The next morning began with silence.
Not the kind born from peace—but the kind carved by tension. As if the whole academy was holding its breath.
Kael stood by the outer balcony of the training halls, arms crossed as mist curled over the garden stone below. The sky was pale gold. The kind of light that hinted at change before anyone said it aloud.
Behind him, the clang of steel meeting steel rang sharp.
The first assessment drills had begun.
Kael wasn't part of them.
Neither was Lucien.
They stood apart—by decree.
Six months ago, their duel had shattered more than bones and egos. It had redefined power in the academy. The sight of two students, barely seventeen, pushing past the brink of exhaustion—trading blows long after their mana and aura ran dry—was carved into the walls like legend.
No victor.
Only battered stubbornness. Bloody fists. Half-dead laughter.
They'd fought with weak punches and broken pride until the referee, pale and sweating, had to step in.
Now, no one questioned it.
They weren't candidates for selection.
They were above it.
Kael found Lucien lounging on the roof tiles above the observatory, legs dangling, hair catching the morning sun like silver fire.
"You're late," Lucien said without looking.
"I wasn't planning to come," Kael replied, settling beside him.
Below them, students scrambled through formations and combat theory. Instructors barked. Foreign observers stood still as statues.
"So," Lucien said, stretching, "any thoughts on who else should be chosen?"
Kael didn't answer right away.
Instead, he watched a flame-haired girl hold off three attackers with a clever enchantment circle. She was nimble. Efficient. But too cautious.
"Most of them are still afraid," Kael said finally. "Afraid to fail. Afraid to hit too hard. Afraid to look reckless."
Lucien grinned. "Which means they're not ready."
A silence stretched between them.
Then Kael said, "What about Aelric? From the third class? He's fast. Clever. Thinks ahead."
Lucien raised a brow. "The half-noble with the twin daggers? He's got talent. But he fights like he wants to impress his mother."
"I'll talk to him," Kael said simply.
Lucien hummed. "And Arienne?"
"She's got fire."
"She's also got an ego the size of the capital."
Kael shrugged. "Better that than fear."
The week blurred.
Observations continued.
Kael and Lucien sat through duels, simulations, and enchantment displays. They stayed silent for the most part, giving nothing away, though everyone knew what their opinions meant.
Students trained harder when they were around.
Instructors subtly watched them instead of the drills.
One afternoon, a dragonoid observer—a tall, bronze-skinned warrior with horns like black marble—approached the human Headmaster during a break.
"I thought they were weak," he said, not whispering. "Where did you find those two?"
Kael didn't turn. He didn't need to.
He heard it all.
On the fourth day, Kael found himself walking alone through the eastern gardens, the sky gray with gathering clouds.
He paused under the shade of a barren fig tree, listening.
The world was too quiet.
Not empty—expectant.
That's when the Headmaster found him.
"Riven."
Kael bowed lightly.
The old man studied him. "You don't ask for much, do you?"
"I ask when it matters."
A pause.
Then the Headmaster nodded. "Your time is coming. Until then… choose well. The ones who stand with you matter."
Kael's fingers curled slightly.
He wasn't thinking about the academy.
Or the observers.
He was thinking about her.
Selene.