He reached to a drawer, removed a small, rune-sealed envelope, and placed it on the desk.

"This is for you," he said. "A neutral gesture. No House allegiance. Simply… information."

Coren didn't take it.

"Not a trap," the Archivist assured. "If Adelphi wanted to manipulate you, Coren, we would not hand you something so obvious."

Valenna hissed with private laughter.

He has no idea who he's speaking to.

Coren finally picked up the envelope.

The Archivist bowed—not deeply, not formally, but with the respect given to an equal whose threat is not yet understood.

"You may go," he said. "And Coren… whatever you are becoming—become it carefully."

Coren turned.

As he stepped out, Valenna whispered to him, low and certain:

He fears you more than Feldren does. That is… interesting.

Outside, Mira and Atrius practically collided into him.

Mira grabbed his sleeve. "Are you alive? Did they peel open your brain? Did they ask you for blood? Did they make you solve riddles? Did they—"

"I'm fine," Coren said.

Atrius frowned at the envelope. "What's that?"

"Information," Coren said.

Mira groaned. "Oh great. Paper. The most dangerous weapon Adelphi wields."

Atrius gestured. "Open it."

Coren broke the seal.

Inside was a single slip of parchment.

Four words.

A warning.

A prediction.

A consequence.

They know you're lying.

Mira paled. "Okay. Okay. So. Uh. How screwed are we?"

Valenna's whisper was soft as a blade sliding from a sheath.

Let them think they know. It will make the real truth invisible.

Coren folded the parchment.

"We keep moving."

Atrius nodded slowly. "Then we move. Before the next House decides to make a play."

They started walking.

And every step felt like the Academy tightening around him.

Because now, three Houses were circling.

And none of them knew the truth.

But they all knew one thing:

Coren Vale was not what he appeared.

The warning in the envelope felt heavier than parchment should.

But Coren folded it once, tucked it beneath his belt, and walked.

Atrius kept glancing at him, like he was checking for cracks.

Mira kept glancing at the hallway corners, like expecting assassins made of library shelves.

They hadn't even made it halfway across the courtyard when the atmosphere changed.

Not subtly.

Not gradually.

Like a shift in barometric pressure—sharp, dense, magnetic.

Valenna's voice slid into his pulse.

Feldren.

And not the children.

Boots clicked against stone in perfect rhythm.

Seven steps.

Then eight more.

They emerged from the far colonnade—students in Feldren colors, arranged not in a mob but in a formation. Two lines. A corridor. A deliberate, unmistakable challenge.

Mira groaned under her breath. "Oh no. Oh hells no. This is way too formal."

Atrius stiffened. "This isn't a harassment group. This is a summons escort."

Coren didn't slow.

Valenna coiled, cold and sharp.

Good. Do not flinch. Make them break formation for you.

They didn't—not yet.

But their eyes widened at the fact he walked steadily, not faster, not slower, not braced.

Then the line parted down the center.

And he stepped into the opening.

Inside the corridor of bodies, the sound changed.

Quieter.

Tighter.

Like stepping into a throat.

None of the students spoke.

None of them needed to.

At the far end, at the very heart of the formation, stood a young man with hair black as a raven's wing and posture carved from absolute self-assurance.

Aren Feldren.

Heir-apparent. Duelist-prodigy.

The kind of student who didn't need to win fights—his reputation won them for him.

And right now, that reputation stood with arms folded, expression unreadable.

He waited until Coren stopped three paces away.

Then Aren spoke:

"Coren Vale."

The cadence wasn't hostile.

It wasn't mocking.

It was… assessing.

Coren didn't answer.

Aren's gaze flicked over him—stance, sword callus, the poise he didn't realize he held.

"You kept us waiting."

Not an accusation.

A measurement.

Coren didn't blink.

"I don't answer to Feldren schedules," he said calmly.

The collective inhale from the escort was sharp enough to cut glass.

Aren's lips twitched—barely.

Not quite a smile.

More like: Interesting.

"So," Aren said, voice even, "the rumors about your backbone are true."

Behind Coren, Mira whispered to Atrius, "Is he flirting or threatening? I can't tell."

"Feldren doesn't flirt," Atrius muttered. "That is threatening."

Aren stepped forward one pace.

Someone in the escort straightened reflexively, like the move meant something ceremonial.

Aren continued, "You refused our first invitation."

Coren said nothing.

"And yet you fight in a style that is not Academy, not Estrix, not any House form."

Still nothing.

Aren's eyes narrowed—not in anger. In interest sharpening into intent.

"Coren Vale," he said, voice dropping, "I want to know who trained you."

Valenna hissed.

Do not give him even the shape of truth.

Coren answered simply:

"No one you'll meet."

The escort reacted like he'd thrown a dagger.

Aren did not.

He exhaled once through his nose—a sound halfway between amusement and calculation.

"Very well," Aren said. "If you won't answer questions, we'll test something else."

A silent ripple of tension passed through the Feldren students.

Aren lifted his chin slightly.

Just enough for the entire formation to snap to readiness.

Mira squeaked. "Uh. Atrius? ACTUAL HELP?"

Atrius's hand hovered near his sword, but he didn't draw. "No attacks. Look at their stance—they aren't preparing to fight. They're preparing to witness."

Mira blinked. "Witness what?"

Aren spoke:

"Coren Vale. I, Aren Feldren, offer you a formal demonstration."

Mira grabbed Atrius's sleeve. "Oh gods that's WORSE."

Atrius muttered, "It's an evaluation challenge."

Coren didn't move.

Aren continued, tone completely neutral, ritualistic:

"You will strike me once. I will strike you once. No aura. No lethal force. The House watches. The Academy respects the outcome."

A clean test.

A symbolic one.

Feldren tradition.

Valenna purred with dark approval.

Strike him once. Hard enough that he never forgets your name.

Coren stepped forward.

The escort tightened around them like the walls of a ring.

Aren drew a practice blade from his belt, perfectly balanced, perfectly maintained.

Coren drew his own.

Aren nodded once.

"One strike each. I will go second."

Coren raised his blade.

Aren stood perfectly still.

The courtyard held its breath.

Valenna whispered,

Let them learn.

Coren moved.

Not with speed.

Not with showmanship.

With precision.

A short step.

A pivot.

A cut no longer than a whisper.

Aren brought his blade up to intercept—

Too late.

Coren's strike stopped a finger's width from the side of Aren's throat.

The escort froze.

Aren did not flinch.

His eyes, however, widened a fraction.

He stepped back.

Then he said:

"…Again."

Coren lowered his blade. "That was my strike."

Aren stared at him for one long, loaded heartbeat.

Then Aren laughed—quiet, shocked, delighted.

The escort whispered like wind.

Aren raised his own blade.

"My turn."

Coren braced—just enough.

Aren vanished.

No—he moved, fast, clean, fluid, a perfect linear attack meant to test reflexes, nerve, instinct—

Coren pivoted.

The strike skimmed past his rib, not landing, just a brush of air.

Perfectly read.

Perfectly avoided.

The courtyard gasped.

Aren stopped behind him.

Sword lowered.

Silent.

Then the heir of Feldren said, voice low and crystal clear:

"Coren Vale… you are not what any of us expected."

He stepped forward.

Extended a hand.

"For now, our House will not seek your allegiance."

Mira sagged with relief.

Atrius didn't.

He heard the for now.

Aren continued:

"But understand this—Feldren does not forget those who impress us."

Coren didn't take the offered hand.

Aren smiled faintly.

"Another refusal. Consistent."

He turned to his escort.

"Formation—dismiss."

The students broke rank instantly.

Aren walked past Coren, stopping just long enough to murmur:

"When you're ready to reveal who taught you… I'll be waiting."

Then he left.

Valenna whispered,

He's not your enemy yet. That makes him more dangerous.

Mira ran up and hit Coren's arm lightly. "WHY ARE ALL YOUR PROBLEMS TALL AND INTENSE AND HOUSE-LEADER-SHAPED?!"

Atrius sighed. "This is only the first move."

Coren looked toward the direction Aren had gone.

"That wasn't a challenge," he said quietly.

"…What was it then?" Mira asked.

"Positioning."

Atrius nodded grimly. "Yes. Feldren just marked you as someone they won't attack casually."

Valenna murmured in his ear.

And they also marked you as someone they consider theirs to study.

Coren sheathed his blade.

"We keep moving."

Mira groaned. "I hate that phrase. It always means something worse is coming."

She was right.

Something was.

The courtyard emptied slowly after Feldren's formation dissolved—

but the silence they left behind stayed.

Atrius pinched the bridge of his nose. "That… could have gone significantly worse."

Mira flung her arms out. "Could it? COULD IT, Atrius? Because to me, that felt like watching two apex predators politely sniff each other before deciding murder would be rude."

Atrius ignored her ranting. He watched Coren the way one watches a storm's edge.

"What did you see?" he asked quietly.

Coren answered honestly—

because Atrius deserved that much.

"He tested distance. Reflex. Intent. And whether I'd bow."

Atrius nodded once. "And you didn't."

"No."

"Good."

Mira jabbed a finger at both of them. "Why does it sound like you're impressed? Feldren has now officially noticed him. That's like being noticed by a guillotine—only less friendly."

But Coren wasn't listening to either of them.

Because Valenna had gone very, very still.

Not silent.

Not absent.

Coiled.

Something approaches.

Coren tensed.

Atrius noticed instantly. "What is it?"

Mira followed his gaze. "Oh gods—what now?"

A figure emerged from the far archway.

Not Feldren.

Not Estrix.

Not any House.

A girl in neutral Academy colors—ink-stained sleeves, hair tied back in a loose ribbon, no insignia on her collar.

A scribe.

A record-keeper.

'Why is a scribe here?'

She nearly tripped down the last step in her hurry and jogged across the courtyard, waving a small, sealed packet.

"Coren Vale?" she called.

Mira choked. "Nope. Nope! No more scrolls. We are DONE with scrolls!"

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