The silence after the fight was thicker than blood.
Headmaster Lazar still hadn't moved from where he lay. His robe torn, his pride fractured—but his eyes... his eyes gleamed with something feral. Satisfaction? Fear? Respect?
Asari walked away from the duel platform without acknowledging the watching crowd. His coat fluttered lightly in the wind, the bloodstains already dried into the fabric like war paint. No cheers. No applause.
Just silence.
And terror.
The academy had never seen anyone push Lazar to the edge. Much less defeat him.
Now, they all knew.
Asari wasn't just strong.
He was monstrous.
"He… beat Lazar…" someone whispered. "That guy… he's not human."
Rumors spread like infection. The students stepped away as he passed. The once-cocky seniors avoided eye contact. Even the instructors kept their distance.
Asari had become a walking shadow. No longer a student. No longer a peer.
He was an omen.
Far above, in the Eastern tower reserved for the privileged, Saelan Voltaire watched it all from his private balcony. A single porcelain cup trembled slightly in his hand.
His smile had vanished.
"Now I understand," he muttered. "That thing… that wasn't just battle instinct. It was something else."
Behind him, one of his loyal aides asked cautiously, "Should we report this?"
"No," Saelan replied, his voice quieter than usual. "Let it unfold."
But inside, his mind raced.
The puppet strings he had begun weaving around the academy had snapped. All because of one name.
Asari.
And Saelan, for the first time, felt something he hadn't in years.
Danger.
Real danger.
Aicha sat alone in the academy garden, her lap covered with flower petals she no longer had the strength to arrange. Her wheelchair creaked slightly when she shifted.
She had watched everything.
The fight. The silence. The fear.
And worst of all, the looks.
People had always looked at her like she was pitiful.
Now?
They looked at her like she was contaminated.
"Friends with that thing?"
"She always sits with him. Maybe she's like him…"
"She should leave too…"
Their whispers were crueler than any blade.
Aicha clenched her fists tightly, her knuckles white.
It had only been a few days since Asari helped her.
Now, even the small joy she had regained was being strangled by their hatred.
But she wasn't angry at Asari.
No.
She was angry at herself.
For not being brave enough to speak up.
For letting others push her down.
"What do you see in him?" someone had asked her that morning.
Aicha didn't have the words then.
But now she did.
Strength.
Not the kind that crushed heads or shattered stone.
The kind that didn't care about being hated.
The kind that moved forward, no matter what.
And for once…
She wanted to follow that.
That night, in the hallway leading to Asari's room, the light flickered strangely. The candles on the wall dimmed, though there was no wind.
Rian waited outside his door, arms crossed.
"He's changing," Rian said as Asari approached.
"I was always this way," Asari replied.
Rian didn't smile this time. "Saelan's been quiet. Too quiet."
"Because he's planning."
"Are you going to fight him?"
Asari looked up at the dark ceiling above them, then at the dull, flickering light.
"No," he replied. "I'm going to end him."
There was no malice in his voice. No anger.
Only certainty.
The next morning, the academy halls echoed emptier than usual. Notices were posted on walls, written in gold ink.
> "To all students and staff, due to recent events, Academy affairs will be temporarily suspended. A tribunal is pending. Order is being restored."
But no one believed it.
Order?
The moment Asari beat Lazar, order died.
It wasn't a school anymore.
It was a cage waiting to snap.
And Saelan?
He was no longer grinning.
He paced inside his luxurious room, alone, the broken serpent carving still on his table.
He looked into a mirror, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Very well, Asari…" he whispered. "Let's not play games anymore."
He opened a hidden drawer beneath his bed and pulled out a scroll.
Ancient. Bound in red silk.
A forbidden technique.
If Asari was a devil—then he'd summon a curse.
Meanwhile, Asari packed his few belongings into a small satchel. He folded his coat, set aside his gloves, and glanced one last time at the room he never called home.
He was done.
With the academy.
With its rules.
With its lies.
He opened the door—
And Aicha was there.
Sitting in her wheelchair, panting slightly, as if she had rushed across the campus.
"You're leaving," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Aicha's eyes shimmered—not with tears, but something firmer.
"I want to come with you."
Asari blinked. The wind outside howled faintly.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I'm tired of being the one they pity. I'm tired of being quiet." Her hands trembled slightly. "I want to become someone… strong enough to stand beside you."
Asari's face, usually unreadable, paused.
He turned.
And for the first time…
He nodded.
"Then come."
And together, they stepped out into the night.
Toward their final storm.