"Then they'll find out what happens when they corner soone under the Emberheart na."
Hearing that….
Sylvie couldn't help it.
The corner of her lips twitched, then lifted—just a little, but more than enough to soften the lines of worry still lingering in her expression. It wasn't a laugh, and it wasn't out of relief either. It was sothing quieter. Sothing steadier.
"…Thank you," she said.
Irina glanced sideways at her, surprised by the sincerity in Sylvie's voice. A beat passed.
Then—with a deliberate slowness, almost as if she wasn't sure what possessed her to do it—Irina raised her hand and gave Sylvie's head a quick, slightly awkward pat. Her fingers brushed lightly through her silvery hair, once, then withdrew before it beca anything too sentintal.
She twitched the corner of her mouth—sowhere between a smirk and a shrug.
"Don't ntion it," she said.
The mont lingered for just a breath longer, before Layla broke it with a stretch and a groan. "Alright, that's enough emotional drama for one afternoon. I'm heading to the dorms before I get sucked into another surprise lecture."
Jasmine snorted. "Better than getting sucked into another surprise duel. Those are worse."
"Speak for yourself," Layla said, already turning away with a lazy wave. "I've tanked worse than your jokes."
Jasmine rolled her eyes and followed after her. "Please, your shield's got more cracks than your sarcasm."
Astron paused for a mont, his gaze flicking once more to Sylvie. He didn't say anything—but gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Then he, too, turned and walked off without fanfare.
And just like that, the group began to disperse—one by one, their footsteps fading down different paths, leaving Sylvie standing alone for a mont in the quiet, golden-lit corridor.
She stood there a while longer, eyes half-lidded, hands folded in front of her.
It wasn't over.
But she wasn't alone.
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
*****
The evening deepened as the last colors of sunset faded into quiet indigo. The academy's lanterns had begun to flicker awake, dotting the walkways with soft golden pools of light. Most students had already returned to their dorms—either too exhausted from the trials or too burdened by the looming pressure of final evaluations to linger long in open courtyards.
Astron and Irina walked side by side in silence. Their footsteps fell in sync, neither fast nor slow, just steady. The air was quiet enough to hear the soft sweep of leaves rustling overhead.
Irina's gaze remained forward for a while. But then, with a side glance, she broke the silence.
"What do you think?"
Astron didn't look at her, but she saw the faint shift in his expression—the way his eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful.
He didn't ask what she ant. He didn't need to.
"Sylvie."
Irina's words trailed into the dusk like the last curl of smoke from a burned-out fla—casual in tone, but not in weight.
"I always felt like you treated Sylvie a little differently than the other girls."
Astron's gaze didn't shift, but the rhythm of his footsteps faltered ever so slightly—so subtle it might've been missed by anyone else. But Irina noticed. She always did.
"What do you an?" he asked, his voice quiet, unreadable.
"I an..." she continued, her eyes still fixed forward, "you don't usually pay that much attention to students. Especially not those with low rank. Not unless they're standing in your way or offering you sothing specific."
Silence again. Astron didn't answer, but the weight of his quiet was no longer neutral.
"And yet," Irina went on, "you talked to Sylvie normally. You let her sit near you, answered her questions before. You looked after her during joint drills, during the early dungeons... even in simulations. Subtle, but it was there."
Still nothing from him.
Irina's voice softened slightly, but only in tone—not in intent. "And that's not sothing you usually do. You don't make idle conversation. You don't waste effort on people unless you've already evaluated them."
Astron's expression didn't betray anything. But there was a tension in the air now, coiled like thread drawn taut between them.
"So what are you getting at?" he asked eventually, his tone carefully level.
Irina's smirk returned—faint, sharp around the edges. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his profile in the warm lamplight. "What am I getting at?" she echoed, her voice low, deliberate. "Let's just say... I feel like you knew sothing about Sylvie that no one else did. Even from the start."
The wind whispered through the trees again, and in the silence that followed, her words hung there—half a question, half a quiet accusation. She wasn't pressing for answers.
But she was watching.
Astron turned his head slightly, and for the first ti since the conversation began, his eyes t hers fully.
Deep violet. Still. Unflinching.
The kind of gaze that didn't just see—it read. Not surface thoughts. Not body language. But the undercurrent, the tremor beneath control.
Irina held it for a second longer than she wanted. There it was again—that weight. That impossible stillness in him that made her feel like she was the one being observed, despite doing all the questioning.
There was sothing he wasn't telling her. She could feel it like a current in the wind. But before she could press again, Astron finally spoke.
"…That's right," he said quietly. "From the start, I knew about her talents."
Irina's lips parted slightly, but no words ca.
Astron continued. "Rember that ti I ntioned during the mid-terms? When Sylvie saved ."
Her fingers twitched at her side.
"Yes," she murmured, almost reluctantly. "Mid-terms, wasn't it?"
He gave a single nod, eyes drifting upward as if the stars above were replaying the mory for him. The gentle rustle of leaves returned, softer now, like the world itself had gone quieter to hear the rest.
"At that ti, if not for Sylvie… I would have died," he said. "The instructor herself admitted it. She said only Sylvie could've managed that particular healing weave. Not even the licensed instructors would've stabilized it fast enough."
Irina's shoulders tensed.
The words didn't hit her all at once—they sank slowly, like stones dropped into deep water. And sowhere in that weight, in the implications of how close he'd co to vanishing from her world entirely, sothing inside her recoiled.
She didn't want to hear it.
She didn't want to imagine it.
"…You almost—" she began, but then stopped herself, jaw tightening.
Astron didn't notice, or maybe he did and chose not to comnt. He remained looking up at the sky, voice steady.
"I already had my suspicions before that," he said. "But that mont confird it."
Irina turned her gaze away, as if the chill in the air had finally touched her skin. "So you already had your suspicions…"
"You know how my eyes are," Astron replied, glancing at her again. "What I see… what I sense… it's not always obvious to others. But when I looked at her back then—Sylvie wasn't just so shy girl from the outskirts. There was sothing woven in her mana from the beginning."
Irina closed her eyes briefly.
This wasn't jealousy. It wasn't distrust.
But still, hearing it... it stirred sothing cold and uncomfortable beneath her ribs.
Sothing old.
"…I see," she said softly.
Not an accusation.
But not acceptance either.
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