Raiden Alaric

  “You’re quiet today,” Chronos said, not even looking up from his book as he tossed me a water bottle.

  I caught it, sat on the bench, and stared at the sweat pooling at my feet.

  “Do you know how many days it’s been?” I muttered.

  Chronos raised an eyebrow. “Since what?”

  I leaned back against the wall. “Since the warehouse.”

  That got his attention. He set the book down, but didn’t say anything. He just waited.

  “1,127,” I said. “I started counting. Thought it would help. But after nearly 4 years, I’ve come to the grand conclusion that it does not in fact help.” The silence stretched.

  “I almost had it,” I added, barely above a whisper. “You remember. I know you do.”

  Chronos didn’t speak, he didn’t need to. So I kept going, because if I didn’t vent this now, I was going to start throwing weights. Again.

  1,127 Days

  That’s how long it’s been. Since the warehouse. Since I got close. Too close. Since the revelation clawed its way up my throat only to be smothered by that damn seal.

  I’ve gone through everything. Every tournament. Every near-death experience. Every close call engineered by Chronos and his delightful bag of sadistic training tricks. Yet, there was nothing. No spark. No surge. No thump-thump-thump of destiny trying to kick down the door.

  I’ve sharpened my body to a razor’s edge. Selena says my muscle density is well beyond even most Green Ranks. My reaction time is insane. My technique is terrifying. I can feel everything.

  That fire though, that storm I feel trying to break out, is still fucking caged. And then there’s him. Herbert, yes I didn’t find his real name eventually while I was with Ella, but he’s Herbert now.

  Three years. Not a single move.

  I’ve pushed. I’ve baited. I’ve strolled through every high society function with his fiancé on my arm like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Chronos warned him, sure. I was literally right there when he said I was off limits. But I thought something would happen. A whisper, a little flinch, hell even a message via smoke signal. However not a single thing happened.

  You know what silence does to someone like me? It festers. It eats at you. It whispers that maybe you're not good enough. Maybe the reason you haven’t awakened isn't because you’re waiting, maybe it’s because you’ve already failed. But I know that’s not true. I know it’s not.

  Because when I’m standing in the middle of a fight, when I’m inches from losing control, when I’m dangling off the edge of death, it’s still there. Whispering. Beckoning.

  I chase— I pursue—

  Then it fades. Every time. Like I’m reaching for the sky and someone keeps slapping my hand down. I’m not even angry anymore. I’m exhausted. But I’m also not done. Because the next time I hear that whisper? I'm going to tear the damn sky open.

  Alright so new plan. A desperate, stupid, wonderfully chaotic new plan.

  After three years of stagnant progress, I’ve decided to crank the dial to eleven and start throwing Hail Marys into the universe like I’m trying to win a game I don’t even know the rules to anymore.

  And how do you bait a paranoid noble with a god complex? You stage a photoshoot with his fiancé.

  Now, I couldn’t just hire any rando with a half-decent camera and a dream. I needed someone I trusted. Someone who knew how to shoot like a pro, blend into the background, and not ask too many questions. Or someone who will just listen to everything I said and doesn't stand out.

  So I called Wren. Yeah. That Wren. The guy who complained about the girls trying to use him as a proxy to get to me. Social butterfly, class clown, walking dating app. And also, my old friend.

  He owed me. Last year during the second semester, he snuck out during second period to meet a girl from another campus. I covered for him. Made sure the teacher didn’t take attendance too hard. Even faked a stomach virus in case they called home.

  That little favor? Cashed it in. Wren tried to talk his way out of it at first.

  “Bro, why do I have to follow you and your girlfriend around? Like, what kind of pictures am I supposed to take? Spicy? Romantic? Soft-lighting, enemies-to-lovers tension?”

  “Yes,” I told him, not giving any information.

  He groaned. “How much are you paying me?”

  “You’ll be paid in exposure. And your debt will be paid off as well.”

  He hung up. Then called me back five minutes later after remembering the favor and just said, “Damn it.”

  Now here we are. He’s trailing behind me somewhere with a decent camera and a grin like this is the best kind of chaos. I told him not to get caught. He told me he planned on getting at least one shot dramatic enough to end up in a tabloid. “For my debt,” he said.

  Sure, Wren.

  Meanwhile, Ella’s walking beside me, totally unaware that this entire stroll through the nicest, most publicly visible garden in the district is a carefully staged battlefield.

  If Herbert’s people are watching, and they are, they’re gonna see a beautiful elven girl and the human boy she just can’t stay away from. Laughing. Smiling. Maybe even sharing a drink with two straws like it’s a bad rom-com.

  And if they aren’t watching?

  Well… they will be.

  I’m not leaving this day to chance. I’m dragging fate to the table and making it eat.

  Chronos didn't say much of anything besides. “Don't come back a father.”

  Anyway. The plan.

  I told Ella we were doing something casual, just walking through one of the newer upper-district parks, nothing fancy. But I picked the route, the timing, even made sure to loop us through the little scenic flower-covered bridge right around golden hour.

  Subtle, of course not. Effective oh I would put my money on it.

  Ella on the other hand, she’s still none the wiser. Still sweet. Still genuine. Still completely unaware that every time I brush her hand or lean in too close or give her one of those perfectly timed smirks, it’s not really for her.

  Not all of it, anyway. It’s bait. A performance.

  Every smile, every glance, every brush of her fingers is part of a carefully curated image. Public affection tailored to draw attention. To poke the bear just enough to stir up trouble.

  Behind closed doors, though, that’s different.

  We’re not all moonlight and handholding when there’s no one watching. No stolen kisses. No whispered nothings. We agreed to keep it casual, comfortable. Just two people playing their parts, enjoying the silence between the acts.

  When we train together, she doesn’t treat me like some romantic partner. She treats me like a sparring rival. A companion. Someone she can trust to take a punch and throw one back. It’s where she’s most honest, where I see her as more than just a pawn in this game. And maybe, maybe, I like that version of her most.

  But of course, nothing good ever stays untouched.

  Illya’s been trying to muscle in lately. The older sister. The proud one. Always with some excuse, pulling me aside for training, offering ‘corrections’ on my form, inviting me out under the guise of sparring or tactics discussion. But somehow we always end up at some cozy overlook or an empty dueling hall with candlelit ambiance.

  Subtle.

  I didn’t mind. In fact, I leaned into it. I wanted people to notice. Wanted whispers to spread. If it looked like I was charming half the Vel’aeris bloodline?

  Good.

  Let it look that way. Let it look intentional.

  Ella introduced me to a few of her other sisters, even some of her brothers. I made a point to remember all their names. Asked them questions. Laughed at the right times. Made them laugh too. I left impressions. Good ones.

  By now, I’m fairly certain every member of the Vel’aeris family likes me more than they’re comfortable admitting. Even the ones who barely talk smile when I enter the room. Because why not?

  If I’m going to be the pebble in Herbert’s boot, I might as well be the one his entire future in-laws prefer over him.

  This is pressure. Not just between me and Ella. Between me and everything. Every eye. Every whisper. Every faction.

  I’m not letting another year go by with nothing to show for it. I don’t care who sees Wren’s photos, as long as someone important does. If Herbert’s people aren’t watching? They will be, if they are then it’s time to remind them why I’m such a pain in the ass. It’s time to stir the pot. To kick the nest. To force the hand. I need a storm again. And if I have to build one myself? Then so be it.

  The park she picked was one of those upper-district constructions meant to look natural. You know the type, perfectly trimmed trees, rocks that were too aesthetic to be unintentional, and walking paths that looked like they were imported from some highborn elf’s meditation retreat.

  Ella walked beside me, arms loose at her sides, hair braided back in that not-trying-too-hard style that probably took thirty minutes and two enchanted brushes. We weren’t holding hands. Not right now. That was only for when we had an audience.

  Behind us, Wren was playing “discreet” like a drama student on his first spy gig. He’d ducked behind the same tree three times already. But he had the camera, so he got a pass.

  Ella glanced up at me mid-step. “You’ve been... weirdly calm today.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, flashing a grin. “I’m just thinking today might be different.”

  She raised an eyebrow, “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

  I chuckled, “Trust me I could come up with better insults. But do tell me, am I supposed to be excited when every time you call me is to plan one of these dates? Not to mention they are all the same, be in a place with a lot of eyes and pretend to flirt and have fun. Our sparring sessions have more entertainment value than these ‘dates’.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to laugh. We walked in silence for a few more steps, the breeze light and the sun just starting to tint everything gold.

  “Have you thought about my question?”

  She turned to me, “What question?”

  “About your awakening. I asked you for details about it. You brushed me off because it was the end of the day but since we are only starting I figured I'd ask now.”

  She tilted her head, confused. “What was it specifically you wanted to know?”

  “Your revelation,” I said. “For awakening.”

  Her lips parted slightly, just enough to show surprise. “You really want to know?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? You're well aware I've got a wall. Maybe hearing yours will make something click.”

  Ella studied me for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But it’s not that exciting.”

  She slowed her pace a little, thoughtful. “I was at my limit. Not in battle, not physically. Just… emotionally. I felt caged. Like everything I was supposed to be had already been decided for me. Titles. Expectations. Alliances.” She paused. “I didn’t want to become someone I didn’t recognize.”

  I stayed quiet. She didn’t sound like she was bragging. It was soft. Honest.

  “So what was the moment?” I asked.

  She gave a small smile. “I remember thinking, ‘I don’t want to be chosen. I want to choose.’ That’s when it happened.”

  I blinked. “Huh.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “No,” I said, frowning a little. “I think I was expecting something dramatic. Like, ‘I’ll protect everyone’ or ‘I want power.’ Not existential defiance.”

  She laughed softly. “Well, that’s what got me there. I don’t think revelations have to be loud.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, half to myself. “But mine keeps trying to shout and then forgets what it was screaming about halfway through.”

  Ella smiled, but her gaze drifted, somewhere far off. Her posture shifted slightly, less guarded, more… vulnerable.

  “When it happened,” she said quietly, “I wasn’t even trying to awaken. I was just trying to breathe. I was in the middle of a diplomatic summit I wasn’t supposed to speak at, wearing a dress I didn’t choose, standing next to people I didn’t trust… all while being promised to someone I didn’t love.”

  Her fingers twisted together as she spoke, knuckles white. “I remember thinking, ‘Is this really all I am? A name? A means to an end?’”

  She stopped walking and looked at me, expression soft but resolute.

  “That’s when it hit me. Clear as anything. ‘I write my own story. It is not written for me.’”

  She paused, like the memory was still sitting heavy in her chest. “And that was it. My revelation. I didn’t scream it. Didn’t even say it out loud. I just… knew. That I refused to be a pawn. Not for my family. Not for the sect. Not for anyone.”

  I let the silence hang for a second, watching her.

  “…Damn,” I said.

  She blinked, surprised. “What?”

  “That was kind of badass.”

  Ella huffed, rolling her eyes, but I saw the small, embarrassed smile forming.

  “I mean it,” I added. “That? That’s a real reason. It makes sense.”

  She looked at me again, really looked, and for a second, I wondered if she could tell just how frustrated I’d been lately. How close I’d gotten. How far away it still felt.

  Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “You’ll find yours. You’re already circling it.”

  “Feels more like I’m chasing it with a blindfold on,” I muttered.

  “You’re chasing it because you haven’t stopped moving,” she said gently. “That’s more than most ever do.”

  Before I could reply, she stopped suddenly mid-step. Her shoulders tensed. She glanced toward the outer garden wall, subtle but sharp.

  “…Problem?” I asked, already reading her body language.

  She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Guards. Green trim. House colors.” She bit her lip. “That means someone high-ranking’s nearby. And if it’s who I think it is…”

  “One of your fifty siblings?” I guessed.

  “Maybe… I don't have fif– never mind,” she confirmed grimly. “From their armor I'm guessing my oldest brother, the one who lectures.”

  I grinned. “So... you want me to help you hide from your terrifying elf sibling again?”

  Her look said yes, even if her pride wanted to say no.

  I smirked, offered my hand, and nodded toward the path veiled by thick hedges and trees.

  “Then let’s go rewrite the story.” I raised an eyebrow. “Strict older brother showing up unannounced while we’re out on a ‘date’? Sounds like a sitcom setup. What do you want me to do? Kiss you in front of him to assert dominance?”

  She choked on a breath, swatted my arm. “Raiden!”

  I smirked. “Okay, okay. So what’s the play?”

  She looked back toward the path, her voice quick but soft. “We need to get out of view. If it’s him, he’ll make a scene. And if it’s not him, it’s still someone important. Either way, I’m not getting dragged into a lecture about public appearances again.”

  “So... you want me to help you hide from your scary elf brother?”

  She gave me a pointed look.

  I grinned. “Celestial’s wings, I’ve been waiting for something interesting to happen.”

  She groaned. “Please take this seriously.”

  I reached out and gently took her hand, she didn’t flinch. We turned, casual-like, and walked toward the denser part of the garden path.

  “Just for the record,” I added as we slipped behind a tree wall and Wren adjusted his camera from a distance, “if I end up getting yelled at by some ten-thousand-year-old pointy-eared general for ‘tainting your bloodline,’ I’m getting dinner out of this.”

  “I’ll buy you dessert,” she muttered, peeking through the leaves.

  “Deal,” I said, already preparing my ‘flustered-but-dignified boyfriend’ face in case we got spotted.

  I then prompted a question, “Wait, wouldn't he be able to sense you?”

  “No, he's currently undergoing his trial. He just advanced to Violet Rank a few weeks ago. He's been quite bitter about it since Illya is ahead of him.”

  That tracks, Illya and Ella had told me about their traditions regarding advancement. They limit themselves and hone their skills until they are deemed worthy of the power they obtained. Kind of a pointless endeavor but hey, who am I to judge.

  We ducked off the path into a shaded alcove, boxed in by overgrown hedges and old stone, one of those quiet park nooks designed for couples who didn’t want to be seen.

  How fitting.

  Ella pressed herself back against the wall, peeking through a split in the leaves. “They’re coming closer,” she whispered. “And—gods, that’s my oldest brother’s insignia. It is him.”

  Of course it is.

  I could already hear the steps. Measured. Heavy. The sound of people who walked like they owned the dirt beneath their boots. Her breathing started to pick up, short and sharp.

  I turned to her and took a step closer. “Ella.” She didn’t look at me. Her eyes stayed fixed on the gap in the leaves. “Ella. Look at me.”

  She finally did, startled, her pupils huge.

  “Trust me.”

  “Raiden, what are you—?”

  I placed my hand on her cheek, slow and steady. Her whole body froze.

  “They’re almost on top of us,” I murmured. “And you’re not helping your case looking like you’re about to be kidnapped.”

  “I—I'm trying to calm down, but—” The footsteps grew louder.

  Another shutter click from somewhere in the trees. Wren was doing his part. Ella, unfortunately, was not.

  She fidgeted, her lips parting to say something, probably a string of nervous elven curses, so I did the only thing I could think of.

  I leaned in and kissed her.

  Well, not really kissed. More like... sealed her lips with mine. My mouth just barely touched hers, holding firm enough to keep her quiet, gentle enough not to be mistaken for passion.

  Her body went stiff. I could feel the way she trembled under my hand. She wasn’t ready for this. Hell, I wasn’t ready for this. But I didn’t move. Didn’t give her space to spiral.

  Her panic melted into confusion. Then into something quieter. Something unsure. She stopped shaking. Stopped breathing, probably.

  The guards passed. Boots crunching stone. Voices low, formal, fading. I counted three extra seconds, then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Wide. Shining. Dazed.

  Her lips stayed parted, stunned into complete silence.

  “They’re gone,” I whispered.

  Nothing. Then she blinked. Once. Twice.

  Her face flushed red so fast I thought she might combust. “Y-You—!”

  “Calm down,” I said, backing up casually. “You were going to get us both caught.”

  “You kissed me!” she hissed, hands flying to her face.

  “I silenced you. Big difference.”

  “That is not—!”

  I cut her off with a grin. “You’re welcome.” She smacked my arm repeatedly.

  I just laughed, slipping my hands into my pockets and walking back toward the main path. “That definitely deserves dessert.”

  Behind me, I heard her groan, mutter something in Elvish, and chase after me.

  And somewhere in the distance?

  Click.

  Another shutter.

  Thanks, Wren.

  Illya Vel’aeris

  I was sitting in my office going through some documents regarding my mother. She was finally planning on visiting. It's been 10 years since I'd last seen her.

  My desk was buried in noble obligations: letters sealed in gold, house summons, and half-signed legislation about border trades I couldn’t care less about. Somewhere in the middle was a handwritten letter from Mother, saying she’d finally be visiting after ten years.

  Touching.

  I rolled my eyes and shoved it aside when my comm crystal buzzed.

  Raiden Alaric – [1 New Message]

  That earned a raised eyebrow. I tapped it open. A display appeared in front of me showing my messages with Raiden from my phone.

  “Calling in a favor.”

  No hello, I miss you, please run away with me, or anything of the sort.

  A second message came in, an image. I opened it, and nearly dropped the crystal.

  Raiden. Kissing Ella.

  Full contact. No hesitation. Arm around her waist. Hand at her cheek. Ella’s ears practically glowing from how red they were, her hands frozen in stunned panic. It was… committed. Possessive. Real.

  My eyebrows climbed and refused to come down.

  “Oh, Ella,” I murmured, a grin tugging at my lips. “You lucky bitch.”

  And then my gaze drifted back to him. Raiden looked... composed. Relaxed. Dominant. A little too comfortable in the role if you asked me.

  My heart skipped, just a little. And then came the completely inappropriate thought.

  Wonder what that would’ve looked like if it was me.

  I slammed that door shut with all the grace of a drunken war elephant. Not the time.

  A third message arrived:

  “I figured your family would have the channels to leak this quietly. Just make sure the right noble brat sees it.”

  I let out a short, incredulous laugh. He wasn’t even subtle about it. He wanted Vaelik to see this. Wanted to provoke him. Stir the pot. I leaned back in my chair and exhaled.

  Three years of silence from Brightmoor’s petty neglected son. And now this. A not-so-little firecracker dropped in the middle of the estate’s pride and honor.

  Raiden didn’t just poke the bear, he kissed the bear’s fiancé and smiled for the camera.

  Bold. Dangerous. Hilarious. I tapped out a reply.

  “I’ll be sure to use discretion. Though next time, try not to look like you enjoyed it so much. Ella might catch feelings.”

  Then, just to twist the knife, I added a second message:

  “Also, if you’re ever in the mood to share, I do accept bribes in the form of quality time. Strictly for strategic alliance-building, of course.”

  I snickered to myself and tossed the crystal onto the desk. Oh, Ella. You really brought home a walking disaster.

  Ella Vel'aeris

  I was still lying on my bed. Just… staring.

  Blank ceiling. Soft sheets. Pillow beneath my head that definitely wasn’t helping me think clearly. I should’ve been reading. Or journaling. Or meditating. Something productive.

  But no, all I could do was replay it over and over in my head like some lovesick drama protagonist.

  His hand on my cheek. The tilt of his head. The way he kissed me, and I let him. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t even act surprised. I almost pulled him closer.

  I screamed into my pillow. Not metaphorically. Full volume, muffled by goose-feather stuffing.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “What is wrong with me?!” I whined into the fabric, kicking my feet behind me like a ridiculous schoolgirl in a dating sim.

  It wasn’t supposed to go like that. It was just a cover. A ruse. Public performance, remember? We agreed, we agreed, to keep it fake. No strings. No mess. Just flirt, smile, pose for the cameras, and go home.

  Now I can’t stop thinking about the way his thumb brushed my cheek. The way he held me, confident, steady, like it wasn’t even a big deal.

  He smelled like cedar and fresh laundry. His cologne was subtle but maddening. The moment he leaned in, it felt like my brain disconnected from the rest of me. I haven’t stopped blushing since.

  And don’t even get me started on what he was wearing.

  That navy blazer paired with a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt that exposed just enough collarbone to make me question my life choices. Crisp light jeans, clean white sneakers.

  His collarbone looked like it belonged in a romance movie. That collarbone. I’ve seen that exact look in those posters for that one human actor, what's his name? The heartthrob who always plays the morally conflicted prince? Ugh. I sound insane.

  “He looked really—” I started to mutter, then immediately slapped my hands over my mouth.

  Nope.

  Nope. Not finishing that sentence. Not even internally. I rolled onto my side and groaned, covering my face.

  This was a disaster. A soft, cotton-scented, smug-grinning disaster with great fashion sense and way too much emotional control. He had no right to be this… this.

  The worst part is that I don’t even know if he meant it. The kiss. The look. The way he just… held me there like I mattered.

  Was it just another part of the act? A cover? Him fulfilling his “role” so I wouldn’t be recognized?

  That had to be it… right?

  He saw the guards, realized I might get recognized by my brother, and used that kiss to shield me, like some kind of quick-thinking romantic bodyguard. That’s all it was.

  ...Right?

  Then why did it feel like it meant more?

  I groaned and rolled over again, arms flopping uselessly across the bed. My face was still burning. My ears were practically on fire. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing normally anymore, and I hated it.

  Because now I couldn’t stop thinking about how tall he’s gotten. When we first met, we were almost the same height. Now? I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes. His shoulders are broader, his build leaner. He’s still Raiden, but older. Sharper. More solid.

  Meanwhile I'm the same height. Same everything. I mean some areas have grown but I want my legs to grow instead of… anyways.

  I haven’t grown a single inch in three years and I’m still expected to look dignified next to Mr. “I Grew Up Into a Walking Problem.”

  Ugh. It’s not fair.

  Everything about him feels different now. He walks with more confidence, his voice is deeper, and when he looks at me, really looks, it’s like he’s already three steps ahead, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and I’m just... reacting.

  I felt so small in his arms, and that shouldn’t bother me, but…

  I buried my face in my pillow again and kicked my feet like I was fifteen and going through a heartbreak montage.

  “This isn’t fair!” I half-muffled into the fabric.

  Raiden Alaric, you stupid, beautiful, insufferable, charming… ugh stop this! What are you doing to me?

  Raiden Alaric

  I stood in the center of the chamber, tank top clinging to my back, sweats loose around my legs, bare feet pressed against the polished floor. Circular room. Sixty-plus holes lining the walls. Each one ready to fire a tennis ball from any angle. I didn’t stretch. Didn’t prep. Just closed my eyes. Let the machine whir to life.

  [Reaction Training: Level 7 – BEGIN]

  I didn’t move. I opened my eyes and watched.

  FWIP—

  The first ball slammed into my ribs with a satisfying thunk. I exhaled sharply. Another to the shoulder. Then the thigh. They kept coming. I let them. One after the other. Controlled hits. No panic. Just observation.

  Every impact painted a map across my nerves. Every sting told me where I overcompensated. Every bruise showed me what I needed to unlearn. Not dodging wasn’t weakness. It was data. By the time the round ended, I was bruised and breathing harder than expected. The machine gave a cheerful chirp, like it had done its job.

  I smiled. Not out of pride. Out of understanding. I stepped back into the ready position.

  [Reaction Training: Level 7 – BEGIN]

  FWIP—

  I moved. A duck, smooth and precise. Two from the right, caught. Volley from behind, back lean, twist, exhale. It clicked now. Every shot had a rhythm. A delay. A pattern. My body picked it up faster than it used to. Two tries. That’s all I needed. Same as last time. Same as the one before that.

  I stood still once it ended, a tennis ball in each hand, chest rising steady. “Reaction time’s improving,” I muttered. “Reading patterns is getting easier.”

  This would be so much more of a breeze if I could use aura…

  That was why I was here. Not to test strength. To see how much faster I was getting at understanding. Right now it felt like a good day.

  “Well, look at you,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “Here I thought you’d be fighting the dolls again.”

  I turned slightly, still catching my breath. “Chronos.”

  He strolled in like he owned the place, because, well, he did, arms folded behind his back, coat swaying with every step. His gaze swept the scattered tennis balls before settling on me.

  “All this from Level Seven?” he asked, raising a brow. “Didn’t peg you for the overachieving type.”

  “I’m testing something,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “Seeing how long it takes for the patterns to click.”

  He nodded once, unsurprised. “And?”

  “Two tries,” I muttered. “That’s all I ever need now.”

  Chronos gave a small smirk. “Not bad. But let’s not pretend you're satisfied. You know that won’t fly in real combat. People mix things up.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

  He clapped his hands once. “Anyway. More important topic, your birthday’s in a few days.”

  I blinked. “You remembered?”

  “Of course I remembered. It’s our annual ‘pretend I’m not getting sentimental’ tradition.” He waved a hand in mock dismissal. “Three years, three techniques. Which means it’s time to pick number four.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Can I—”

  “No.”

  I didn’t even get the words out before he cut me off. Chronos didn’t miss a beat, still casually pacing the edge of the room.

  “You already know the answer,” he said. “Your body’s not re—”

  I finished his words. “Ready. You try mimicking my style without Aura and you’ll end up snapping your bones just by breathing wrong. I know you have said it plenty of times, but it never hurts to ask again.” I change the tone of my voice to sound like an intellect, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again!”

  “Well since you know,” he said, grinning. “Stop asking.” He turned back to face me fully. “You want to learn it? Then get to where you can. Until you awaken, it stays off the table. So keep working hard Rai.”

  I nodded slowly, tucking that frustration into the usual spot. Fine, just wait until I awaken Chronos. Because when I do I’m taking everything.

  I stayed quiet for a second, rolling one of the tennis balls in my palm. Chronos waited.

  “I need to think about it,” I finally said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you think before picking a fight?”

  I smirked faintly. “Funny.” Then I sighed, tossing the ball lightly in the air and catching it again.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to learn something new,” I said. “I just… haven’t had anything worth considering lately.”

  Chronos didn’t speak. He was listening. Really listening.

  “I’ve entered contests. Tournaments. Street scuffles dressed up as proper duels. And I’ve won.” I shrugged. “Most of them weren’t even fun.”

  “Boring is what you mean?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  I nodded. “More often than not. Predictable. Shallow. I was hoping one of them would push me, maybe knock something loose in my head. Get me close again.”

  He tilted his head. “And?”

  “And nothing,” I muttered. “No pressure. No clarity. Just more bruises, more trophies, and a lot of wasted time.”

  I looked at my hands, flexing them. “I thought about picking up a weapon. Just to switch it up.”

  Chronos crossed his arms. “And?”

  “My hands have always done the trick,” I said. “And most of the contests I enter are hand-to-hand anyway. I’d just be swinging something around for show.” I met his eyes. “I want something that’s going to push me again. That makes it feel like I’m getting closer. Not just collecting new moves.”

  Chronos studied me for a long moment. Then gave a small nod. “Alright. Take your time,” he said. “But don’t take too long.”

  He turned to leave, but not before glancing back. “And when you figure it out? Make sure it scares you a little. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, the sharp edge of restlessness starting to settle in. Three years. Three techniques. All useful. All refined. But none of them had brought me any closer to the edge I’d been chasing. Which is why I did it.

  I kissed Ella, had Wren follow us around and take pictures, and even used one of my precious favors from Illya to “leak” the picture to him.

  All of this just to get one person to make a move.

  Herbert.

  That controlling, high-and-mighty fiancé who hadn’t made a single move in over three years. Not a whisper. Not a warning. Not even a passive-aggressive glare sent from across a crowd.

  I leaned back against the wall and exhaled. He had to have seen it by now. The kiss, Ella’s expression, the fact she didn’t even pull away or show any resistance.

  Unless…

  “Tch. Illya, if you chickened out, I swear—” I muttered.

  No… no, she wouldn’t. That woman lives for this kind of drama. Hell, she probably zoomed in and enhanced it before sending it off. Might make it her phone’s wallpaper for all I know.

  So what was the holdup?

  “What’s the matter, Herbert?” I said, voice dry. “Still trying to pretend I’m not worth the effort?”

  I kicked at a stray tennis ball, sending it skidding across the floor.

  “Come on, man. You’re supposed to be jealous. Possessive. Rabid with rage. Do something already.”

  The silence that answered me was somehow louder than any threat. I rolled my shoulders, cracked my neck, and let a slow grin creep onto my face.

  “Fine. Stay quiet,” I muttered. “But just know—if you don’t bring the storm…”

  I stepped toward the training console, resetting it with a flick.

  “…I’ll bring it to your front door.”

  I didn’t expect much for my birthday.

  Chronos gave me the usual training session and a head nod that probably was him saying “You pick a technique yet?”. Selena texted me a blurry selfie of a cupcake next to a vial of my blood. Wren sent a meme. And that was enough. My family has something planned for sure.

  Until my phone buzzed again. A message from Ella.

  [Ella]: Happy Birthday. I’m kidnapping you today. Wear something decent. We’re going somewhere you might actually enjoy for once.

  Another buzz.

  [Ella]: South of the City of Dawn. Academy Arena. Tournament of Demigods. Don’t be late. :)

  I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering. The Tournament of Demigods.

  Not the Tournament of Gods, that was the grand spectacle, the inter-realm slugfest that took three years to finish because every school with a pulse joined in.

  This one? Just one academy. Their own ranks. Their own arena. But they didn’t call it the Tournament of Demigods for nothing. Every fighter there? An Ascendant.

  Ella, I could kiss you and actually mean it this time.

  I stood up, cracking my knuckles. This was either her idea of a distraction… or she was finally learning how to shop for someone like me. Either way, I was already grabbing my coat.

  Mooching off the rich is finally paying off. This wasn’t a birthday card. This was a present wrapped in gold foil. Let’s go watch Ascendants fight.

  The south side of the City of Dawn was buzzing. The Academy Arena of Astraeum Sanctum towered ahead like some divine structure masquerading as a sports venue. Its core coliseum was built into the side of a rising plateau, with floating terraces orbiting it like satellites, each one held aloft by intricate Aura-weaving arrays pulsing just beneath the surface. Veins of glowing crystal ran through the structure, not just for show, but as conduits for the energy that kept the arena breathing like a living thing.

  Above us, translucent bridges connected sky balconies to dorm towers that literally hovered, suspended by gravity-stabilized pillars bound with ancient sigil-tech, long chains of etched glyphs that shimmered faintly with every sway. Banners danced in the sky without poles, animated by subtle force runes that caught and held the wind like obedient spirits.

  In my hand was a glossy fold-out pamphlet I’d snagged at the gate.

  Welcome to Astraeum Sanctum: Training Grounds of Tomorrow’s Legends

  “With over 9,000 registered students across five divisions, our academy is proud to host the fiercest and most elite up-and-coming Ascendants in the realm.”

  I muttered under my breath. “Nine thousand students. And I thought my class was crowded.” However I do recall some campuses such as Avalon or Shangri-la having nearly 100,000 students.

  And walking beside me, dressed in something that could legally be classified as a distraction, was Ella.

  She wore an off-shoulder high-slit dress in a shade of midnight teal that shimmered subtly under the arena’s glow, threaded with reactive silver-weave sigils that formed arcane patterns only visible when she moved. The slits ran high up either side for easy movement, and her heels, thin, sleek, and far too functional-looking, were likely reinforced with stability glyphs designed for “work/life” balance. Her blonde hair was pulled back and pinned with what looked like a decorative spearhead, elegant and ceremonial, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also sharp.

  I, on the other hand, wore a fitted black jacket with a mandarin collar, embroidered across the shoulders with fine-thread inscription marks, protective, not decorative. Paired with dark slacks and lightweight field boots lined with pressure-absorption runes, I looked like I was ready for a duel disguised as a fashion shoot. Chronos had handed me the outfit that morning without a word, which I took as his way of saying, Try not to embarrass yourself.

  “You clean up well,” I said casually, eyeing her out of the corner of my eye.

  She didn’t respond at first, just smirked and kept walking. I had asked her before hand why I would need any protective sigils and such. She wouldn’t really answer but just say things like, “Better safe than sorry.” Thankfully Chronos had something for me. To be honest it probably wasn’t even him, but Selena that either made it or had it made for me.

  Crazy woman.

  We passed the main crowds, the general admissions archways, and the open-seat sections. Students, tourists, and nobles alike filled the place. Noise, color, motion, it was all a bit much. Also I noticed that Ella wasn’t walking next to me, she was keeping a decent pace ahead of me. Almost as if she was trying to avoid me, but not entirely.

  I can’t really blame her considering that from her perspective, a few days ago I had kissed her out of nowhere. So she probably is either holding a grudge or is not sure how to ease the awkward tension. To be honest it would be best to just pretend it didn’t happen at all.

  I began to notice we were still passing by all of the seats and areas which made me wonder where we were going. I slowed my pace and got her attention.

  “…We’re not going in there?” I asked, jerking a thumb toward the normal stands.

  Ella barely glanced back. “Nope.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You got floor seats?”

  “Better.”

  She turned down a guarded path, casually flashing a crystal token to a robed attendant. He stepped aside without hesitation.

  I blinked.

  Another corridor. More guards. The crowd noise dulled behind us. The architecture changed, sleeker, colder, like a noble’s vault turned into a hallway. Every inch of the space hummed with authority. Sigils lined the corners of the walls, pulsing faintly, not for aesthetics but likely as barrier runes to keep out unwanted Aura interference. The air smelled faintly of purification resin, the kind burned in rooms meant for serious discussions and serious power.

  I stopped in my tracks. “You’re joking.”

  Ella looked over her shoulder, all innocence. “What?”

  “That’s a private viewing area for the Skyhaven Sect isn’t it?”

  She smiled. “Mm-hmm.”

  “…You know I’m not in the Skyhaven Sect, right?”

  “Yes,” she said sweetly. “But you’re with me.”

  I frowned. “And?”

  She gave a little shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s enough.”

  I stared at the heavy door ahead, guarded by two stern-faced attendants in the signature green of the Skyhaven Sect. Embroidered sashes marked their rank, and the glint of verification sigils shimmered faintly from the hilts of their ceremonial blades.

  There were definitely other people in there. Other high elves. Probably ones who wouldn’t be thrilled to see a human tagging along like a misplaced accessory.

  I exhaled through my nose. “Ella…”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head, feigning indifference. “If you’re scared, I can go in alone. I just figured you’d want the best view in the arena. And maybe… see some familiar faces.”

  I squinted. “…Familiar faces?”

  She hesitated. Her posture shifted, like someone about to admit they broke curfew and took the family hovercraft for a joyride. The casual smirk faltered just slightly.

  “I didn’t just bring you here because I felt like it,” she said, voice lower now. “I was… asked. Pressured, really. The Brightmoor family wanted you in attendance. Said it’d be ‘better optics’ if you showed up here instead of loitering with the general masses.”

  That tracked. Herbert and his squad of silver spoon tacticians probably thought they were being subtle.

  Ella continued, almost reluctantly. “My father also asked me to bring you. Personally. Said you should be ‘visible.’ Whatever that means.”

  My brows rose slightly, but I kept quiet.

  “And…” She paused again, this time with a different kind of hesitation. Not the nervous kind, more like the unsure, vulnerable kind. “There’s… a chance my mother might show up. I heard a rumor.”

  That surprised me. I glanced at her, but she was already looking away, jaw tight, expression unreadable. So that’s what was really behind the invite. Not just political optics or noble games. Something personal. She had mentioned she hadn’t seen her mother in 10 years. Her relationship with her mother is up for interpretation due to her not ever elaborating and only giving a longing stare.

  “Right,” I said softly. “Well… thanks for the warning.”

  She gave a tired sigh. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I just… wanted to pretend this wasn’t one of those days.”

  I nodded. “I get it.”

  Then my grin started creeping back in. “Still doesn’t explain why you look disappointed that I’m not freaking out.”

  She turned to me sharply. “Because you’re smiling like a maniac.”

  “I’m concerned,” I said.

  “You’re grinning.”

  “It’s nerves.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “I am deeply troubled.”

  “You’re scheming.”

  “I’m anxious.”

  “You’re smug.”

  I gave her my best innocent look. “I’m emotionally complex.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

  I gave her my most honest expression. “Nothing. I’m just a humble guest, honoring the invitation of my ‘girlfriend’.”

  She rolled her eyes and muttered, “You’re something,” under her breath as we stepped forward.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, not buying a word.

  Truth was, I was enjoying this. The thought that Herbert, Mr. Mine Mine Mine himself, might be watching from behind some gilded railing, forced to acknowledge my presence in his oh-so-exclusive section? That was worth every awkward glance I’d get the moment I stepped inside.

  I started walking again, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from my jacket sleeve.

  “Lead the way, my lady.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her smile crept back. “Just don’t get me exiled.”

  “No promises.”

  She laughed, genuine, exasperated, and pushed open the door. Let the show begin.

  The doors swung open with a soft hiss of pressure seals, revealing a viewing chamber that looked more like a council hall than a box seat. Velvet-lined seating arced around a panoramic viewing panel that projected a real-time view of the arena below. The floor hummed faintly beneath our steps, weight-sensitive panels bound with precision glyph work. It was subtle, expensive, and of course populated.

  Far more people than I expected. High elves, mostly. Clad in robes, sashes, formalwear. Not all family, either. This wasn’t some quiet gathering of relatives, this was a curated audience. Officials. Heirs. Representatives. The kind of people who didn’t just show up. They were invited.

  Conversations stilled the moment we entered. Dozens of gazes turned toward us, toward me, with the same unified curiosity you might reserve for a rare insect pinned under glass.

  Ella walked with practiced grace, shoulders high, expression unreadable. I offered a two-finger wave like I’d just walked into a classroom twenty minutes late and didn’t care who noticed. The silence lingered. Then someone cleared their throat.

  “Raiden Alaric, isn’t it?” An older elf stepped forward, neatly dressed in layered robes etched with sky-green filigree. “I believe I saw footage of you at the Celestia Ridge exhibition. You fought rather well against that Verdant Flow practitioner. Surprising, really.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I specialize in making things up as I go.”

  Another voice joined in, a younger man with an ornamental collar and a tone that tried to sound impressed but landed closer to smug. “I remember that match. You weren’t formally trained in Verdant Flow, were you? The counters you used seemed… improvised.”

  “They were,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t have time to watch a tutorial.” A few chuckled and a few did not.

  One particularly well-groomed noble, white-blonde hair, etched ringlets on his cuffs, tilted his head with clinical curiosity.

  “And your Aura signature… or rather, your lack of one. I suppose that’s deliberate?” he asked, lips twitching into something that barely qualified as a smile. “Or is it just one of those late-bloomer things?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Wow. A question and an insult in the same sentence. Efficient.”

  He chuckled, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I meant no offense. Just refreshing to see someone so… confident. Despite the limitations.”

  Before I could craft something properly devastating in return, I felt a tug at my sleeve. Ella, stepped between us like it was choreographed, one hand on my arm and the other gesturing toward the refreshment table.

  “Come on,” she said, smiling politely at the noble. “Let’s get you something to drink before you say something we both regret.”

  “I’m hydrated,” I said flatly.

  “You won’t be if I choke you with a biscuit. Move.”

  She all but dragged me toward the far side of the room, past a small crowd and toward a long crystal table loaded with neatly arranged trays of drinks and fancy elf-grade finger food, most of which I couldn’t pronounce, but all of which looked expensive enough to trigger my fight-or-flight response.

  “You know,” I said, reaching for something that resembled a sugar-glazed starfish, “I had a great comeback lined up.”

  “I know,” she replied. “That’s exactly why I pulled you away.”

  “What, you didn’t want me to completely ruin his self-worth?”

  “No,” she said, dry. “I didn’t want you to do it too early. We just got here.”

  I popped the pastry in my mouth and shrugged. “Fair.”

  Oh shit this is really good. I’ll need to ask for the recipe.

  I was mid-bite on something that tasted like a croissant had fought a cloud and won, when I caught the familiar flicker of movement from the corner of my eye.

  Long, platinum-blonde hair with purple highlights at the tips. Green and gold gown, and the kind of smile that made you double-check your secrets. She moved through the room like she belonged everywhere at once, and people instinctively got out of her way, even the ones pretending not to stare.

  Is there some sort of etiquette or dress code I am unaware of for these tournaments?

  Illya Vel’aeris has arrived. She glided through the room like she owned it, which, considering her family status, wasn’t far off, and made a beeline straight for us.

  “Raiden,” she purred, arms already open.

  I turned, grinning. “My favorite Vel’aeris.”

  She pulled me into a hug, smooth and warm, and kissed me on the cheek like she always did when she wanted to get under her sister’s skin.

  Ella’s sigh behind me was already building strength.

  Illya pulled back, giving me a once-over. “You clean up better than I expected. Ella actually dressed you, didn’t she?”

  “Nope,” I said. “This was all me. Chronos just made sure I didn’t wear sneakers with it.”

  “A miracle. I thought for sure you’d show up in sweats.”

  I shrugged. “I was going to, but I didn’t want Ella to die from secondhand embarrassment.”

  Illya laughed. “You’ve matured.”

  “Terrifying, I know.”

  Ella finally cut in, her tone polite but strained. “Illya.”

  Illya turned with the kind of exaggerated delight that made me want to grab popcorn. “Sister dearest.”

  “I see you’re already causing problems.”

  “I call it social lubrication.”

  Why would you word it that way?

  Ella narrowed her eyes. “You kissed him on the cheek.”

  “I did. You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t ask—”

  I wiped away a fake tear, “I feel appreciated.”

  Illya grinned. “See? Look how well he’s adjusted. You brought him here thinking he’d be overwhelmed by nobles and high society. Instead, he’s eating expensive snacks and making friends.”

  “I’m surviving,” I said, biting into a flake-covered pastry. “With mild flair.”

  “You thrive in chaos,” Illya said approvingly. “You should come to more of our family gatherings.”

  “Oh no,” Ella muttered.

  “Oh yes,” I replied.

  Ella closed her eyes like she was making peace with the fact that I had become Illya’s favorite plaything for the day.

  Then Illya leaned in a little, conspiratorially. “You know, there’s a rumor floating around that Mother might actually show up.”

  Ella froze mid-sip. I blinked, mid-bite.

  Illya’s grin widened. “Oh, didn’t she tell you? Of course not. She’s being very composed about it. She only stared out the window for an hour this morning.”

  “Illya,” Ella said in warning.

  “What?” Illya batted her lashes. “I’m just updating my favorite guest.”

  I lifted my drink toward her. “I appreciate the transparency. But yes she did mention it.”

  “Anytime,” she said sweetly, before giving Ella a kiss on the forehead. “You’re doing great, by the way. Keep up the noble posture.”

  And just like that, she vanished back into the crowd, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive perfume, stolen peace, and barely contained older sibling energy. Ella pinched the bridge of her nose.

  I leaned closer. “She’s not wrong though. You’re doing great.”

  She didn’t say anything. Just picked up a glass, drank half of it in one go, and handed me the rest. I accepted the offering like a man who knew exactly what line not to cross. Then immediately took a sip.

  I tipped the glass back and took a generous sip of whatever Ella had just handed me. Then immediately stopped.

  "...This is sparkling cider," I said, staring at the glass like it had personally lied to me.

  Ella glanced over, still recovering from Illya’s verbal hurricane. “Yeah?”

  “I thought this was going to be something dramatic. A rare spirit. Some ancient brew distilled from fruit grown in a floating orchard, blessed by spirit deer and sealed in a bottle with a handwritten poem.”

  “It’s cider,” she said flatly.

  “I know. It’s just… this could’ve been a can of soda.”

  “And yet,” she said, reclaiming the glass from my hand with mock grace, “we put it in crystalline stemware and charged eighty times more for it.”

  “Rich people are wild,” I muttered.

  That was when a low chime rippled through the chamber. Subtle, but sharp enough to cut the chatter short. Heads turned toward the main entryway.

  One of the guards stepped forward, draped in Skyhaven Sect green, embroidered with silver glyphs along the sleeves and a badge on the chest bearing the House Vel’aeris crest. His voice rose, polished and professional.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests,” he announced. “We welcome the arrival of Lord Ruvyn Vel’aeris, Head of House Vel’aeris, and Lady Yrathea Vel’aeris.”

  The air shifted, not with awe, nor gasps.

  But with that familiar, quiet scramble people do when trying to look more important than they are. Stances straightened. Glasses adjusted. Conversations died mid-sentence as everyone casually tried to reposition themselves closer to the front without looking like they were trying.

  Not out of respect. Out of ambition. Oh yeah, I did my research.

  After a few chats with Sylva, who, bless her, had no stake in the drama and absolutely lives to spill tea. This came at a surprise considering her 24/7 poker face. I found out just how deep this family’s roots go. The Vel’aeris name doesn’t carry overwhelming power within the Skyhaven Sect yet… but they’ve been climbing. Quiet moves. Careful alliances. This marriage is supposed to give them a real shot at an Elder seat.

  Which means every guest in this room is trying to cozy up now, hoping to be on the inside when the ladder finally hits the top.

  Ella stiffened beside me. Only for a second. But I caught it.

  Across the room, Illya tilted her head with that little smile, the one she wore when life was about to get spicy. Like she was reading from a script everyone else didn’t know existed yet. But the look in her eyes told a different story. As if she had some form of disdain towards whatever was behind that door.

  I glanced over at Ella. Her expression had locked into place. She looked calm, measured, a bit too calm. Like she just put on a mask.

  “You alright?” I asked, voice low.

  She didn’t answer at first. Just gave a small nod.

  “They said both our parents,” she said under her breath. “Which means…”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “She’s really here.”

  The double doors at the end of the chamber parted with a slow, deliberate glide. Sylva stepped through first.

  She wore a flowing, muted violet wrap robe layered over a soft grey underdress. It wasn’t flashy, but it was elegant, the kind of refined simplicity that only worked when the material was expensive and the tailor was borderline divine. Silver-traced sigils ran from her shoulders to her cuffs in branching, organic patterns, and a slim circlet of platinum held her pale blue hair back in a neat twist. She moved with quiet confidence, the kind that said: Yes, I’m allowed to be here. You don’t need to ask why.

  And behind her came Ruvyn.

  His presence appeared more quiet, but somehow heavier. A man who didn’t speak to command attention. He existed and that was enough. His hair, a pale ash-blonde bordering on silver, was combed back and tied low in a velvet wrap that matched the deep green of his formal tunic. The fabric was matte but impossibly smooth, threaded with dark emerald glyph-stitching that ran down each sleeve in precise, angular loops.

  A wide sash bearing the Vel’aeris crest crossed his chest, dark gold against green. And though he wore gloves, white, spotless, tailored to the knuckle, there was a ring just visible beneath one cuff. The sigil of House Vel’aeris etched into the band.

  His posture was perfect. His expression was stone.

  And then came Yrathea.

  The shift in the room was immediate. Not a sound. Not a word. But everyone felt her enter.

  Her hair, nearly white with the faintest lavender-silver sheen, was worn long and draped over one shoulder like a ceremonial veil. Not pinned, not styled, just flowing. Her gown was midnight black with layered silk that caught the light like rippling water, and its obsidian green accents gave it the look of forest shadows under starlight. Intricate sigils shimmered faintly at the edges of her sleeves and hem, barely visible unless you were looking for them. No jewelry. No crown. No house badge.

  She didn’t need them.

  Draped across her shoulders was a mantle of scaled fabric, dark as void-glass, each plate reflecting the faintest iridescence. It moved like it was alive. Allowing her silver hair to basically glow.

  Her expression? Still. Not cold, not cruel, just distant. The way a statue is distant. The way a myth is.

  This was not a woman who showed up for appearances. This was a presence that arrived when it meant something.

  I guess she wears the pants here.

  Ella hadn’t moved.

  Illya, across the room, had the same smile on her face, but her eyes tracked every step Yrathea took like she was waiting for a line to be crossed.

  I didn’t move either. Mostly because I didn’t want to blink and miss something.

  Sylva led them in with the same quiet poise, guiding them through the center of the chamber. Nobles stepped aside without being asked. Some bowed. Others didn’t, but only because they were too busy adjusting their posture and pretending not to be scrambling for relevance.

  It was like someone had lowered the air pressure in the room. Everyone was still smiling, but a little too carefully. Glass held under tension.

  Something was about to shift, and we just so happen to be right in the middle of it.

  Discord!