Soren didn't move from the terrace for several breaths after Aren vanished. The wind cut sharper now, like the air itself had been waiting to see how the meeting would end.

Valenna curled around his mind, a quiet hum of satisfaction.

He expected you to fold. To bow. To show weakness he could use.

You gave him stone. Good.

Soren exhaled once, slow, controlled, then turned and headed back toward the interior corridors. The torches along the walls sputtered as he passed — the Academy draft always did that when the mountain winds rose.

But as he descended the stairs, he felt it.

Eyes.

Not hostile.

Not friendly.

Just watching.

Measuring.

He didn't turn. Feldren shadows didn't attack you in the open — they catalogued you, filed you away, traced the shape of your aura from memory.

Fine. Let them watch.

At the base of the stairs, a voice spoke.

"You survived."

Mira stepped out from behind a pillar, arms wrapped around herself like she'd been pacing for the entirety of his meeting. Her braid was half undone; she'd probably yanked on it the whole time.

"You could at least pretend to look relieved," Soren said lightly.

"I'm too busy being furious," she shot back, marching toward him. "They summoned you hours early? That's— that's— that's Feldren theatrics! You don't ambush someone to check their punctuality!"

"That's exactly what they do," Soren said.

Mira glared. "…I know, but I still hate it."

She looked him over as if expecting pieces to be missing.

"You're not bleeding."

"No."

"You're not limping."

"No."

"You're not… weirdly quiet from trauma."

"I'm always quiet."

"That's not the point!"

Valenna murmured, amused. She worries in circles.

Atrius appeared a moment later from the training hall door, expression grim until he saw Soren standing unharmed.

"Well?" Atrius demanded. "What did he say?"

Soren shook his head. "Not here."

Atrius's jaw flexed, but he nodded once. "Fine. Walk."

They moved together down the central corridor, Mira on Soren's right, Atrius on his left, the three of them drawing glances from passing students who couldn't decide if they should stare or pretend not to.

When they reached the quiet side wing — an alcove with alcoves for equipment and sound-dampening stone — Atrius finally stopped.

"What happened?" he asked.

Soren gave the short version.

"He tested whether I'd obey him."

Atrius froze. Mira did too.

Atrius's expression darkened like a storm. "How."

Soren replied, "He asked if I would kneel."

Mira's mouth snapped open. "He WHAT—"

"And?" Atrius cut in sharply.

Soren met his instructor's eyes. "I said no."

Silence.

Atrius exhaled like someone who had been holding breath for minutes.

Mira slapped both hands over her mouth to keep from yelling something celebratory and profane.

Atrius rubbed a hand over his face. "Good. Gods. Good. If you'd said yes, they'd own you by sunrise."

Soren shrugged. "I wasn't going to kneel."

Valenna purred — a cold, approving sound.

He could not bend if he tried. It is not in his bones.

Mira paced in a small agitated circle. "So what now? They just let him go back to normal training? No scheming? No shadow politics? No—"

Atrius snorted. "Of course there will be scheming. Feldren doesn't breathe without scheming."

Mira pinched the bridge of her nose. "Great. Love that for us."

Atrius turned to Soren again, eyes narrowing.

"What else? What did he ask about? What did he hint at?"

Soren hesitated.

Atrius caught it instantly. "Coren."

Soren sighed. "He asked… which House discarded me."

Mira's head whipped around. Atrius stiffened.

"He knows you're hiding something," Mira whispered. "Gods. They're going to start digging. You know that, right? Records, sponsorship logs, fostering lists—"

"They'll find nothing," Soren said quietly.

"Nothing is suspicious too!" Mira snapped. "Normal students have something. A dead parent. A ruined House. A vague tragedy. But nothing? Nothing is like waving a flag that says 'please interrogate me'!"

Atrius pressed a hand against the wall, thinking hard.

"They'll test you again," he murmured. "Not like tonight. Something quieter. Something designed to see what cracks under pressure."

Valenna coiled like frost around Soren's spine.

Let them. They will not find the name you keep locked inside.

Atrius turned to Soren fully.

"From now on," he said, voice low and urgent, "you don't go anywhere on Academy grounds without telling me first. Not even to train. Feldren doesn't escalate this fast without reason."

Mira muttered, "And when Feldren has a reason, we all suffer."

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor — multiple sets, synchronized, coming closer.

Atrius's expression sharpened. "Here we go."

Mira paled. "Who is it?"

"Feldren," Atrius said. "More than one."

Soren heard Valenna's whisper — alert, razor-thin.

Steel in their steps. Intent. They are coming for you.

Not to fight.

To judge.

The first of the figures came into view — Feldren students, older, upper ranks, their uniforms black-trimmed and immaculate. They stopped ten paces away.

The one at the front, a tall girl with a scar like a silver line across her cheek, bowed.

"To Coren Vale."

Mira whispered, "What the hell—"

Atrius went very still.

The Feldren girl straightened.

"The heir has spoken," she said formally. "You have been recognized."

Soren's eyes narrowed. "Recognized for what?"

A beat of silence.

Then the girl answered:

"For potential entry into House Feldren's inner circle."

Mira choked.

Atrius swore under his breath.

Valenna's whisper coiled sharp and pleased.

They want to claim you. They always claim the dangerous ones.

Soren met the Feldren girl's eyes.

She did not blink.

"Coren Vale," she said. "You are summoned at dawn."

"And if I refuse?" Soren asked.

She smiled — a thin, knowing, dangerous curve.

"No one refuses."

Soren didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't agree.

Just stared.

Eventually, the Feldren delegation bowed again and withdrew as silently as they'd arrived.

When they disappeared around the corner, Mira breathed out a shaken laugh.

"Coren," she whispered, "you're in deep shit."

Atrius didn't laugh.

He looked at Soren with a grave expression.

"This is no longer politics," Atrius said quietly. "This is recruitment."

Valenna finished the thought for him, cold as winter steel:

And recruitment… is only the first step.

Atrius didn't move for a long moment after the Feldren delegation vanished. His jaw worked, the muscle twitching like he was fighting the urge to punch the wall.

Mira was the opposite—she hovered in frantic circles around Soren, wringing her hands.

"Soren—Coren—whatever the hell—this is bad," she hissed. "Feldren doesn't invite people. They absorb them. Like a snake swallowing whatever gets too close!"

Atrius finally growled, "Enough."

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're not," Atrius snapped. "But panicking won't help."

Mira stopped talking, chest rising fast, eyes darting between the two of them.

Atrius focused fully on Soren.

"Listen. Very carefully." His voice was low, even, the kind he only used when things were about to get violent. "Dawn means they're giving you a ritual introduction. Observation. Assessment. A test of obedience."

Soren said nothing.

Valenna hummed cold approval.

They will find none.

Mira stepped forward, jabbing a finger at Soren's chest. "You can't just go alone."

Atrius didn't even look at her. "He has to. Feldren doesn't allow escorts."

Mira threw her hands up. "Perfect! Fantastic! Great!"

Atrius continued, "But he can prepare." His eyes hardened. "And he will."

Soren nodded once.

Atrius nodded back and turned, gesturing sharply. "Training hall. Now."

Mira groaned. "It's the middle of the night."

Atrius shot her a look. "So they'll be tired at dawn. He won't."

Soren followed without hesitation.

When they crossed into the hall, Atrius closed the door behind them and dropped two practice blades on the floor. They clattered sharply, the sound ringing like a warning bell.

"Pick it up."

Soren did.

Atrius didn't bother with warm-ups or stance drills. He stepped forward and attacked immediately—straight, brutal, without restraint.

Soren blocked the first strike. Barely.

The second drove him back a step.

The third numbed his fingers.

Atrius barked, "Feldren doesn't duel. They dominate. They come at you like a pack animal trying to break a bone."

He advanced again.

Soren absorbed the blows, redirecting, angling, breathing quietly through the impact.

Valenna coiled tighter around his aura.

Do not match his rhythm. Break it.

Atrius swung downward—Soren slid sideways instead of parrying, stepping into the strike's blind arc, blade rising under Atrius's guard.

Atrius grinned through his teeth. "Good. Again."

They fell into a vicious tempo.

Strike. Redirect. Step in. Withdraw. Pressure. Counter.

Mira watched from the wall, eyes wide, hands clenched.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Sweat dripped into Soren's collar—Atrius wasn't even pretending to hold back now.

A heavy overhead strike cracked down—

Soren shifted just a hair off-line, blade grazing the incoming arc, letting it slide past instead of meeting it head-on. He stepped inside Atrius's reach, shoulder brushing the man's chest, and stopped his blade an inch from Atrius's ribs.

Atrius froze.

Mira gasped.

Valenna whispered, pleased,

Yes. That is your truth. Efficiency above spectacle.

Atrius stepped back, breath steady but eyes blazing with approval.

"Coren," he said, "you are ready."

Soren didn't break eye contact. "For Feldren?"

Atrius's mouth twitched. "For anyone."

Mira jumped in, "But ready doesn't mean safe! Ready doesn't mean they won't try something! Ready doesn't—"

Atrius finally turned to her sharply. "Mira."

She glared. "What."

"Breathe."

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