Tension crackles in the air as Lyra steps forward, her body taut like a drawn bow, poised to strike. But before she can move, a hand settles lightly on her arm.
"Step aside, Taran," she commands. She does not spare him a glance.
The dark elf with sleek, immaculately combed hair meets her glare with unwavering composure. "Let it be, Lyra. This is beneath you."
Her violet eyes pulse slightly. "You expect me to suffer such an insult in silence?"
"Yes," Taran replies smoothly, his voice level. "Reserve your strength for the tournament. You have far greater battles ahead than deigning to acknowledge a—" his eyes flicker toward the cavern entrance, "—stray."
Kaelen exhales a derisive laugh, arms crossing over his chest. "Reserve it? And for what? This is a matter of principle. A mere servant could dispose of such filth—"
"Enough," Taran interjects, his tone sharpening. He turns his gaze to Kaelen, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Do you wish to forfeit favor?"
Kaelen's posture stiffens, his nostrils flaring. "What?" His voice drops, dangerously low. "You dare utter such an affront?"
Taran exhales, fingers pressing briefly against the bridge of his nose, as if weary of explaining the obvious. "Not an affront. A caution. Recklessness invites scrutiny. Restraint, Kaelen, is a tool of the discerning. It tempers the burden of expectation while strengthening one's standing." His gaze shifts to Lyra. "And to rouse conflict now would yield nothing but disorder. It would invite attention—unwanted, unnecessary, and entirely without merit."
A deep voice rumbles from the side. "He speaks sense," Mercer murmurs at last, his massive arms still folded as he observes. "But a human, Taran? Here?"
Kaelen sneers. "I know, Mercer. The mere thought is repugnant. What could the Headmaster possibly intend? A human among our ranks? We will be reduced to a spectacle before the entire academy."
From the shadows, a figure shifts. The dark elf draped in a black cloak lined with intricate brass filigree exhales in irritation. Jamis Norswith, still nursing his bruised jaw, clicks his tongue in distaste. "Forget the human. That mongrel half-blood laid hands upon me." His voice drips with venom, low and seething. "This cannot go unanswered."
The murmurs ripple through the gathered nobles,—until Lyra steps forward once more.
"Enough."
Silence falls.
Her gaze sweeps over them. "This is a triviality." Her tone is crisp, measured, utterly unyielding. "I have no time to squander on insignificance. My Quin'Valda approaches. The Tournament of Ascension looms."
Taran inclines his head in deference. "We understand, Lady Heiress, yet—"
"I will hear no more of this," Lyra interrupts. "That wretched creature presumed to address me. To believe itself worthy of discourse in my presence." Her expression tightens, hands curling into fists. "A being of such lamentable lineage. The same race that once sought dominion over our world. That human—" her eyes glint with cold disdain "—was fortunate today. Next time, he shall not be."
...
Obinai lets out a nervous chuckle as he trails behind Grom and Bram. They really care that much about all that hierarchy nonsense? Damn… is my reputation already in the dirt just 'cause I didn't bow?
The dimly lit tunnels seem less oppressive as they walk, the tension from earlier starting to ease. Like hell I'd ever do something like that… but I can still recover. Make some friends besides this crazy—
His thoughts are cut off when Bram claps him on the shoulder with a laugh. "You really got a way with others, huh?"
Obinai blinks, then smirks. "What can I say? It's a gift… kinda."
Bram chuckles. "Yeah, a gift for pissing off the wrong ones."
Obinai rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, like I was supposed to just stand there and take it?"
Bram shrugs. "Dunno, man. Mighta helped."
Obinai scoffs. "Yeah? And what about you? You weren't exactly diffusing the situation back there."
Bram grins. "Nah, but I didn't get hit, so I'd say I did alright."
Obinai shakes his head, exhaling. "Great. So now I'm stuck with a target on my back while you get to cruise by."
Bram snorts. "Cruise? Man, I live for this kinda drama. School's boring without it."
Obinai groans. "Unbelievable." He glances at Grom ahead of them, his massive frame making even the wide tunnel feel cramped. "What do you think he wants with us, anyway?"
Bram shrugs again. "Dunno. Probably tellin' us how screwed we are."
Obinai sighs. Fantastic.
...
As they step into the dorm, Bram nudges Obinai with his elbow. "Man, that was hilarious. But for real, you need to figure out how you're gonna pay for those textbooks and uniforms."
Obinai exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… that's gonna be a problem. Didn't realize how expensive everything would be."
Bram continues forward. "There's ways to make money here. Jobs, tournaments, that kinda stuff."
Obinai gives him a look. "And what about you? How'd you get the money for all this?"
Bram chuckles. "Eh, just a couple of odd jobs here and there. Nothin' serious. Just built up over time, y'know?"
Obinai narrows his eyes for a second, sensing something unspoken, but lets it go. He sighs. You'd think they'd have scholarships or something… but no, gotta pay outta pocket. Didn't know the Headmaster was a damn con artist.
They pass by the window, and Obinai shudders. What is it with this place and falling? Jeez.
Once inside, Bram stretches out again while Obinai sits up, exhaling. A moment of quiet settles between them before Obinai breaks it.
"So, what's the deal with Lyra?"
Bram props himself up on one elbow. "Wouldn't go after her. That's how you die." He grins but continues. "She's the second daughter of House Valthoris, one of the oldest and—blah, blah, blah—one of the most respected houses of the dark elves." He waves his hand dismissively. "Basically, she's got a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain. Looks down on anyone who ain't highborn—hell, even some who are if they don't meet her stupid standards."
Obinai nods slowly. "Yeah… definitely got that 'better-than-you' vibe. But still, didn't expect her to get that pissed. I mean, she's just the second daughter, right?"
Bram laughs. "You'd think. But people still call her 'Lady Heiress' like they're her personal servants. That's 'cause the first daughter, Ellaine, refused to take her place. Didn't want the role."
Obinai raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
Bram shrugs. "Dunno. Had somethin' to do with their eldest brother. He found somethin' out, then dipped—became a Journeyman or whatever. The whole family's politicking is nuts."
Obinai lets that sink in. "Damn…"
Bram smirks. "Well, at least you made an impression. Just… watch yourself around her."
Obinai sighs, tilting his head back. "Yeah… Grom warned us too. Said the highborn or exalted don't take offense lightly, and to be careful around them—especially royalty." He shakes his head. "Not gonna lie, man. I'm not used to being talked to like that. Kinda…"
Bram waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah. Sucks. School's probably gonna suck now 'cause of it too."
Obinai groans, rubbing his forehead. "Noted." After a beat, he glances at Bram. "So… when does school start?"
Bram looks over at the small calendar on his desk. "Three days."
Obinai exhales. "Three days to figure out how to make some money and get everything I need. Great." He sits up. "You got any specific ideas?"
Bram thinks for a second, then nods. "Yeah. Library's always hiring. Alchemy labs too. Groundskeeping if you don't mind getting dirty. Some students tutor, if you're good at something. It ain't much, but it's a start."
Obinai hums in thought, rubbing the back of his neck. "Better than nothing, I guess."
Bram shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. "Depends on how much you can do. Might gotta juggle a few things, but it's doable. Plus, you meet people, figure out the place. Not bad."
Obinai nods, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah… guess I'll start looking tomorrow. 'Preciate it, dude."
Bram smirks. "No problem. Now, how 'bout we chill? Maybe hit the dining hall? I'm starving."
As if on cue, Obinai's stomach growls, loud enough to make Bram chuckle. "Yeah, good call. Let's go before I pass out."
They step out of the dorm, the evening air cool against their skin. The academy's grounds stretch before them, bathed in the soft glow of hanging lanterns. Their light flickers gently, casting long shadows along the stone pathways. Strange flowers bloom along the edges, some glowing faintly, others shifting colors as if breathing. Their scent lingers in the air...
Students pass by, some stopping to stare, others stepping aside as if avoiding something foul. A few whisper just loud enough to be heard.
"I thought only the Grounded were allowed to attend..."
"But the Forsaken? Here?"
"A human… and a mixed blood? This is disgraceful."
Obinai keeps his eyes forward. The irritation bubbles under his skin, but he shoves it down. This again… Tch, I remember when I threw that chair at that one kid back in my old school. He snickers at the thought but exhales sharply, forcing himself to let it go. Hope this blows over.
His gaze shifts to Bram, who's walking casually beside him, hands in his pockets. There's a smirk on his face, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Obinai exhales again. Yeah… if this blows over… Jeez, man.
They reach the dining hall, a structure with arched windows that spill a bit of light onto the courtyard. The entrance is framed by elaborate ironwork, twisting and curling like living vines.
Inside, the space is vast, the ceiling rises high with curved beams. Pipes hum softly along the walls, releasing bursts of steam as gears turn behind stained-glass panels, casting shifting patterns of color across the polished floor. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, glowing with a soft, ambient warmth.
Long tables stretch across the room, their surfaces lined with an overwhelming spread of food. Plates and serving trays rest upon raised platforms, gears beneath them whirring occasionally as they shift and adjust, keeping the dishes at the perfect temperature. Tubes run along the walls, carrying steaming liquids into great brass dispensers that bubble and hiss.
Obinai's stomach tightens—not in hunger, but confusion. The food is… strange.
Thick slabs of meat with iridescent scales glisten under the lights, their scent sharp yet oddly enticing. A bowl nearby holds something that writhes ever so slightly before settling, covered in a dark, glossy sauce. A massive shell sits cracked open, revealing shimmering, jelly-like flesh that seems to pulse faintly. There are fruits that emit a faint glow, pastries filled with something that shifts color when touched, and drinks that swirl with impossible patterns, as if alive.
Obinai stares for a long moment before inhaling sharply through his nose. And then he smells it.
Among all the bizarre dishes, a familiar scent cuts through—something rich, hearty. His eyes scan the spread, locking onto a stew simmering in a deep iron pot, its surface bubbling lazily. It smells like home.
"Alright," Bram grins, already grabbing a tray. "Let's eat."
Obinai huffs, shaking off his hesitation. "Yeah."
With trays piled high, Obinai and Bram weave through the crowded dining hall before settling into a secluded corner, away from prying eyes. Obinai exhales as he drops into his seat, rolling his shoulders before picking up something that looks vaguely like a roasted leg—though he tries not to think about what kind of creature it belonged to.
Bram, on the other hand, wastes no time digging in, stuffing his mouth full of food with all the grace of a starving beast. Obinai watches in mild amusement before taking a careful bite of his own meal. It's… not bad. Definitely not human food, but not bad.
As he chews, he glances at Bram. "So… why martial arts?"
Bram barely pauses, his mouth still half-full as he talks. "Wanna be the strongest. Strongest thing in the world." He swallows, already reaching for more food. "Ain't nothing better than mastering yourself, y'know? Your own body—your weapon." He flashes a grin, sharp teeth glinting under the light. "Plus, hitting stuff's fun."
Obinai snorts. "Right. Real noble of you."
Bram nods, completely serious. "Yup."
Shaking his head, Obinai takes a sip of his drink before continuing, "So what, you just woke up one day and decided, 'Hey, I wanna punch my way to the top?'"
Bram grunts, thinking it over. "Nah. More like… saw some real strong guys when I was little. Thought, I wanna be like that. So, I hit stuff 'til I got better at it."
Obinai chuckles. "Genius."
Bram grins, taking another massive bite before pointing his fork at him. "Aight, your turn. Why magic?"
Obinai hesitates, swirling his drink before answering. "Don't think I really chose it, if I'm being honest." He leans back slightly. "Feels more like an obligation. Like… someone else shoulda been in my place. Someone who would've done better than me. So, I owe it to them to at least try."
Bram pauses mid-bite, blinking at him. Then, after a moment, he shrugs. "Huh. That's… deep." He chews for a second, then grins. "Can't relate."
He bursts out laughing at his own words, and despite himself, Obinai chuckles too, shaking his head.
Bram leans back in his chair, tossing a bone onto his tray. "Aight, so—real talk." He smirks. "Which is stronger? Martial arts or magic?"
Obinai raises an eyebrow. "Oh, we're doing this now?"
Bram nods eagerly. "Yeah. Answer."
Obinai hums, tapping his fingers on the table. "Well, if you really think about it—"
Before he can finish, the entire room falls silent. The lively hum of conversation vanishes, replaced by a heavy, uneasy tension.
Obinai and Bram glance at each other before turning their attention toward the center of the dining hall, where two groups of students stand locked in a standoff.
Lyra and her entourage. Facing off against another group.
Bram whistles low, leaning forward. "Ooooh. Drama."
Obinai sighs, rubbing his temple. "Fantastic."
The air in the dining hall crackles with tension as the two groups stand in opposition, the low murmur of spectators fading into an expectant hush. At the center of it all, Lyra stands rigid, her purple hued eyes locked onto the elven girl across from her— a vision of aristocratic grace with her braided blonde hair and piercing green eyes. The silver embroidery on her academy uniform glimmers slightly under the chandelier light.
Behind her, two more elves flank her like silent shadows. One, a sharp-featured boy with spiky hair, watches the exchange with a smirk, while the other, the familiar auburn-haired girl, stands with arms crossed.
Bram, still chewing on a mouthful of food, mutters under his breath, "Damn… Seraphina, huh?" His tone lacks his usual amusement.
Obinai, who has been cautiously observing, raises an eyebrow. "Who?"
Bram glances at him and blinks, then grins sheepishly. "Oh, right, my bad. She's, uh, kinda a big deal. One of the Cromwell heirs—real important, second-year, got that royal stink all over her."
Obinai exhales through his nose. "Great." He gestures toward the auburn-haired girl. "And her?"
Bram scrunches his face. "Oh, that's Yanela Renaris. Another noble, but her family ain't just rich—they got a rep for breeding executioners. Like, official, by-the-crown types."
Obinai thinks to himself, Lovely.
Bram chuckles, missing the sarcasm entirely. "Yeah, even an idiot wouldn't wanna piss her off."
Obinai chuckles, but it's nervous. Yeah… real shame I ain't an idiot.
Bram doesn't catch that either, instead leaning forward slightly. "Wonder what they mad about this time…"
At the center of it all, Lyra's voice slices through the silence. "Why must you always impose yourself where you are neither needed nor wanted, Seraphina?"
Seraphina does not flinch. Instead, she smiles—a slow, deliberate thing, as if she delights in being addressed. "As my right as a royal, I must." Her tone is silk over steel. "Perhaps even more so when matters involve those of… lesser distinction."
A flicker of rage crosses Lyra's features, but she keeps her composure. "You grow bold, elf."
Seraphina's smirk deepens. "Do I?" Her green eyes flick toward the crowd. "Strange, I heard nothing unbecoming of the other dark elf heir when he waltzed into these halls. Yet, the moment I extend the hand of courtesy, you bare your fangs. It is almost as if civility is beyond you."
Lyra scoffs, stepping forward. "There was no courtesy in that offering. He merely refused to bow to you—do you expect me to yield where he did not?"
Seraphina lifts a manicured hand to her chest, mock-offended. "Yield? My dear Lyra, you mistake my intent. This is not about submission." She leans in ever so slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is about understanding one's place."
Lyra's eyes pulse. "You are not nearly as powerful as you believe yourself to be."
Seraphina chuckles, tilting her head. "And yet, for all your bluster, you still feel the need to remind yourself of that, don't you? I can tell."
A muscle tenses in Lyra's jaw. "You would do well to watch your tongue. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
"Oh, I know exactly who I'm dealing with." Seraphina's tone is honeyed venom. "The second daughter of House Valthoris, always striving to claw her way out from under her sister's shadow." She clicks her tongue. "Forever trying, never quite arriving."
A flicker of something—pain, maybe—crosses Lyra's face, but it is gone as quickly as it came. "Jealousy does not suit you, Seraphina."
Seraphina laughs, sharp and mocking. "Jealous? Of you? Don't flatter yourself. I simply find it endlessly amusing how easily you are rattled. You, a proud daughter of Valthoris, so effortlessly unmade by a mere lesser?"
Lyra stiffens.
Seraphina sighs, shaking her head in theatrical disappointment. "Truly, the first-years are proving to be a rather underwhelming lot this year. How fragile one must be to let such vermin under their skin." She presses a hand to her lips as if suppressing a laugh. "I mean, I wouldn't even dream of—"
SPLAT.
A thick, gelatinous glob of food smacks Seraphina square in the face.
The dining hall freezes.
A slow, stunned silence spreads across the room, the weight of disbelief pressing down on everyone present.
Obinai blinks. No. No, no, no, no, no—
Slowly, cautiously, he turns his head.
Bram, his hand still half-raised from the throw, is now sitting back, suddenly very interested in absolutely nothing at all. His expression is blank—far too blank.
Obinai stares at him, his color draining.
I'm… I'm gonna die.
Seraphina stands frozen, the thick smear of food dripping down her cheek. The entire dining hall holds its breath.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she raises a hand and wipes the mess away, her fingers trembling—not with fear...
The spiky-haired elf at her side snarls, his face twisting as he takes an aggressive step forward. "You dare—"
But before he can act, he catches a glimpse of Seraphina's face and immediately hesitates.
Seraphina breathes in slowly, her shoulders rising as she exhales through her nose. Then, in a quiet, almost tender voice, she murmurs, "I try to be benevolent."
Bram, still seated, quickly straightens his posture, but his face is frozen in an unsettling grin, his lips stretched too wide. Obinai, across from him, forces a faint whistling noise through his teeth as he stares down at his food, looking as though he has never been more fascinated by a half-eaten potato.
Seraphina's voice, once soft, suddenly rises. "And I shall continue to be! Because the only way for lowly mongrels such as yourselves to find any measure of success in this world—" she sweeps her arm toward the students "—is beneath the heel of someone far greater."
She turns her sharp, green gaze toward the room, letting the weight of her presence settle over them like a vice. Then, in a thunderous command, she demands, "SO, FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR FUTURE—FOR YOUR NAMESAKE'S FUTURE—TELL ME. WHO. THREW. THAT!!?"
Obinai stiffens. He does not breathe. Slowly, carefully, his head turns toward Bram.
Bram's face remains frozen in that eerily stretched grin, but there's a glint in his eye—a dangerous, barely contained amusement. Then, softly, from deep in his throat, a chuckle escapes.
This absolute lunatic.
Thankfully, Bram is seated opposite the chaos, his back to Seraphina and her fuming entourage. From their perspective, he looks like just another silent bystander.
No one dares to speak.
Seraphina's emerald eyes scan the crowd, searching for any flicker of guilt. Her fists curl at her sides. Calm, she tells herself. A lady of the royal court must maintain composure, no matter the circumstance. No matter the provocation.
She shuts her eyes briefly, inhaling through her nose as she murmurs a mantra, her lips barely moving.
"Dignity is absolute. Grace is unwavering. Strength is silent. All is to be maintained."
Then, she exhales, long and slow. When she opens her eyes, her expression is once again unreadable.
Her gaze flicks back to Lyra, who—despite her best efforts—has not quite managed to erase the amusement from her face. Her lips twitch, struggling to suppress what might be a smirk.
Seraphina's own lips curl ever so slightly, though there is no humor in it. She steps forward, voice softer now, but no less venomous. "No matter what you do, Lyra, you will never be your sister."
Lyra's smirk vanishes.
Seraphina turns on her heel, the movement fluid, practiced, perfect. But just before she strides away, she glances over her shoulder, her voice dropping to an almost whisper.
"Nor will you ever be your brother."
Lyra's fingers twitch.
Then, Seraphina walks away, her group falling into step behind her. Their footsteps echo in the quiet dining hall.
As the tension begins to ease, hushed murmurs ripple through the room, filling the void left behind by Seraphina's departure.
Bram finally releases his breath and leans back, his grin now fully genuine. "Hah… Thought I was done for a second there."
Obinai, still pale, slumps in his chair. "You were. We were." He rubs his temples. "I just… I just witnessed a ghost haunting its own murder site."
Bram snickers, picking at his food. "Yeah, well… girl needed to be knocked down a peg."
Obinai stares at him. "That wasn't a peg. That was a cliff."
Bram shrugs, grinning. "Eh, she'll live."
Obinai groans, slumping back in his chair. "We might not."
But then, despite himself, he lets out a chuckle. At first, it's barely a breath, but then it grows, shaking his shoulders.
Bram eyes him warily. "What's so funny?"
Obinai struggles to contain himself, biting down on his lip, but the laughter keeps threatening to spill over. Finally, he brings his hand from under the table revealing some crushed food from his tray and places it deliberately in front of himself.
Bram's eyes widen. "No way…"
Obinai snickers, nodding. "Man… I was gonna do it, but you beat me to it."
Bram stares at him for a second, then barks out a laugh. "You were gonna—pfft! You serious?"
Obinai shrugs, grinning. "Would've made a mess, though."
Bram leans back, shaking his head. "Nah, man… we gotta stop. People are looking."
Obinai peeks past Bram, and sure enough, a few students are stealing glances their way. Some whisper behind their hands, others just look stunned. With a sigh, Obinai straightens up, clearing his throat and doing his best to compose himself.
Bram does the same, though his lips still twitch with amusement. "Alright, alright, I'm good. Let's just act normal."
Obinai deadpans. "You threw food at royalty, man. There is no normal after that."
Bram waves him off, stuffing a last bite into his mouth. "Pffft. She'll get over it."
Obinai sighs again, shaking his head. He really hopes so.
...
By the time they finish eating, the tension in the dining hall has settled into relief, replaced by the usual hum of conversation. The two of them push away from the table, dumping their trays before heading out into the night.
The walk back to their dorm is quiet, the cool air a welcoming change. The academy grounds stretch around them, bathed in the pale glow of the moon. Leaves rustle in the trees, and the distant chatter of students drifts through the night.
Bram stretches, arms high above his head. "Man… what a day." He exhales, letting his arms drop. "I'm dead."
Obinai exhales too, rolling his shoulders. "Tell me about it. I can't wait to just crash."
They walk a few more steps before Bram glances at him. "Think Lyra's still pissed at us?"
Obinai snorts. "Us? Maybe, but don't loop me into your crimes."
Bram laughs. "C'mon, you thought it was funny."
" Well..."
Bram lets out another loud laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet night. Obinai shakes his head, amused despite himself.
Finally, they reach their room. The moment Obinai steps inside, he heads straight for his bed, barely even kicking off his shoes before collapsing face-first onto the mattress. His limbs feel like lead.
Bram watches him, one eyebrow raised. "Not even changing, huh?"
Obinai's voice is muffled by his pillow. "Too tired." A pause. "Jus' need… sleep…"
Within seconds, his breathing slows, deep and even.
Bram smirks, shaking his head as he pulls off his boots. "Damn, lightweight."
But as he sits on the edge of his bed, the grin fades. His shoulders slump, and his eyes lose their usual spark. He rolls his neck, exhaling sharply through his nose.
After a moment, he pushes himself up and trudges to his desk, pulling open the top drawer. His fingers fumble inside for a second before they find it—a small, crumpled piece of paper, edges slightly worn, the faint red border barely holding its shape. The elegant script reads:
"Voucher for I.M.P."
Bram stares at it, lips pressing into a thin line. His thumb runs over the paper, smoothing out an old crease, but it doesn't really help.
He exhales through his nose, then folds it up carefully and tucks it back into the drawer. "Yeah… soon," he mutters under his breath.
He moves through his nightly routine without much thought—splashing cold water on his face, wiping it off with his sleeve instead of a towel, changing into a loose shirt and worn pants. By the time he drops back onto his bed, he feels heavier.
Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he mutters, "Don't you worry… I'll have the money soon." His voice is quiet, but there's a stubbornness in it.
He rolls onto his side, staring at the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the window. His fingers tighten briefly on the blanket.
"I'll figure out what to say tomorrow…"
With that, his breathing slows, his body finally giving in. Within minutes, exhaustion drags him under, and the room settles into silence...