Classes dragged on, one after another, their content blurring together like fog on a battlefield. Not even the Headmaster’s more terrifying stares could keep my focus in check. I sat by the window, watching the clouds instead of the blackboard, my thoughts tangled in sothing far more important.
Two days. That’s all I needed.
At the end of the last lecture, Professor Davos finally stood and cleared his throat, his voice amplified by a mana-imbued crystal on his collar.
"Students," he began, "as most of you already know, the Royal Fest is fast approaching."
Groans and murmurs echoed across the room. I didn’t join them.
Davos continued, "It is our Academy’s most prestigious event, where we open our grounds to noble families, foreign dignitaries, and royalty from across the continent. Kings. Queens. Dukes. Archmages. Every seat will be filled, every eye upon you. It is not simply a celebration—it is a statent."
He paused for effect.
"And we expect our students to be the face of that statent."
A few hands went up. Others sank into their chairs. Mine didn’t move.
"The entire fest is student-managed," Davos went on. "You’ll be given forms shortly. Please sign up for whatever areas you can contribute to—be it dancing, music, acting, hosting, crafting, duels, or magic showcases. Your participation will determine your rit score, and yes, there are generous monetary rewards."
He closed the book in front of him.
"So contribute more, win more, and bring glory to the Academy."
Then he left.
I didn’t bother picking up the form when it circulated. The idea of standing on stage pretending to sing or spar in front of nobles for applause felt... pointless. Empty.
That wasn’t what mattered.
What mattered was what ca after.
In the previous cycle, Ashen Crimson—my forr self—kept losing. Rin beat him again and again. At the fest, in public, he lost again. Embarrassed, outclassed, forgotten. It was after that humiliation that the cult found him. Whispered promises. Offered him power.
He accepted.
He beca a shadow for the wrong reasons.
But this ti... I was choosing my path before the fall.
I wouldn’t wait for power.
I’d take it.
The bell rang.
Lunch break. Two hours.
I grabbed my coat and left the classroom, ignoring the students staring. I barely stepped into the hallway before I sensed them.
Three auras. Familiar.
Lucielle. Liora. Layla.
I turned the corner and there they were—waiting for like shadows of a forgotten royal painting.
Lucielle said nothing, eyes flickering between irritation and worry. Liora offered a polite nod. Layla smiled faintly, her arms crossed, violet eyes sharp as always.
Layla stepped forward first.
Layla’s POV
I took a breath and walked toward him.
"Hi, Ashen. How’s your day been?"
He looked at like I was asking if grass was still green.
"Like always," he said.
I brushed his indifference aside and smiled a little more. "Would you mind if we joined you for lunch?"
He shrugged. "No problem."
He didn’t say it warmly, but he didn’t push us away either. I took it as a win.
As we began walking toward the garden terrace, I felt compelled to say sothing more personal. Sothing I’d been holding in.
"I didn’t get the chance to thank you properly... for everything you did in the War. You were—"
He stopped walking.
I blinked.
He turned to , his face unreadable. "As I told you. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for my benefit. Rember my rewards?"
My smile faltered slightly. It wasn’t unexpected—but it still stung.
Even so, I stood my ground. "Maybe. But without you, we wouldn’t have won. So... thank you again."
He stared at for a mont, then looked away.
"If you really believe that," he said slowly, "then I need sothing from you."
I perked up.
"Co with tomorrow evening. Bring real currency—not Academy tokens. Actual gold."
My heart skipped for a mont. "Tomorrow evening...?" Was he...?
My mind spun wildly. A formal evening. Money. Private request.
Could it be...?
Was he asking on a—
"A date?" I blurted.
His face didn’t change.
"That’s not a Date" he said dryly. "I need you for an auction. There’s an item I want. Your presence will help secure it."
Oh.
My mood deflated slightly.
But I couldn’t let him see it.
"Fine," I said, recovering quickly. "I’ll send one of my maids to you after class. Tell her the location and she’ll handle the arrangents for our departure."
He nodded once. "Free ride. Built-in bait. Attention magnet. Movable bank. What more could I want?"
Lucielle and Liora both glared at him.
I sighed inwardly.
He says exactly what he thinks.
Insults royalty without blinking.
Dismisses people with the sa tone he uses to decline tea.
He’s a complete nuisance.
And yet...
As I watched him walk ahead of us, completely unfazed, I couldn’t help the thought that slipped through.
Maybe he’s the one who’ll glow my boring life. Just maybe.
Ashen’s POV
We sat together in the garden’s eastern pavilion, where the wind carried a chill but the food was still warm. I ate in silence while Layla and Liora discussed the upcoming fest.
Lucielle barely touched her plate.
Her eyes stayed on .
I ignored them all.
My mind was elsewhere.
That sword. The dark one.
I needed to get it before anyone else did. Before the world realized what it truly was. The Demon King’s General’s blade. In ti, it would beco famous—a feared relic—but not yet.
Right now, it was just a cursed weapon buried in the misidentified section of the vault.
If I could claim it quietly...
I would tip the scales.
Rin had the holy sword.
Let him.
I would have its opposite.
And with that balance restored—I would never be cornered again.
Not like last ti.
The bell rang again.
Lunch break ended.
I stood without a word, tossing my tray aside. As I walked away, I felt their stares again—Layla’s thoughtful, Liora’s wary, Lucielle’s unreadable.
I didn’t turn back.
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