"...I don’t lie."
Selenne’s gaze didn’t break.
She rembered now—I don’t lie. He’d said it before as well, unblinking, sa even tone. Not boastful. Not proud. Just factual, like soone stating the color of their eyes.
’And the damn boy has a knack for dropping it at the exact mont it’ll land.’
But it didn’t work on her.
Not the way he probably wanted.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, the kind of focus that didn’t co from suspicion, but precision.
You’re too deliberate, Lucavion. Too good at knowing what not to say.
He wasn’t smiling. But there was a stillness to him—a kind of quiet that only cos from preparation. Not ease. Control.
And control, she understood intimately.
"Is that so?" she said, voice smooth as glass, cool but steady. "Then..."
Her head tilted, just a fraction, the arch of her brow unreadable.
"You won’t mind answering clearly."
He didn’t flinch, but she saw the faintest flicker—an awareness, a recognition that this wasn’t just a throwaway question anymore.
"I didn’t reach this rank by spellwork alone, Lucavion," she added, stepping just half a pace closer. Her tone sharpened—not angry, not cold, but edged with sothing harder than command. "So don’t waste my ti with indirects."
She let the silence linger for half a beat.
"Since you don’t lie," she said plainly, "answer without evading the question."
A pause.
"Did sothing similar happen there as well?"
Lucavion’s eyes didn’t drop. If anything, they locked in harder. Focused. That sa quiet defiance in his posture—the kind that didn’t seek to challenge, only to resist being cornered.
But he didn’t speak.
Selenne watched him through the pause. Not impatiently. Not accusing.
Just watching.
Then her gaze drifted lower—finally giving him a more thorough once-over. Not the surface wounds, not the dried blood, but the way he held himself. His right shoulder was angled just enough to suggest tension. His boots were scuffed unevenly. And there was sothing about the way he was gripping the hem of his sleeve—like a person asuring restraint.
And still, he said nothing.
Then, casually, almost too casually, he flicked a hand to the side.
"Is it relevant?"
The words were light. Almost dismissive.
Too light.
Selenne’s voice cut in before he could shift further.
"It is. Answer ."
No edge. No volu.
Just a tone that made it clear: you don’t get to pivot out of this one.
Lucavion stared at her for a beat longer, then finally sighed—slow and shallow, as if resigning himself not to truth, but to the tedium of having to say it aloud.
"It happened."
Her gaze sharpened.
"I was given a dulled weapon."
Silence clamped between them like the break between thunder and lightning.
Selenne’s eyes narrowed—not just in anger, but in calculation.
’Dulled weapon.’
That wasn’t an accident. Not in an Academy evaluation. Every weapon—especially in a weapons exam—was enchanted, balanced, and verified prior to engagent. That wasn’t a student error. That was deliberate.
And—
Her gaze snapped back up.
"Your opponent was an instructor."
Lucavion gave a slight nod.
"And you said," she repeated slowly, each word now drawn like a blade from a sheath, "you beat the instructor."
"With a dulled weapon."
Lucavion didn’t blink. "Yes."
Though he smirked.
Not wide. Not smug. Just a half-tilted curve at the corner of his mouth—asured, knowing.
"I’m confident," he said, as if that were the whole story.
Then, calmly, with the sa casual certainty one might use to describe the shape of their own breath:
"When it cos to the sword, I won’t lose."
Selenne’s eyes narrowed.
There it was again. That irreverent calm. That tone. As if he weren’t talking to a superior, but an equal. No bow, no deference, no trace of awe in his voice—not even the quiet fear that most students masked as discipline.
Just that smirk.
Arrogant. Unapologetic. Like the rest of them didn’t matter.
’Infuriating.’
Her fingers twitched at her side, just slightly. It wasn’t the boast that got to her—it was the lack of hesitation. The gall of this boy to stand there, bruised and burned and bleeding, and speak as if beating a full-ranked instructor with a sabotaged weapon was nothing more than a footnote in his day.
Like it was obvious.
Like of course he won.
It grated. Not because she thought he was wrong. But because—
’He doesn’t lie.’
Not once had he used it as a weapon. Not as self-aggrandizent. Not to curry favor or tilt judgnt. He just... said it. Plain and unadorned.
’I don’t lie.’
And if this was a lie? If he was foolish enough to fabricate a claim so verifiable, so easily dismantled with a single review of the logs—
That didn’t match him at all.
Not the Lucavion she was starting to piece together. He was too goddamn deliberate to bluff on sothing this stupid.
He ant it.
She held his gaze for another breath, assessing. asuring.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t waver.
Didn’t blink, and t her gaze head on.
’Arrogant kid.’
Selenne let out a long sigh, quiet but audible. She didn’t bother responding. Not with words.
Instead, she reached into the inner fold of her robes, pulled out a small vial—green-gold glass, threaded with runic etchings along the rim—and tossed it to him.
Lucavion caught it with one hand. Reflexive. Smooth.
His brows raised slightly. "Magister..."
"It’s standard-grade," she said flatly, cutting him off. "It won’t fix everything. But it’ll help."
A pause.
"I expect you to use it before your next exam. You have one today, after all."
Since it was the written evaluation that she had part of preparing the questions.
Lucavion tilted the vial once between his fingers, watching the liquid catch the light.
"...Thanks."
She turned slightly, already preparing to walk away—but her voice cut back one last ti, crisp and without room for argunt:
"And don’t get cocky. Confidence doesn’t an invincibility."
Lucavion’s smirk deepened, just a notch. "I’m not cocky, Magister."
He glanced down at the potion again.
"I just don’t like losing."
Selenne didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.
She just walked off without another word, her robe trailing behind her, silent as a closing verdict.
But beneath the layers of exasperation, one thought lingered just beneath the surface—
’He might be more dangerous than I thought.’
Selenne’s steps echoed lightly against the polished stone, her robes flowing behind her with deliberate precision. She didn’t look back.
But her eyes were narrowed now.
Not in frustration at Lucavion—though that still clung to the edge of her composure like a stubborn shadow—but at sothing colder. Deeper. A realization that slid in under her skin like ice beneath the collar.
They gave him a dulled blade.
They turned a team trial into a sanctioned hunt.
These weren’t just whispered politics or slow-burning bias. This wasn’t so petty maneuvering behind closed doors.
This was bold.
Open.
Blatant.
’To think they’d defy the Academy’s own principles this shalessly.’
Her jaw locked for a mont as she turned down the corridor, boots clicking sharp and controlled.
Sabotage within a trial was already a breach of ethics. Against a student of her house? Of her patronage?
And yet none of the instructors had spoken up. No inquiries. No disciplinary flags. Just quietly buried logs and sanitized conclusions.
She had been too quiet. Too subtle.
’Let’s see if they can do that next ti.’
She didn’t an it as threat. It was simply a promise.
They couldn’t alter written evaluations. Couldn’t fudge scores or mislabel trics. No spell misfires to bla. No "training accidents." The written exams were sealed in magic and monitored in circuits she herself had helped craft.
If they wanted to twist blades in the shadows, then fine.
She would drag the damn test into the light.
’Looks like I’ll need to show my face.’
Until now, she’d kept her presence peripheral—visible enough to remind them she was still watching, yet far enough not to be accused of shielding one student unfairly.
But fairness didn’t matter to wolves who’d already bared their teeth.
So be it.
If they wanted to test Lucavion in her domain, on paper and principle, let them.
She would make sure the rules applied this ti.
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