Drake finished bathing, the cold water doing little to wash away the exhaustion clinging to his pale skin. Dark circles framed his sunken eyes—a testament to too many nights lost to restless dreams. The reflection staring back at him was a stranger, hollowed out by battles both real and imagined.
He threw on his uniform, ignoring the whispers that slithered after him as he stepped into the hallway. The walk to class passed in a blur, the usual sneers and insults barely registering. His mind was still trapped on that blood-soaked battlefield, on the betrayal, on the cursed blade that had carved through flesh like parchment.
"For the greater good."
Selverix's voice echoed in his skull, laced with hesitation—with regret.
"You made a deal with them?"
Who were they?
And why did their involvement make even traitors hesitate?
Drake's grip tightened around the strap of his bag. The sword remained hidden beneath his bed. He didn't trust himself to carry it—not after the horrors of last night.
When he entered the classroom, Professor Maya Frey's absence struck him first. A substitute stood at the podium—an elderly man with a bored expression, droning about Aether theory. Drake slid into his usual seat, ignoring the venomous glares from Connor's clique.
"Hey," Alexis murmured, leaning over from the next row. "Heard the news?"
Drake shook his head, though his stomach already twisted in dread.
"Frey's gone," Alexis said. "Resigned overnight. No explanation."
Xian, perched on the desk beside him, smirked. "Or forced out. That 'resignation' is just to save face."
"Xian," Alexis warned.
"What?" She scoffed. "Isn't it a little convenient?"
Drake's jaw clenched. He hadn't trusted Maya, but her sudden disappearance wasn't a coincidence. Not after last night.
"Something's happening," Alexis muttered, his gaze sharp behind his glasses.
Drake didn't answer.
He already knew.
---
The lecture ended, and the students of Class 1-A filed out toward the training grounds for combat drills.
"Finally, some fun," Xian said, stretching her arms as she walked beside Drake and Alexis.
"Theoretical knowledge is just as important," Alexis countered.
Xian wrinkled her nose. "Theories are disgusting. I prefer smashing faces."
Drake choked on his water.
Somebody needs to muzzle her.
---
The training grounds were massive—twelve hexagonal arenas, each the size of half a football field. At the center of one stood their instructor, Mr. Leo—known as the Sonic—a dark-skinned man whose very presence commanded silence.
"Today," he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly, "you fight without Aether."
A ripple of unease spread through the students.
"All your lives, you've been taught to rely on your gifts," Leo continued. "But true warriors don't crumble when stripped of power. Today, you'll learn to trust your instincts—your skill." His gaze swept over them. "Those from noble houses should already be familiar with this."
Power suppressors—thick, metallic cuffs—clicked around their wrists. The moment they locked into place, Drake felt... nothing. But the others? Their postures shifted. Some tensed; others scowled in frustration.
Drake's lips curled. Finally. A chance to see the gap between the elites and himself—when they were all equally powerless.
"Pair up," Leo ordered. "First match—Alexis Knight versus Roland Verma."
Alexis adjusted his glasses and stepped into the ring. Roland, a mountain of muscle with a brawler's grin, cracked his knuckles as he followed.
"Begin!"
Roland exploded forward, a bull charging with reckless fury. His first punch—a crushing left hook—whistled toward Alexis's temple.
Alexis blocked, forearm meeting fist with a sharp crack. The impact sent him skidding back, but his stance never wavered.
Roland didn't let up. A flurry of strikes followed—jabs, feints, brutal kicks aimed to cripple. But Alexis moved like water, slipping past each attack with eerie precision. He didn't retaliate. Just defended.
Sweat drenched Roland's shirt as his breathing turned ragged. His attacks grew sloppier, his movements sluggish.
"Are you done?" Alexis asked, voice calm.
Roland's face twisted. "I'll kill you, you arrogant shit!"
He lunged again—wild, desperate.
Alexis sighed. "Too impulsive."
A shift in stance. A flicker of motion.
His palm struck Roland's sternum—precise—before his fingers snapped into pressure points along the brute's arm, neck, and thigh. Roland's body locked up, muscles seizing as he crumpled to the ground, drool spilling from his slack jaw.
Silence. Then—cheers.
Drake watched, pulse thundering. Even without Aether, Alexis was untouchable.
This was the gap between nobles and commoners.
Impressive, Mr. Leo thought, though his face betrayed nothing.