Power never announced itself.
It arranged circumstances until people believed their choices were their own.
Lucien Arvayne learned this lesson properly for the first time inside Class F.
The conflict began small.
It always did.
Two students.
Two surnames.
Two fragile prides that had never been taught how insignificant they truly were.
Merrick Voln, a boy with a diluted fire affinity and a loud mouth inherited from generations that once mattered.
Eliane Krest, sharp-eyed, quiet, carrying the bruised dignity of a house already sliding down the ladder.
The trigger was trivial.
A chair.
Merrick claimed it was his.
Eliane refused to move.
Words followed.
Then mana flared.
Lucien watched from his seat.
Not passively.
Attentively.
He noted posture. Tone. Who watched. Who didn't.
Instructor Rolfe was absent—predictably late.
Other students leaned back, eager.
Conflict was entertainment when you were already written off.
Merrick sneered. "Your house barely pays academy fees anymore. Know your place."
Eliane's jaw tightened. "Say that again."
Mana sparked.
The room tensed.
Lucien inhaled sharply.
Now.
He stood.
Too fast.
The chair behind him scraped loudly against the stone floor.
All eyes turned.
Lucien's hands trembled.
"P–please stop…" he said, voice thin, cracking. "You're going to get in trouble…"
Merrick scoffed. "Stay out of it, Arvayne. This doesn't concern you."
Lucien flinched like he'd been struck.
"I–I just… fighting is bad…" His eyes shone suspiciously fast with tears. "We'll all be punished…"
Eliane hesitated.
Not because of Lucien's words.
Because of his tone.
It wasn't authoritative.
It wasn't clever.
It was sincere.
At least, that's how it sounded.
Lucien stepped between them—physically smaller, emotionally exposed.
A stupid move.
A believable one.
"Please," he whispered, bowing his head deeply. "I don't like it when people yell…"
Silence fell.
Merrick shifted uncomfortably.
Eliane's anger wavered.
Behind lowered lashes, Lucien observed the microexpressions.
Crack achieved.
The Shadow Avatar moved simultaneously.
Not in the classroom.
Elsewhere.
Three nights earlier, it had slipped into administrative archives—rooms warded against intrusion but blind to absence. It had read personnel records, financial ledgers, sealed letters never meant for student eyes.
It found Merrick Voln's weakness easily.
House Voln had been skimming academy supply contracts for years. Small amounts. Careful.
But illegal.
More importantly—
A rival house already suspected.
All they needed was confirmation.
The Shadow Avatar released the information carefully.
Not openly.
A whisper here.
A misplaced document there.
An anonymous suggestion delivered to the right clerk with the right ambition.
Lucien didn't order the leak.
He merely allowed it.
Back in Class F, the tension dissolved.
Merrick clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Not worth it."
He shoved the chair away and sat elsewhere.
Eliane exhaled slowly.
Lucien's knees buckled.
He grabbed the desk for support, breathing hard, tears finally spilling over.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I made it worse, didn't I…?"
Eliane stared at him, then shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. "You… you stopped it."
Trust formed.
Not loyalty.
Something more dangerous.
Gratitude.
The consequences came two days later.
Swift.
Brutal.
House Voln was summoned before an oversight council.
Financial irregularities were revealed.
Contracts revoked.
Public reprimand issued.
Merrick arrived at class pale, silent, eyes hollow.
His fire affinity flickered weakly.
Status damage was not theoretical in Astraeon.
It was felt.
Lucien watched carefully.
He did not look at Merrick.
That would have been suspicious.
Instead, he sat rigid, eyes downcast, as whispers rippled through the room.
"Did you hear?"
"Voln is finished."
"They say the Count disowned his own brother to survive."
"Merrick's done."
Lucien's fingers clenched slowly beneath the desk.
Outcome confirmed.
Eliane glanced at him.
A look of sympathy.
Of shared victimhood.
Lucien returned it with watery eyes and a small, trembling smile.
Instructor Rolfe addressed the class.
"Let this be a lesson," he said curtly. "The academy does not tolerate instability."
His gaze slid over Lucien without stopping.
Good.
Very good.
That afternoon, Lucien cried.
Publicly.
In the courtyard.
He sat on a bench, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands.
Servants passed.
Students slowed.
Whispers followed.
"Is he crying again?"
"Probably overwhelmed."
"Poor Arvayne child."
Eliane approached hesitantly.
"Lucien… are you alright?"
Lucien looked up, eyes red, nose running.
"I–I think it's my fault," he sobbed. "If I hadn't gotten involved, maybe Merrick wouldn't have—"
"No," Eliane said firmly. "You did the right thing."
She sat beside him.
Others noticed.
A few more joined.
Not leaders.
But listeners.
The kind who remembered kindness.
Lucien clutched his sleeves tighter.
"I just don't want anyone to get hurt…"
It was almost funny.
Inside—
Lucien was calm.
No joy.
No guilt.
Just confirmation.
He replayed the sequence with surgical clarity.
Conflict identified.
Emotional leverage applied.
Third-party intervention framed as weakness.
Information deployed indirectly.
Outcome achieved.
Blame diffused.
No fingerprints.
No suspicion.
Even the Shadow Avatar registered no resistance.
—PROCESS SUCCESSFUL—
—INFLUENCE VECTOR ESTABLISHED—
Lucien breathed shakily—outwardly.
Inwardly—
He smiled.
That night, Lucien lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The academy slept.
House Voln burned quietly.
Eliane trusted him.
Class F now saw him as safe.
And higher powers?
They saw nothing at all.
Lucien closed his eyes.
This is what it feels like, he thought.
Not to rule…
A pause.
But to decide.
His lips curved faintly in the dark.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Certain.
"Control achieved."