Lucavion sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, the parchnt spread across his knee. The lanternlight painted his features in soft amber, flickering shadows across the sharp edges of his jaw.
The schedule stared back at him, each ti slot stamped with a cruelty too precise to be coincidence. Three a.m. weapon drills. Double-stacked evaluations. The worst of every possible overlap neatly cramd into one week, as if soone had carefully asked, What would be the most inconvenient set of tis for this particular boy?
’Kind of expected this much,’ he thought, tapping a finger against the inked grid. He let out a breath—half sigh, half laugh. Actions, after all, had consequences.
Antagonizing nobles, mocking professors, calling a crown prince his friend—all of that left a trail. And trails, in a place like this, were always followed.
Still, he didn’t look troubled. If anything, the faint smirk tugging at his mouth made it clear—he found it almost amusing. So that’s how they want to play.
The bed dipped slightly at his side, the faintest pressure against his shoulder. Cool as mist, quiet as moonlight, she was there—curling against him like she had always been part of the space.
[What did you do to deserve sothing like this?]
Her voice was soft, laced with that blend of curiosity and knowing she carried in every word.
Lucavion tilted his head just enough to glance at her, his black eyes catching the lantern’s glow. "Deserve?" He let the word roll with faint amusent. "I only laughed, spoke my mind, and perhaps stepped on a few royal toes. Apparently, that’s worth insomnia."
He leaned back slightly, letting her weight settle comfortably against him, and tapped the parchnt once more.
"Look at this—three a.m. training, back-to-back evaluations, etiquette right after a combat trial... It’s less an exam schedule and more a politely worded assassination attempt."
[You don’t look worried,] she murmured, her cheek brushing against the fabric of his coat.
Lucavion smirked. "Why would I? If they’re this desperate to stack the board against , it just ans they’ve already admitted I’m worth the trouble."
His gaze dropped back to the parchnt, the black eyes glinting with a sharper, hidden edge. "And the thing about pressure, Vitaliara... is that it doesn’t just break. Sotis, it sharpens."
He folded the schedule with deliberate slowness, slipping it under the pillow as though dismissing it from thought.
"Besides," he added, softer now, "it’s just a week. I’ve survived worse."
[And if they make it worse still?] she asked quietly, her words laced with the echo of her own mories—betrayals, punishnts, survival paid in scars.
Lucavion’s smirk lingered, but for a heartbeat, his expression slipped into sothing else—sothing thoughtful, dark, and fleeting. Then it was gone, masked again in his usual careless charm.
"Then," he said, tilting his head until it brushed lightly against hers, "I’ll keep surviving. And when it’s over, they’ll realize I didn’t just survive—I enjoyed it."
Vitaliara shifted just enough to angle her face toward him, her purple eyes catching the lantern glow like polished athyst.
[You really do like to speak cheekily,] she said, the faintest note of teasing threading her calm voice. [It’s a classic.]
Lucavion gave a lazy grin. "Well, I’d hate to break tradition."
But her gaze didn’t soften. Not entirely. The question lingered in the silence between them until she spoke again, quieter this ti.
[Still... will you really be okay?]
Her hand drifted toward the pillow where he’d tucked the parchnt away. Without needing to draw it out again, she recited it—her mory sharp as glass.
[Monday– 03:00. Weaponship Evaluation. West Arena.]
Her voice was even, but the weight of the words made the hour sound heavier.
[Monday – 15:00. Affinity Test. Crystal Hall.]
[Tuesday – 8:30. Combat Awareness Trial. Zone B.]
[Tuesday– 14:30. Written Evaluation – Tier I. Grand Lecture Hall A.]
[Thursday – 05:00. Mana Control Trial. Cultivation Chamber 3C.]
[Thursday– 09:00. Written Evaluation – Tier II. Grand Lecture Hall A.]
[Friday – 21:00. Etiquette & Conduct Evaluation. Rotunda Salon.]
She let the list hang in the air, each entry like a weight placed carefully on a scale.
[It isn’t just early mornings,] she murmured. [They made sure every slot either drags you to exhaustion or leaves you waiting long enough for nerves to gnaw. Spread wide, but just close enough to keep you off balance.]
Her eyes lifted back to his, sharp but steady. [So—will you really be okay?]
Lucavion leaned back against the wall, folding his arms loosely across his chest. The lanternlight caught the curve of his smirk, though his voice ca low, steady—almost dismissive.
"These?" He tapped a finger lightly against the pillow where the parchnt rested. "These are pointless. Petty reshuffling of ink on paper. A test of patience, not strength."
Vitaliara tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
"As long as they don’t try sothing excessive," Lucavion went on, his tone carrying that faint humor he always wore when others would have sounded bitter, "this is nothing more than a warning written into their own heads. A little ga to remind where I stand. To remind themselves they still have teeth."
He gave a soft chuckle, dark but amused. "But a schedule can’t bite. It can only tire you if you let it."
His gaze turned back to her, black eyes steady and unflinching. "So? Yeah. I’ll manage this easily."
*****
Valeria moved through the twilight halls of the Academy, her boots striking soft echoes against the polished stone. The sky beyond the high arched windows had begun to shift into hues of burnt gold and steel blue, the day yielding to the hush of evening.
She had just finished her al—a quiet one, taken alone in the corner of the dining hall, away from the clamor of clustered students. The food had been fine. Functional. But it had done little to settle the thoughts that coiled through her mind.
Her steps carried her toward the dormitory wing, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
Selenne’s voice echoed again in her mory, as crisp and cold as the morning air on the courtyard stones:
"This is how we track your growth. How we decide what doors open—and which remain shut."
Valeria’s eyes flicked up briefly, following the tall, crystalline arches that frad the walkway ahead. Even now, the faint shimr of protective wards pulsed along the edges of the walls—barely visible unless you looked for them. But once you noticed, you couldn’t unsee them. Constantly humming. Watching. Recording.
She slowed for a mont, letting her fingers brush the edge of the etched stone pillar at her side. The runes embedded within it were subtle, but not decorative. Functional. Embedded like veins—like a second nervous system threading through the bones of the Academy.
The ranking system had been explained with surgical precision. Initiates, Adepts, Ascendants... and then Paragons.
To be frank, Valeria knew that for all the grandeur in Selenne’s speech—for all the tiers and trials, the etched projections and promises of rit—the truth hadn’t changed.
Not really.
For most of the nobles, none of this was that important.
The tests. The credits. The so-called hierarchy of strength and distinction.
It was posturing. A theater of diligence. A place to be seen performing excellence, not necessarily earning it.
And she’d known that before stepping foot in the Academy.
It had been the sa in the capital’s old knight-halls, in the drawing rooms of House Olarion, and in every royal gathering she’d been paraded through. Appearances carried more weight than deeds. Proximity ant more than rit.
And here, beneath all the polished stone and star-forged ceilings, it was still the sa.
She turned a corner and caught sight of a group of students—nobles, by their carriage and clothes—laughing quietly as they exited a lounge hall. Their uniforms were crisp, their posture effortless, their conversation light and full of the kind of easy confidence that ca from never having to earn it.
They didn’t see her at first.
But when they did—
The laughter faltered. One of them stopped mid-sentence. Another’s smile wavered, subtle but visible. They didn’t scramble or scatter—no, they weren’t that obvious—but the warmth in their expressions cooled just enough to mark the shift.
Valeria’s gaze didn’t linger on them. She kept walking, her steps unchanging, her face composed.
But she noted it all.
It had been happening since she arrived, after all.
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