Linea crosses her arms, standing right next to Bram, her tail flicking impatiently. "When are we fighting, Bram? You've been dodging me ever since you got here."
Bram groans, slumping forward onto the table, rubbing his temples. "Linea, I been busy. We'll fight when we got time."
Linea narrows her eyes. "Busy? More like flakey. You've been disappearing for hours on end, not telling anyone where you're going. What's that all about?"
Bram's posture stiffens. He sits up, his mouth pressing into a firm line. "You been followin' me?"
Linea smirks. "Yeah. And you're not very good at hiding. You've been all over the place, doing who knows what."
Obinai watches as Bram's face flushes with anger, his fingers curling against the table. He's seen Bram brush off all kinds of things with a joke or a smirk, but this? This actually gets under his skin.
"You got some damn nerve, Linea," Bram mutters, voice low. "You ain't got no right tailin' me like that."
Linea takes a step closer, her smirk widening. "Oh, I have every right. Especially when you keep bailing on our training sessions."
Bram exhales sharply through his nose. "How many times I gotta tell you... They don't even matter, and you know it." His voice is tight. "After your old man found out I was a mixed-blood, I lost my job. Had to find somethin' else. You got a new sparrin' partner. What's the problem?"
Linea scowls. "And I keep telling you, it's not the same."
There's a beat of silence. Bram looks away first, rubbing the back of his neck, his jaw tight. "I got stuff to do, Linea. I can't just drop everything for a fight."
Obinai watches her expression shift—just slightly. She's pissed, yeah, but there's something else there too.
Hurt?
Frustration?
A mix of both?
Whatever it is, she doesn't let it show for long. Her lips press together, and she jabs a finger into Bram's chest, making him grunt.
"You better keep your word this time," she says. "I'm tired of waiting."
She turns to Obinai suddenly, her yellow eyes locking onto his. He tenses slightly. "And you—" she says. "You better remind him. Or I'll come after you next."
Obinai blinks. "Uh. Sure. I'll remind him."
Linea gives a curt nod, then spins on her heel and stalks off, her tail flicking behind her like an exclamation point to her frustration.
Bram slumps back in his seat, running a hand down his face. "She's relentless, man. I swear, she's gonna be the death of me."
Obinai snorts. "Sounds like you got your hands full with her. What's the deal between you two, anyway?"
Bram exhales, watching Linea disappear into the crowd. He leans back, arms draped over his chair. "Uh… Linea's from the Cinderflare noble house. Real fancy family. Lotsa influence, lotsa money."
Obinai raises an eyebrow. "Okay… they sound intense."
Bram nods. "Oh yeah. I was raised to be her trainin' partner. Bodyguard too, back then. It was all set—me protectin' her, sparrin' with her, all that. Then her pops finds out I ain't a pureblood tiefling, and suddenly—" He makes a cutting motion across his neck. "Boom. No job. No paycheck. Had to figure somethin' else out."
Obinai frowns. "So they just dropped you? Like that?"
Bram lets out a bitter laugh. "Like I was never even there."
Obinai watches him closely. The way his fingers twitch against the table. The way he won't quite meet his eyes. There's more to it, he can tell...
Bram rubs at his temple, sighing. "Thing is, Linea don't care 'bout none of that. Still sees me as her trainin' partner. Won't let it go, no matter what."
Obinai smirks. "So she just keeps coming after you?"
Bram groans, dragging his hands down his face. "Dude, she's like a damn shadow. Think I lost her? Nah. Turn the corner—bam, there she is. Wantin' a fight. Always. She don't let up. Ever."
Obinai chuckles. "Sounds like she's got you on a tight leash."
Bram rolls his eyes. "Bro, you don't even know. She's obsessed with winnin'. Don't matter if it's sparrin', runnin', hell, even eatin'—she has to win. And if she don't?" He groans again, dropping his head against the table. "We keep goin' 'til she does."
Obinai laughs. "That sounds exhausting."
Bram grumbles against the table. "I'm tellin' ya. One day, they gonna find my body in a ditch somewhere, and it's gonna be her fault."
Obinai frowns slightly, then tilts his head. "Wait…"
Bram lifts his head just enough to glance at him. "What?"
Obinai watches him carefully, then asks, "You're always itching for a fight. Always got that stupid grin when things get heated. But here… you don't. Shouldn't Linea be enough to satisfy that?"
Bram's expression darkens. "I know… but I don't feel any of that when I fight her."
He exhales sharply, staring at his hands. Then, barely above a whisper, he mutters, "Instead, my chest hurts. I don't get it. Jeez…"
Obinai shakes his head, amused. But there's something about Bram's tone that sticks with him.
Something might be in the air here.
Obinai pushes the thought away, shaking his head slightly. No point in digging too deep into something that ain't his problem. He takes a bite of his food, chewing slowly, letting the conversation settle in the air for a moment.
"Sounds like she's a lot to handle." Obinai finally says. "But hey, at least you've got someone who believes in you, even if it's a bit… intense."
Bram snorts, poking at his food with a half-hearted jab of his fork. "Yeah, 'intense' is one word for it. But honestly? Sometimes I wish she'd back off a little. Give me some damn breathing room, y'know?"
Obinai leans forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. "No, I don't."
Bram rolls his eyes, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth. "Course you don't, mister 'mysterious loner who don't let nobody in.' Bet you'd love someone ridin' your ass all day, huh?" He waves his fork vaguely. "No, wait—I take it back. You'd prob'ly vanish in the night like some shady bastard the second someone got too close."
Obinai chuckles at that, but there's a flicker of something else behind his eyes. He doesn't respond right away, just stirs his drink with his straw, watching the ripples form and fade.
"Maybe," he says after a beat. "Or maybe I'd stick around if I had someone that persistent."
Bram huffs, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated groan. "Bah, whatever. Point is, Linea's a pain in my ass. Wish she'd chill out, just a little."
Obinai smirks, flicking a crumb off the table. "Yeah, but then what would you have to complain about?"
Bram blinks, then scowls. "Man, shut up."
Obinai laughs, shaking his head. Bram grumbles under his breath but doesn't look actually mad. If anything, there's a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A comfortable silence settles between them. The cafeteria hums with background noise—clinking trays, distant chatter, the occasional burst of laughter. The scent of cheap food and metal trays lingers in the air, mixing with the faint buzz of the overhead lights. It's familiar. Easy.
...
Obinai props his elbow on the cafeteria table, lazily stirring the last bits of food on his tray with his fork. The question has been nagging at him for a while now, so he finally just asks.
"Bram, what's the deal with the headmaster? Why's he so young?"
Bram pauses mid-bite, his spoon hovering in the air. He blinks once. Then twice.
"Wait—hold on. You serious? You don't know who Lyth is?"
Obinai gives him a deadpan look. "Dude, I ain't from here. Like, at all."
Bram exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "Right. Right. Forgot. You don't know nothin' bout anythin'." He drops his spoon with a clatter and leans back in his chair, arms crossing. "Aight, so Lythandor—Lyth, whatever—you askin' why he's young? Wrong question, man. You should be askin' why he's so damn strong."
Obinai quirks a brow. "Alright. Why is he so damn strong?"
Bram gestures vaguely with one hand like that's the easiest thing in the world to explain. "Easy. He's a godkin hybrid."
Obinai just stares. "...That means jack to me."
Bram groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "Man, you are painful. Okay, okay, listen. So, godkin, right? They're, like, the closest thing we got to actual gods without meeting them. They ain't fully divine, but they're stupid powerful. Hardly ever show up, don't mess with mortals. They live on a whole different level." He taps the table for emphasis. "And Lyth? He's half godkin. Other half's elf. First time it ever happened. Ain't never been another like him."
Obinai's fork pauses over his tray. "A hybrid between elves and godkin? That's a thing?"
"Nah. Well, I mean, it wasn't till him. And now he's, like, the one guy who talks to the godkin on behalf of the mortal world. Royal Council and all that fancy shit." Bram waves a hand at this. "Dunno all the details, but he's basically a big deal."
Obinai lets that settle. It explains a lot—the way people talk about Lyth with something between respect and straight-up reverence. Still, he frowns. "So, what, he's part god? That's intense. But how strong is he?"
Bram barks a laugh. "Pfft. Bro, Lyth ain't just strong. He's legendary. Like, he's a 7th Circle Mage, which is already nuts, right? But then dude also mastered Ki and Aura on top of that. You do know how rare that is, right?"
Obinai exhales, shaking his head. "I mean, I get that it's hard, but—"
"Hard? Bro, most people only ever get one of those in their whole damn life if they're lucky." Bram jabs a finger at the table for emphasis. "Lyth got all three. Like it's nothin'. Then, outta nowhere, he goes through some insane-ass trial—nobody even knows what he did—and boom. Power through the roof. Dude ain't even in the same league as normal people no more."
Obinai lets out a low whistle. "So, he's basically untouchable."
Bram nods, shoveling another bite into his mouth before speaking through the food. "Yup. 'Cept for, like, one or two people. Maybe Professor Niaesaun. And uh… yeah, that's kinda it." He waves his spoon vaguely. "If you ain't a god, an ancient monster, or some legendary badass, you ain't touchin' Lyth."
Obinai drums his fingers on the table, trying to wrap his head around it. "And he just… runs a school? That's it?"
Bram snorts. "I mean, yeah. But it's Elona Academy, man. This ain't just any school. We got one of the strongest dudes alive runnin' this place. You think they'd let just anybody in here?"
Obinai hums, feeling a mix of awe and intimidation settle in. "Damn. No wonder the standards here are so high."
"Exactly," Bram says, but then—something shifts. That cocky smirk creeps up, but it's off. Doesn't quite reach his eyes. He leans in just slightly, voice lowering, but it's not conspiratorial. It's something else. "Can't wait to fight him."
Obinai blinks. "You what?"
Just like that, Bram shakes his head, smirk fading. "Nothin'. Forget it." He leans back, picking up his spoon again, suddenly more interested in his food. "Point is, Lyth's chill, mostly. Won't roast your ass unless you really deserve it. So don't stress too much."
Obinai nods. "Yeah, I noticed. When I saw him, he had a barely kept uniform and his hair was messy."
Bram laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, that's pretty much how he is all the time. He's got this whole 'I don't care' vibe, but don't let that fool you. When he's serious, you don't want to be on the wrong side of him."
The hum of the dining hall fades into background noise as Obinai and Bram continue their conversation. Bram is midway through a story about nearly blowing up a training dummy when a shift in the room's energy catches Obinai's attention.
The chatter around them grows louder—excited, hushed. Obinai instinctively looks around, his eyes scanning the crowd. Then, he sees him.
The student with short, tousled silver hair. But it's not just the hair that helps Obinai recognize him. It's his eyes. Or rather, his left eye—polycoria. Two pupils in one iris. Something about it makes Obinai's stomach twist, though he can't quite put a finger on why.
Obinai watches the guy acknowledge those around him with nods, a few handshakes, and a polite, practiced smile. Students seem to part around him without being told.
But then, Obinai notices something else.
His right leg.
It's slightly off the ground, his weight shifting onto a crutch as he moves. The academy's uniform pants conceal whatever's wrong.
His uniform is different too. Black and gold.
Obinai frowns. Huh. So upperclassmen get fancier uniforms? It makes sense, but it's still weird seeing the contrast.
A sharp nudge pulls him out of his thoughts. "Oi, quit staring," Bram mutters, chewing with his mouth half-full. He follows Obinai's gaze and then snickers. "Ohhh, you mean Nio? Yeah, man, that's the guy."
Obinai raises an eyebrow. "The guy?"
Bram nods, swallowing. "Nio Silverthorn. Last son of the House of Silverthorn. One of the old noble houses. Used to be crazy powerful, but they've been fallin' off for years."
"In decline..." Obinai echoes, watching Nio as he exchanges words with a group of older students. "So, like… the house sucks now?"
Bram lets out a short laugh. "Pretty much." He leans in, lowering his voice slightly. "Nio's their last shot at stayin' relevant. But thing is? He's the strongest student in the whole damn school."
Obinai furrows his brow, eyes flicking back to Nio's leg. "Strongest? Even with… y'know, that?"
Bram follows his gaze and shrugs. "It's a prosthetic. Got it from one of those Rudtech guys—the weirdos makin' all the fancy gadgets and junk with sciencia. Some say it's got features past the artifact-level enhancements we know of, but no one really talks about it." He pauses, then adds, "Don't matter much, though. That leg don't slow him down at all."
Obinai tilts his head, skeptical. "For real?"
"Dude," Bram says, lowering his voice like he's revealing some deep secret. "He's competing in the fifth-year tournament. As a fourth-year."
Obinai blinks. "Wait. What?"
"Yeah." Bram leans back, stretching. "He's that good. The school just doesn't do that, y'know? Some of the royals hate it, but even they can't deny it."
Obinai exhales, shaking his head. "That's nuts… So what, is everyone just waiting for him to graduate so they can snatch him up?"
"Pretty much," Bram says. "Guilds are all over him, school factions wanna claim him, even some royals tried to adopt him—"
Obinai stops mid-drink, choking slightly. "Adopt him?"
Bram grins, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. "Mmhmm. Straight up. Royal family wanted to bring him in, give him a fancy title, probably a fat stack of money. But he turned 'em down."
Obinai stares, then laughs, shaking his head. "Bruh. I would've taken that deal in a heartbeat."
Bram snorts. "Yeah, well, guess he's got other plans."
Obinai looks back at Nio, watching the way he carries himself. The guy doesn't just walk through the hall—he owns the space. His crutch doesn't make him look weak. If anything, it adds to the weight of his presence.
Then—
Bram leans back in his seat, chewing thoughtfully. He chuckles—low, rougher than usual. It's not his usual carefree laugh.
"If I'm gonna be the strongest," Bram says, "that's who I gotta fight and win against."
Obinai's gaze flickers to him, brows knitting together. "Yeah, I get that, but—"
He stops. Freezes.
Something's off.
Bram is smiling—wide. Too wide. And there, at the corners of his mouth, thin streaks of red start to bead and trickle down his chin.
Obinai's stomach turns.
"Yo, dude!" He shakes Bram by the shoulder.
Bram blinks, his grin faltering. "Huh? What?"
Obinai doesn't answer, just makes a quick motion across his own mouth.
Bram frowns. "What?"
Obinai points harder. Dude, your mouth—
Bram's eyes widen slightly before he swipes at his lips with his sleeve, cursing under his breath. "Shit… Thanks, man." He rubs the blood off, glancing around like he hopes no one noticed.
But then—
Bram stiffens. His expression locks into something unreadable. His eyes widen, locked onto something just over Obinai's shoulder.
Obinai follows his gaze.
His heart skips a beat.
Standing right next to their table, leaning slightly on a single crutch, is Nio Silverthorn.
Up close, the details hit different. His short silver hair catches the light, making it look almost metallic. His uniform—black and gold—screams upperclassman, but the way he carries himself is what really stands out. Controlled.
Then there's his eye. His left eye.
Polycoria.
Two pupils. One iris.
It's locked onto Obinai. Studying. Calculating.
Nio smiles—a small, knowing thing. He lifts a hand and gestures to himself. "You remember me, right?"
Obinai swallows. "Yeah… from outside the placement test."
Nio nods. "I thought so." Then, with a smooth, practiced motion, he extends a hand. "Nio Silverthorn."
Obinai hesitates just a second—just long enough to register the fact that everyone in the room is watching—then takes it. Nio's grip is firm.
"Obinai."
Nio's gaze shifts. "And you must be Bram?"
Bram jolts, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. He grips Nio's hand a little too fast, a little too hard. "Y-yeah. Bram."
Nio doesn't react. Just smiles. "What do you think of the school so far?"
Bram straightens up way too fast, nearly knocking his chair over. "It's fine," he blurts.
Nio tilts his head slightly, amused. "Good to hear." He starts to say something else, turning toward Obinai, but—
Bram steps forward.
"But…"
Nio stops mid-sentence. Turns fully toward him.
Bram takes another step. His whole posture changes. His shoulders square up. His grin stretches. "...You'll be one of 'em."
Nio's expression barely shifts, but Obinai swears he sees the slightest flicker of interest. "One of what?"
Bram's grin widens, eyes gleaming. "One of the ones I beat to become the strongest."
The entire dining hall seems to hold its breath.
Then, before anyone can process Bram's words, movement.
A shadow looms over them.
A massive student—easily over six and a half feet—steps forward, towering over both Bram and Obinai. Broad shoulders. Thick, corded muscles. His academy uniform strains against his frame. His skin? Deep, dark green. Tusks jut from his lower jaw. His cropped black hair does nothing to soften his sheer presence.
An orc.
And he does not look happy.
He grips Bram's collar in one giant hand, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing. His voice is a deep, rumbling growl. "You have no right to challenge Nio."
Obinai tenses, already moving to intervene, but then—
Bram laughs.
Not nervous. Not afraid.
But delighted.
His smile stretches wider. His skin cracks at the edges of his mouth again, red beading at the corners. But he doesn't wipe it this time. He just grins.
"This…" His voice trembles, but not from fear. From excitement. "This is what it's all about."
The entire room is dead silent. Eyes locked onto the scene.
Bram's head tilts slightly, his pupils dilating. His breath hitches—sharp, uneven. "The doubt. The disapproval." His lips curl, his smile twitching at the edges. A tremor runs through his shoulders, but it isn't fear—it's something else. Something alive.
"I revel in it."
His voice rises, cracking with raw exhilaration. "To have you doubt my words, my conviction—to SHOW YOU ALL THAT I WILL ACHIEVE IT!" His breath shudders out, but then—
A laugh. First low. Then building. Then breaking into something wild, unrestrained.
His body shakes with it, his teeth flashing, his fingers twitching at his sides like they're itching for something—anything—to break.
The orc—Grark, Obinai realizes—narrows his eyes. His grip tightens. "You need to be put down." He raises a massive fist—
And then—
A hand on his shoulder.
Grark stops.
Nio. His hand rests lightly on Grark's shoulder, barely applying any pressure. But his voice?
"It's fine, Grark."
Grark's expression shifts—anger melting into something else. He lets go of Bram, setting him down with surprising care.
"Sorry, Nio," Grark mutters, bowing his head slightly before stepping back.
Bram stumbles slightly but stays on his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth with, he's still smiling...
Obinai lets out a slow breath, his pulse still pounding in his ears. His gaze shifts to Nio, expecting the usual calm response. Instead—
Nio smiles.
Then, to Obinai's surprise, he chuckles. Then laughs—low at first, then harder. His shoulders shake, and for a brief moment, he actually stumbles, catching himself just before Grark can react.
The dining hall is dead silent, every pair of eyes locked on him.
Nio exhales, steadying himself, and looks directly at Bram. Then—
"Finally." His voice is light, amused—but there's something else underneath.
His smile widens instinctively, but—just as quickly—he reins it in, his expression flickering with a moment of restraint. He straightens, smoothing out the front of his uniform, his movements suddenly poised.
"Ah," he says, his voice shifting, his words suddenly more refined. "Excuse me. I have been a bit... uncouth."
He chuckles again but cuts it off halfway, clearing his throat. "I must always remember," he continues, slipping into an exaggeratedly polished tone, "to mind my manner of speech, lest the nobles and royalty deem me barbaric."
His gaze lingers on Bram, studying him, before something amused flickers across his features. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."
Bram, who had been standing stiff, blinking like he was still trying to process the entire interaction, scowls. "The hell are you talkin' about?" he mutters. "You sound like one of them rich pricks."
Obinai can't help but snort at that. Yeah, pretty much.
Nio tilts his head slightly, considering Bram's words, before a slow smirk tugs at his lips. "And you, my friend, sound like a street brawler who wandered into the academy by accident."
Bram stiffens, scowling harder. "What's that s'posed to mean?!"
Nio waves a dismissive hand, ignoring him as he shifts his gaze to Obinai. "A human…" he murmurs, before his eyes settle on Bram fully. "And a mixed-blood forsaken as well, huh?"
Bram flinches at that, his whole body tensing. The easy grin he usually wears doesn't return.
Obinai watches Nio carefully. He doesn't say it with malice—there's no mockery, no disgust—but there's something in the way he says it.
Nio hums, looking satisfied with his own assessment. "Aside from the Ashmount heir," he continues, "I have a bit more confidence that this year is going to be the most fun I've had in a long, long time."
He chuckles again, a quiet, knowing sound. Then, completely unbothered, he turns on his heel.
But before he steps away, he pauses.
Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze flickers between Bram and Obinai.
"If either of you needs anything, seek me out," he says, his words carrying easily across the hushed dining hall. "I'll be around."
And just like that, he moves.
Not walks.
Moves.
His form flickers, his entire presence shifting, like a mirage unraveling. Then, without a sound, without a trace—
He's gone.
The murmurs start immediately. The tension, the silence that had gripped the room just moments ago, splinters apart as students turn to each other, whispering in low, urgent voices.
Obinai stays still, his hands clenched at his sides. His mind is still reeling.
Nio Silverthorn.
He exhales sharply.
Yeah.
This year was about to get real interesting...