The sun had barely risen when a quiet ripple disturbed the usual rhythm of the academy.
Rian noticed it first.
He stood at the far end of the training field, stretching as he did every morning, when he saw several instructors pacing the courtyard in hushed tones. That in itself wasn't odd. But the presence of three enforcers clad in black sigil-etched cloaks? That was.
"Something's coming," Rian muttered.
Inside the main library, Asari sat alone. Aicha had stopped coming since the tribunal incident. Rumors circulated like wildfire, painting Asari as both a devil and a savior. But Asari himself remained unchanged. Cold, quiet, and unreadable.
He flipped a page of the book in front of him, though his mind wasn't on the words. Saelan had disappeared since their duel. No lectures, no challenges, not even a single trace of his usual mocking presence.
Which meant one thing.
He's preparing.
The silence was never comforting—it was a signal. Asari could feel it. Saelan wasn't running. He was coiling like a serpent before a strike.
A knock on the wooden table snapped him from thought.
Rian.
"You should know," Rian said with a lowered voice, "the elders met this morning. I heard your name. Saelan's too."
Asari blinked.
"They're saying he's gathering 'legal' reasons to force a final confrontation. Something about honor, balance, and House Voltaire's pride."
"Coward's talk," Asari replied flatly.
Rian sat down across from him. "I don't think he's planning a duel this time. He's using the system to trap you—push you into something public. Something you can't just walk away from."
Asari leaned back. "Good. Makes the killing easier."
"You really planning to end him?"
Asari looked Rian dead in the eye.
"He challenged me. That was a game. The moment he sent that snake-carving to my room, it became war."
Rian swallowed hard. "They're preparing something, I'm sure of it. Saelan wouldn't vanish unless he had full confidence in the next move."
At that moment, a student sprinted through the hall, dropping scrolls as he ran. "Announcement!" he cried. "Urgent notice! A declaration from the Elders!"
Asari and Rian stood at once.
In the central plaza, a crowd gathered quickly. The announcement was pinned to the old stone board—a parchment with gold-inked words:
> "In light of recent disruptions and for the preservation of honor within the Academy, a sanctioned battle of resolution is hereby decreed. Asari and Saelan Voltaire are to meet at the Grand Arena in three days' time. This match will determine rightful place, reputation, and consequence."
The crowd exploded in whispers.
Aicha watched from the library window, her hands trembling.
Three days.
Asari read the notice, then turned away. No words. No emotion.
But his steps were different now.
He wasn't walking.
He was hunting.
Back in his quarters, Asari sat before a small obsidian box he'd hidden beneath the floorboards. Dust covered the top.
He opened it slowly.
Inside, a small dagger lay curled in black cloth. A keepsake. Not of memory, but of promise.
"I said I'd only use this when it's necessary," he whispered. "Guess today qualifies."
Meanwhile, in the East Wing, Saelan stood by the window, overlooking the garden. His eyes reflected the cloudy sky.
"You'll come for me," he murmured. "And when you do—I'll make sure your silence screams louder than thunder."
He placed a finger to his temple, tracing the line of a curse mark that glowed faintly beneath his skin.
"My house will rise again... over your corpse, Asari."