Winston sat in his office, his face buried in his palm.
Drake, Drake, Drake.
The boy had caused more trouble in less than half a semester than most students did in their entire tenure. With everything that had transpired, Winston knew the Houses would discover he'd brought a non-affiliated commoner into Arachis—if they hadn't already.
The academy's isolation protocols were absolute—no outside contact until semester's end. But noble houses always played by different rules. Their influence ran deeper than Arachis's ancient foundations.
He had resolved the Leo incident, erased the footage, and fabricated a cover-up, yet he still felt something was missing.
Bang!
Vanessa stormed in, her crimson eyes cutting through the dim office light. The scent of dust and gravel trailed her—she'd come straight from the training grounds.
"You've got some nerve, flinging my door open without knocking, Vanessa," Winston said.
"A door should be the least of your problems right now," she replied, pouring two glasses of whisky.
"Here." She passed him a glass before sitting across from his desk.
Winston took it with a grunt. "If you're here to lecture me, save your breath."
Vanessa smirked. "Oh, I'm just the messenger. Jackson Storm isn't just suspecting something—he's digging. And you know as well as I do that when Stormbornes start digging, they don't stop until they've uncovered every buried secret."
Winston's fingers tightened around his glass. First-years weren't supposed to be this perceptive. Then again, Stormbornes were never just first-years.
"That boy may be new to our halls," Vanessa continued, "but he has his brother's eyes. And Ragnar Storm didn't become the youngest champion of the Ascendant Gauntlet in three centuries by missing details."
The name hung between them like a drawn blade. Ragnar Storm—the Singularity. The man who'd conquered the Ascendant Gauntlet as a second-year, whose combat record remained unbroken four years after graduation.
"And if he finds something, the royal houses won't just push, Winston. They'll burn through every lie, every erased record until they have answers. When they do, it won't just be your head on the line—it'll be mine, Leo's, and everyone else who helped you."
Winston exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I wish I could wipe the students' memories."
Vanessa let out a dry laugh. "That's a risky wish, Winston. Especially if you want to avoid fighting all seven royal Houses and fifteen vassal ones. The Stormborns alone would tear through you before you lifted a finger."
"Then what do we do?" Winston's voice rose. "That Connor kid is still unconscious, but if he wakes up and starts talking—"
"Then we make him sound like a raving lunatic," Vanessa cut in, swirling her drink. "Discredit him. Say the duel scrambled his mind. The Houses won't take a student's word over yours."
Winston fell silent, staring into his glass as if it held answers.
Vanessa leaned forward. "Look, Winston, I've known you most of my life. You don't make reckless moves. Whatever reason you have for protecting that boy...it's worth this risk." She finished her drink and stood. "But you can't fight all the houses head-on. Not even you are that strong."
Winston didn't respond, his jaw clenched.
Vanessa sighed. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's problems will come whether you're ready or not."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Winston slumped back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.
How long until the semester breaks?
-----
The air hung thick with tension. Alexis leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Xian perched on the edge of Drake's bed, his usual playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness. The dim glow of the lumen crystal cast long shadows across the room.
"So," Alexis began, his voice low, "you want to explain how Connor and Instructor Leo ended up in the infirmary looking like they'd been trampled by a pack of enraged hellhounds?"
Drake, sitting at his desk, rolled his shoulders. "I already told you—Connor lost control during the duel. Leo stepped in to break it up. Things got messy."
Xian's brow furrowed. "Messy? Drake, Connor's ribs were shattered. And Leo—his arm was practically pulp. Mr. Leo, Drake! A freaking count! That's not 'messy.' That's something massive."
Alexis's eyes narrowed. "And that's not all." He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Right before I passed out, I saw something. A flicker of red energy—violent, unstable. It wasn't Connor's. It came from you."
Drake's fingers twitched, but his expression remained neutral. "Must've been Connor's energy going haywire. You know how unstable aura bursts can refract in close quarters."
Alexis didn't blink. "No. It wasn't refraction. It was yours."
A beat of silence passed.
Xian glanced between them, sensing the shift. "Drake...if something's going on—"
"Nothing's going on," Drake cut in, sharper than intended. He exhaled, forcing his tone lighter. "Look, it was a rough match. Tempers flared. That's it."
Alexis studied him before glancing at the desk clock. "21:43. Seventeen minutes to curfew." He grabbed Xian's arm. "We should go—it's almost curfew."
Xian hesitated. "But—"
"Now," Alexis said firmly.
Drake didn't stop them. As the door closed, the silence grew oppressive. He stared at his hands, flexing them slowly.
A faint crimson shimmer danced across his iris—just for a second—before vanishing.
Just like in the arena.
Outside, the academy's clocktower chimed.
Curfew had come.
And with it, the shadows in Drake's room seemed to grow deeper.