The wind at Arnel Hill never truly stayed still. It moved like something alive, brushing against the surface of the ground, bending uneven patches of grass along the slope, and carrying small pebbles that slid softly from higher ground. The scent of dry soil mixed with the cold morning air, creating a thin, piercing sensation in the lungs whenever it was drawn in too deeply.
Cillian stood among dozens of students lined up in formation, though that order did not fully reflect what was happening within them. Small groups had already formed, some out of status, some out of habit, and others out of instinctive survival. Eyes moved constantly. Measuring. Calculating. Judging. Even before the exercise began, invisible boundaries had already taken shape.
Near him, Blane stood slightly stiffer than usual. Not much, just a subtle tension in his shoulders and the way he held his breath, but it was enough for Cillian to notice. He turned his head just slightly, catching the side of Blane's face, which looked paler than it had that morning.
"Are you alright?" Cillian asked quietly, his voice blending into the surrounding murmurs.
Blane didn't answer immediately. He lifted his chin a little, as if trying to align himself with a situation that hadn't even fully begun yet. "Of course," he said at last, but his tone was flat, too flat for someone who usually carried himself more casually.
Cillian didn't respond. He watched for a second longer than necessary, then turned his gaze forward again.
Not convincing.
Before his thoughts could continue, soft footsteps approached from the right. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… certain.
Omnia Griff.
She stopped close to him, just enough to intrude into personal space, yet still within what could be considered polite. The wind brushed against her long blonde hair, strands shifting lightly across her face, but her expression remained composed, too composed for someone who clearly had an intention.
"This training… feels a bit rushed for us, doesn't it?" she said, as if speaking to the air, though her eyes were clearly fixed on him.
Then she extended her hand.
A simple motion.
Yet full of meaning.
"As you may know… I'm Omnia Griff. It's a pleasure to meet you, young Magnus."
Several nearby students began paying attention. Not openly, but noticeably. The name Griff was not something easily ignored, and interactions like this… rarely happened without purpose.
Cillian didn't respond immediately. He looked at her hand for a moment. Then at her face.
No change in expression.
No smile.
No acceptance.
"There's nothing to discuss," he said flatly.
Silence.
Her hand remained extended.
But no longer had a destination.
"If you continue to interfere, Lady Griff," he added, his tone colder now, "don't blame me if I respond harshly."
The word harsh carried no emotion.
That was exactly why it felt real.
Omnia froze, just for a fraction of a second, but enough to fracture her otherwise perfect composure. She withdrew her hand slowly, stepping back once.
This time, the surrounding students didn't hide their reactions.
Omnia Griff.
Rejected.
Just like that.
From the Rogue side, Felix narrowed his eyes. A faint smile appeared on his lips without his awareness, like a reflex he didn't bother controlling. Gina, beside him, shivered slightly. "Why are you smiling like that…? That's unsettling."
Felix blinked, as if only now realizing his expression. "Don't misunderstand."
"How am I supposed not to?" Gina shot back. "That's clearly your analysis face."
Felix didn't answer. His gaze returned to Cillian, and something within him shifted.
Unchanged.
A fragment of memory surfaced, brief, sharp. A ballroom. Soft music. A noble child trying not to cry in the corner. And in front of him… a younger Cillian, standing without guilt, wearing the same expression as now.
He's always been like this.
Direct.
No compromise.
No regard for who stands in front of him.
A sharp voice suddenly broke the tension.
Instructor Zhang stood at the front, carrying an entirely different presence from Reginald or Anna. Louder. More explosive. Like something that refused to remain still.
"You've heard the explanation!" his voice thundered, leaving no space for anyone to think too long. "Now take your positions!"
Murmurs rose immediately.
"He's from Zhennang…?"
"That way of speaking…"
"Who would even listen…"
Not quiet enough.
Loud enough.
Zhang's eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath, too deep and then-
"Knight!"
His voice exploded.
"Sprint!"
Silence for a split second. Some students exchanged glances.
"According to the rules-"
"RUN!"
No room for discussion.
No compromise.
"Five kilometers! Now!"
Bodies moved instantly, some out of obedience, others out of reflex. "Damn it…" One of students ran beside Cillian, already breathing heavily despite only seconds passing. "This means we have to sprint from start to finish!"
"Focus on stamina," Elyria cut in from ahead without looking back. "Don't waste energy complaining."
"Maybe after this we can cultivate-"
"That's not funny."
"I think it is."
"It's not."
Aider raised his hand as if surrendering, yet kept running.
Cillian didn't join the conversation. His steps remained steady. Controlled. But his breathing began adjusting to the new rhythm. Cold air entered his lungs, creating a faint burning sensation. Muscles engaged more intensely. Circulation accelerated. Heart rate climbed.
Five kilometers. Sprint. No proper warm-up.
Interesting.
Behind them, Zhang turned toward the Rogue group. His gaze alone was enough.
No words.
They tensed instantly.
"…Squat jumps," he said shortly.
"You've got to be kidding-"
"Start!"
No choice.
The first movement felt light.
The second… heavier.
The tenth…
painful.
Zhang stood still, fists tightening until the map in his hand crumpled without him noticing.
"These damn students…!"
The assistant beside him could only sweat quietly, not daring to intervene.
Down the slope, the Knights continued running. Gravel shifted underfoot. Some nearly slipped, but none stopped. The wind struck their faces, carrying away thin layers of sweat, though not enough to ease the burden building inside their bodies.
Cillian ran alongside Elyria and Ketty. He spoke, his breath slightly broken yet controlled.
"Do you know the old saying?"
Elyria glanced at him briefly, confused. "hah?"
"A blade that's sharpened once isn't necessarily sharp," Cillian continued, voice fragmented by his breathing rhythm, "but if it's sharpened without hesitation… its sharpness won't be questioned."
Elyria tilted her head.
Ketty snorted. "That has nothing to do with our current situation."
"It does," Cillian replied shortly.
"No, it doesn't."
"A little."
From behind, Aider shouted, "I agree with the 'doesn't' part!"
"Stay out of it!" Ketty snapped.
Omnia, running just behind them, smiled faintly. "From start to finish… none of that connects."
Cillian turned his face away.
No response.
Behind them,
Blane.
His pace began to slow.
Not drastically.
But enough to create distance.
His eyes remained forward, but his focus wasn't on the path anymore.
You want that too.
A voice surfaced in his mind.
Familiar.
Connected.
He looked ahead Cillian, Elyria, Ketty, even Aider with his noise.
How are they… already like that?
His chest tightened.
Not just from the sprint.
Something deeper.
Something unclear.
They barely know each other... so why.
Suddenly.
A flash.
His hand.
Red.
Blood.
He stopped.
Completely.
The world continued moving around him. Other students ran past. But their voices felt distant.
Muted.
Cillian stopped.
Without hesitation.
He turned.
Immediately.
My guess was right.
Something had been off.
He looked at Blane.
Standing still.
Eyes empty.
Breathing uneven.
Cillian approached, slower now.
More careful.
There was hesitation within him.
Thin.
But real.
Helping others… is troublesome.
Building connections… even more so.
He stopped in front of Blane.
Watched him.
A few seconds.
Silent.
But he didn't leave.
"Blane."
His voice was low.
Not forcing.
Not fully caring.
But enough to… remain.
And within the wind, the heartbeat, and the lingering shadow.