The morning sunlight hit the marble floors of Villa 1.

It was sharp. Unforgiving.

At this altitude, there was no smog from the capital to filter the rays. There was no grey mist from Oakhaven to soften the edges. The light cut through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, illuminating dust motes that danced in the sterile air.

Vane stood by the ledge.

He looked down.

Clouds drifted lazily beneath the foundation of the villa. The world below was a blur of white and grey, detached from the reality of the peak.

His body felt light.

The deep, aching fatigue that had defined his existence since the Iron Groves was gone. Headmistress Evangeline had restructured his mana channels. The process had been brutal. It had felt like being disassembled and put back together by a mechanic who didn't care about pain tolerance.

But it worked.

His core hummed. It felt like a coiled spring.

He flexed his hand. The silver mana responded instantly, eager to bite.

He was the Rank 1 of Zenith Academy. For the first time in his life, he woke up in a room that didn't smell of damp wood or rot.

The heavy doors to the kitchen opened.

Vane turned.

A woman stepped out. She wore a crisp, slate-grey uniform. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. This was Elena, the head maid assigned to Villa 1. She carried herself with the stiff, professional posture of someone who had served high nobles for decades.

Behind her walked a man. He was burly, wearing a white apron that strained against his chest. A thick beard covered his jaw. Marcus. The cook.

Two younger girls followed, carrying silver trays.

They stopped five paces away. They bowed. It was a perfect, synchronized motion.

"Good morning, Master Vane," Elena said.

Her voice was neutral. Professional.

Her eyes were not.

She flicked a glance at his casual clothes. She noted the way he stood—weight balanced, ready to move. She checked the exits. She knew what he was.

They all knew.

He was the commoner who had seized the top rank. He was the King of Rats who had forced the Academy to hand over the keys to the most prestigious fortress on the island.

"Breakfast is prepared in the dining hall," Elena continued. "We laid out casual attire in the dressing room. The Headmistress sent instructions regarding your wardrobe."

Vane looked at them.

He was a child of the slums. He had spent years fighting stray dogs for scraps of dried meat.

Now, people bowed to him. They offered him silver trays. It felt like a surreal joke. It felt like a trap.

"Thank you, Elena," Vane said. His voice was calm. "Where is Mara?"

"The young lady is in the dining hall, sir," Elena replied. "Marcus prepared a selection of fresh fruits. And honeyed pastries."

Vane nodded.

He walked past them. He didn't look back to see if they were watching. He knew they were.

He reached the dining hall.

It was a cavernous room. A massive oak table dominated the space, long enough to seat twenty people.

Mara sat at the far end.

She looked tiny. The high-backed chair swallowed her frame. She stared at the table in front of her.

A bowl of bright red strawberries sat on a porcelain plate.

She looked at them as if they were made of glass. As if they would shatter if she breathed on them too hard.

Vane walked over. The sound of his footsteps made her jump.

She turned. Her eyes brightened.

"Vane," Mara whispered. She pointed at the table. "Look."

She picked up a roll.

"The bread is soft," she said. "It isn't hard like the ones in the mine. And it doesn't have any grey bits in it."

Vane sat down beside her.

He picked up a piece of the bread. He tore it in half. Steam rose from the white interior. It smelled of butter and yeast.

"It is fresh, Mara," Vane said. "Eat as much as you want. There is more in the kitchen."

Mara took a bite. It was cautious. She chewed slowly, analyzing the texture.

Her eyes widened.

"It tastes like cake," she whispered.

They ate in silence.

Vane watched her.

She was still thin. Her hands bore the faint, white scars of the Star Forge. But the hollow look in her eyes—the thousand-yard stare of the enslaved—was fading.

For the next few days, they were alone.

The Academy was empty. The other villas were dark. The transport vessels hadn't returned with the student body yet. It was a temporary peace. A bubble.

Bubbles popped.

Vane finished his coffee. It was rich, dark, and expensive.

"Come," Vane said.

He led Mara out to the back.

The private garden wrapped around the cliffside edge of the villa. It was a marvel of high-altitude engineering. Blue flowers thrived in the thin air, feeding on the pure mana radiating from the island's core. Silver-tipped grass covered the ground, soft as silk.

Vane sat on a stone bench. He rested his arms on his knees.

Mara walked through the grass.

She moved carefully. She placed her feet with precision, afraid to crush the stems. She reached out and touched a petal with a single finger. Her face twisted in concentration.

"Are these real?" Mara asked.

She looked at him.

"In the Groves, the plants were made of iron," she said. "They cut you. These feel like water."

"They are real," Vane said. "The ground here is full of mana. It is different from the mud."

Mara sat down. She settled in the grass near his feet.

She looked out over the edge of the cliff. The horizon was a sharp blue line.

"Is it always quiet like this?" she asked.

"No," Vane said.

He leaned back.

"In a few days, the other students return. There will be noise. People will walk in the plazas. They will train in the halls."

Mara stiffened.

"Will they come here?"

"No," Vane said. His voice dropped an octave. "This is Villa 1. No one comes here unless I open the door."

He looked at the gate in the distance.

"The Headmistress locked the peak. Only she and Valerica can pass the secondary wards. You don't have to worry about the others."

Mara relaxed. Her shoulders dropped.

She reached out and grabbed a handful of the silver grass. She let the blades slide through her fingers like water.

"Valerica is nice," Mara said. "She smells like the sun."

Vane let out a short, dry laugh.

"She would like that description," Vane said. "She is a Sentinel now, Mara. She is powerful."

Mara looked up.

"Like you?"

"Different," Vane said. He looked at his own hand. He traced the callouses on his palm. "She builds things. She protects. She has gravity."

He closed his fist.

"I just break what is in front of me."

Mara looked at him. Her amber eyes searched his face. She saw the scars. She saw the cold silver mana that lingered under his skin.

"You didn't break me," Mara said.

The wind whistled through the garden.

"You carried me," she added.

Vane didn't answer.

He looked away. He focused on the distant spires of the Academy, rising like needles against the sky.

He stayed there until the sun began to dip.

The afternoon passed in a blur of exploration.

Vane showed her the villa. They walked through the library. It was a massive room, lined with thousands of leather-bound books. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air.

Mara couldn't read most of the titles. She liked the diagrams. She traced the lines of star charts and ancient maps.

Vane stood beside her. He used his finger to trace the borders of the Empire on a globe. He showed her the Neutral Territories. He explained the geography, not as a lesson in history, but as a lesson in threat assessment.

'This is where the Vanguard fights. This is where the monsters live. This is where we are.'

Evening fell.

The sky turned a bruised purple.

Marcus prepared dinner. Roasted poultry. Root vegetables glazed in honey. He served it with an efficiency that bordered on military.

They ate on the master balcony.

The wind was cold, but the heat stones embedded in the floor kept the chill at bay.

Mara finished her meal. She stood by the glass door. She clutched a small silk pillow the maids had given her.

"Vane?"

He looked up from his glass of water.

"Can I stay in your room tonight?" Mara asked.

She looked at her feet.

"The big bed in my room is too quiet," she whispered. "I keep thinking I am back in the dark."

Vane looked at her.

He thought about the image. The Rank 1. The King. He was supposed to be ruthless. He was supposed to be a fortress of solitude.

Then he saw her hands. They were shaking.

"Come here," Vane said.

He moved to the large lounge chair on the balcony.

Mara climbed up. She curled into a ball beside him. She rested her head against his side, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt.

Vane leaned back.

He looked up at the stars. They burned with a cold, hard light. They felt close enough to pluck from the sky.

Mara's breathing slowed. She drifted off. Her small weight became a physical anchor in the vast, empty villa.

Vane didn't sleep.

He kept his eyes open. He watched the stars. He waited for the silence to break.

For now, the peak was quiet. But the transport ships were coming. The peace was just a pause between rounds.

He rested his hand on Mara's shoulder.

'Sleep while you can,' he thought. 'The noise is coming back.'

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