Someone hissed under their breath.
Valentina raised a finger. "Enough. We are not here to posture."
She turned to me. "Theo. You've made your point. Now comes consequence."
I nodded. "I expected as much."
"Good," she said. "Because here are your options."
I almost laughed.
"First," she continued, "you submit to Guild oversight. Restrictions. Scheduled demonstrations. Your clinic becomes an extension of their authority."
"No," I said.
She nodded, unsurprised. "Second. You are formally censured. Your access restricted. Patients triaged through approved channels."
"No."
A pause.
"Third," she said carefully, "you are recognized as an independent medical authority under academy charter."
The room went still.
"And?" I asked.
"And that recognition comes with obligations," she said. "Transparency. Documentation. And political visibility you cannot shed."
I leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under me. "Meaning I become a target anyway."
"Yes," she said.
I thought of the first-year's arm. Of the volunteer's shaking hands. Of the way the curse had unraveled when fear stopped being its anchor.
"Then make it official," I said. "But on my terms."
A sharp intake of breath from someone to my left.
Valentina tilted her head. "State them."
"Direct access only," I said. "No intermediaries. No Guild suppression techniques within my clinic. Consent remains explicit. Refusal remains final."
"And if the Church objects?" someone demanded.
"They already do," I replied. "That didn't stop me today."
Silence pressed in.
Finally, Valentina nodded once. "So recorded."
She stood. "This council will reconvene at dawn to formalize the charter. Until then—" Her eyes flicked around the table. "—no one touches his clinic."
The meeting dissolved into uneasy motion.
As we left, Isolde fell into step beside me. "You've made yourself untouchable," she said.
"For now," I replied.
She glanced at my hands. "You're shaking."
I looked down.
I was.
"Adrenaline," I said.
She didn't call me on the lie.
Outside, the academy was darker than it should have been. Clouds had rolled in, swallowing the late light, stone pathways slick with the promise of rain.
I headed back toward the clinic.
Halfway there, I felt it.
The shift.
Not magic. Not wards.
Attention.
I stopped.
"Come out," I said quietly.
Footsteps echoed from the side corridor. Soft. Deliberate.
Brother Calven emerged from the shadows, hands empty, posture relaxed. He smelled faintly of incense and damp wool.
"You've escalated," he said mildly.
"Yes," I replied.
"You've embarrassed powerful people."
"Yes."
"And you've positioned yourself as a moral counterweight," he continued. "Which is far more dangerous."
I folded my arms. "You're not here to congratulate me."
"No," he agreed. "I'm here to warn you."
"About what?"
"About escalation you cannot heal," he said. "About retaliation that won't come as curses or blades."
I waited.
"Reputation," he said. "Isolation. Whispered doubts. They will say you enjoy what you do."
I met his gaze steadily. "Some already do."
"And when they do?" he asked. "When they decide your power corrupts you?"
"Then they'll have to prove it," I said. "In public."
For the first time, his composure cracked. Just a hairline fracture, but enough.
"You're very certain," he said.
"No," I replied. "I'm committed."
He studied me for a long moment, then inclined his head. "Then I will continue to observe."
"I expect nothing less."
He stepped back into the shadows and was gone.
The rain started as I reached the clinic.
Light at first. Then heavier.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, sealing the wards against the sound of the storm. The room smelled the same as always—ink, linen, old wood—but now there was something else layered over it.
Memory.
I sank into the chair behind the desk and let my head fall back.
The system chimed once.
[Independent Authority Pending]
[Public Trust Increased]
[Opposition Consolidating]
I closed my eyes.
After the applause dies, after the arguments fade, after the lines are drawn—
That's when people decide whether they're willing to bleed to erase them.
And judging by the silence outside my door, that decision was already being made.