Valenna's voice curled through him, cool and low:

'She's right. You are no longer anonymous. Silence worked when you were a shadow. Now you're a contender.'

Soren kept his face still.

Mira leaned in, lowering her voice to a private edge. "You're being positioned. And not by us."

"By Merrow."

"By Merrow," she echoed. "And once they stake a claim, the others react. Rival Houses push back. Alliances shift. People pick sides."

Soren said nothing.

Mira pointed at him, jaw clenched. "And you—Coren Vale—you don't have a side."

He knew.

He'd always known.

That was the danger of a false name.

A false history.

A false origin.

He had no House.

No lineage.

Nothing for anyone to trace.

Which made him…

Claimable.

Expendable.

Weapon-shaped and ownerless.

Valenna whispered:

'This is why I told you to stay unseen. Strength invites interest. Interest invites control.'

Soren felt the truth slot into place like a blade finding the seam in armor.

Mira folded her arms. "You should've told me the moment she approached."

"You weren't there."

"I would've been if you'd waited."

"Mira—"

"Soren."

Her voice dropped—rare, serious.

"This is bigger than drills. Bigger than the Yard. Once Houses pull you into their orbit, you don't walk out. You get absorbed. Or crushed."

He met her eyes. Steady. Certain.

"I said no."

"And they heard 'not yet.'"

Silence pulsed between them.

Then Mira exhaled sharply and jerked her head toward the outer stairs. "Fine. Come with me. We're getting ahead of this."

"Where?"

"To Atrius. He needs to know before this turns into a House feud at your doorstep."

Soren didn't move.

Mira frowned. "What?"

"I don't need protection."

"No," she agreed, "you need strategy."

He didn't like it.

She didn't care.

"Let's go," she said, already moving.

Soren followed.

He had no choice—because once a House calls your name… every other one listens.

And the Hunting had begun.

Atrius wasn't teaching when they found him—

he was dismantling a training dummy with the focus most people reserved for surgery.

The Yard's secondary hall echoed with the rhythmic crack—crack—crack of wood under controlled force. Atrius didn't use a weapon; he used his hands, callused knuckles striking with precise, surgical power that drove splinters out like tiny meteors.

He didn't look up as Soren and Mira approached.

"Speak," he said, mid-strike. "You wouldn't interrupt unless it mattered."

Mira started. "Lysa Merrow—"

"Approached him," Atrius finished, not missing a beat. He pivoted, palm-heel striking the dummy's shoulder joint until it snapped loose. "Twenty-nine minutes ago."

Soren stilled.

"Someone told you."

Atrius snorted. "Half the Academy told me. Whisper chains here move faster than crows."

One more strike—clean, brutal—until the dummy's torso buckled. Atrius wiped his hands on a strip of cloth, finally turning to face them.

His eyes locked on Soren.

"You refused her," he said. "Good."

Mira let out a breath she'd been holding. "Then we're ahead of it?"

"No." Atrius tossed the cloth aside. "Not even close."

He gestured to the door.

"Walk."

They followed him into the narrow instructor's corridor—quiet, empty, and insulated from curious ears.

Atrius leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed.

"Merrow making the first move puts every other House on alert. They'll assume you've already aligned with her, regardless of what you said."

"I told her no," Soren said.

"And they'll decide you didn't mean it." Atrius shook his head. "This is not about truth, Vale. It's about momentum."

Valenna hummed in Soren's bones, a sharp, knowing note:

'Humans fear vacancy of power. They fill it before someone else can. They do not ask permission.'

Atrius continued:

"You demonstrated talent. Then you demonstrated discipline. Then you demonstrated potential political value by escorting the Lady safely through an ambush. All that is enough to put you on maps."

Mira muttered, "He didn't ask to be on them."

Atrius's gaze sharpened. "It doesn't matter. The moment you step above average, you stop being invisible."

Soren's jaw tightened.

Atrius noticed immediately.

"You don't like that."

"No," Soren said simply.

"Good. I prefer students who see their chains before they wear them."

"What are you saying?" Mira asked.

Atrius studied Soren, voice quieting.

"You have two choices, Vale. Neither pleasant."

Soren didn't flinch. "Tell me."

Atrius held up one finger.

"One—accept a House's protection. Not allegiance, not servitude—protection. A name to stand behind so that others think twice before recruiting you. This is a shield. But shields cost."

Mira winced.

Then Atrius held up a second finger.

"Two—stand alone. But alone men with talent are targeted hardest. They become tests. Opportunities. Leverage. Someone will force a claim if you don't choose one."

Soren kept his voice even. "And the third option?"

"There isn't one."

'There is,' Valenna murmured inside him,

'but it requires power you do not yet command.'

Atrius watched him—closely, too closely.

"What do you want, Vale?"

Soren's heartbeat slowed to a controlled, deliberate rhythm.

What did he want?

Strength.

Control.

Freedom.

And none of those came from bending a knee.

"I don't want a House," Soren said.

Atrius nodded once. "Then prepare to be hunted by them."

Mira stepped forward. "Atrius, he can't navigate this alone."

Atrius exhaled, a long frustrated breath. "No. He can't."

He looked at Soren.

"But he can endure it. And endure well."

He pushed off the wall.

"I'll do what I can without drawing attention. Quiet adjustments. Moving schedules. Intercepting invitations where possible. But in the end, the pressure will fall on you."

Soren nodded. "I understand."

Atrius's expression softened by a fraction. "I don't think you do. But you will."

He opened the door back into the hall.

"One more thing," he added.

Soren stopped in the doorway.

Atrius met his eyes, gaze sharp as a whetted blade.

"Whatever you're hiding—whatever made Merrow interested—keep it buried. Do not use it publicly again unless I tell you."

Mira's head snapped toward Soren. "Use what publicly—?"

Soren cut in fast. "Nothing."

Atrius didn't correct him.

He just said:

"Control yourself, Vale. Or others will decide they can control you."

Then he stepped past them and vanished down the stairwell.

Silence held for a beat.

Mira looked at Soren. Deeply. Accusingly.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Soren's jaw clenched.

Valenna whispered:

'Lie.'

And he did.

"Nothing," he said.

Mira didn't believe it.

Not even for a heartbeat.

But she didn't push—not here, not now. Instead she turned away, shoulders tight.

"Fine. But whatever storm you're pulling behind you?"

She hesitated.

"I'm in it. Whether you want me there or not."

Then she left.

Soren remained alone in the corridor.

Except, of course, he wasn't.

'You've stepped into the board,' Valenna murmured.

'Now every piece will move toward you.'

Soren exhaled slowly, then walked toward the darkness of the dorm halls.

He didn't need a House.

He needed to be strong enough that every House regretted touching him.

Soren slept lightly—too lightly—and he knew it.

Not because of the training. Not because of the wounds that still ghosted at his ribs.

Because the Academy was listening now.

Not with ears.

With intent.

Even in the dark of his narrow dorm room, he felt it crawling under the door, seeping through the stone—the kind of attention that didn't breathe but suffocated anyway.

He sat up before dawn, boots on, blade at his side.

Valenna stirred. Not words, just awareness. A shared readiness.

He stepped into the hallway.

And found someone waiting.

Not Mira.

Not Atrius.

A boy—maybe fourteen, slim, neat uniform, House Crest pinned too high on his collar like he wanted everyone to notice. He stood straight but terrified, fingers trembling around a folded message.

He jerked into a bow the moment he saw Soren.

"C-Coren Vale, sir?"

Soren kept his voice flat. "Who wants something at this hour?"

The boy swallowed hard. "House Estrix, sir. They request your presence. Privately."

Soren didn't move.

The boy's breath hitched. "It's… it's not optional."

Valenna whispered in Soren's bones:

'Every House will try. Start denying them early.'

Soren stepped past the boy.

"No."

The courier froze. "…sir?"

"No," Soren repeated. "I'm not meeting anyone before the bell."

The boy went pale. "I—I'll be punished if you—"

"That isn't my problem."

He walked on, leaving the boy shivering in the corridor, clutching his little paper lifeline like a wound.

At the end of the hall, Mira fell into step beside him.

She didn't ask. Didn't look at him.

Just said:

"How many is that?"

"Three."

"It's been eleven minutes since dawn."

Soren shrugged. "They're efficient."

Mira gave him a dry look. "They're rabid."

—

Atrius pushed them harder than usual.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just relentless.

Correcting Soren's grip before he finished adjusting it.

Forcing him to repeat the same pivot thirty—forty—fifty times until Soren's muscles shook.

Spotting weakness before Soren felt it.

Mira lasted almost as long. Almost.

By the end of second hour, she was bent over, hands on knees, sweat dripping from her jawline.

Atrius walked past her, addressed Soren without turning:

"You're accelerating."

Soren blinked sweat from his eyes. "In what."

"Everything."

Mira groaned. "That's not normal. You know that, right?"

Atrius answered for Soren.

"No. It is not."

Then he stepped close, low voice carrying only between them.

"And it will draw more predators."

Soren didn't respond.

Didn't need to.

He already felt them.

From the shadows of the Yard.

From the windows above.

From the watching instructors who suddenly adjusted his evaluations in quiet, private ink.

Valenna murmured:

'Hold steady. They want to see you flinch.'

He didn't.

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