The Grand Refectory pulsed with life—laughter, the clatter of trays, and a thousand overlapping conversations—but at its core, it was hollow noise. A distraction. A stage.
Noven sat at his usual table beneath the stained-glass arch, untouched by light, untouched by conversation. His food sat before him like offerings at an altar. Unbitten. Unwanted.
He wasn't hungry.
He was listening.
His crimson eyes drifted lazily across the room, stopping just short of where the lions of Class C held court. Golden-blooded nobles. Upperclassmen. The kind who thought lineage equaled power.
And someone had whispered his name.
Again.
"Class D's freak," one voice snorted.
"Red eyes. No house. No backstory. He just… showed up."
"Maybe he's an orphan. Maybe he killed his own family."
Laughter.
Then silence—when the biggest one stood.
Brann Voxen.
Scar under the eye. Top 10 in last year's ranking exam. Known for breaking a student's arm in a sparring match, then calling it a "lesson in humility."
Brann grabbed his tray and started walking.
Straight toward Noven.
The room quieted, slowly. Conversations fading like candlelight. Even the first-years sensed it—something sharp was about to cut.
Noven didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Brann slammed his tray down. The soup sloshed over the edge. Bread hit the floor.
He leaned down, inches from Noven's face.
"You've been staring at me."
"No," Noven said calmly. "I was wondering if someone shaved your eyebrows while you slept."
A few gasps. A choked laugh. Even Alyss froze mid-bite.
Brann's face darkened.
"I heard you talked back to an instructor. Act tough all you want. Everyone knows Class D's just a dumping ground for nobles who bribed their way in."
Noven's gaze didn't waver.
"And yet here you are—talking to trash. What does that make you?"
Boom.
Silence rippled.
Brann's knuckles cracked.
"I could flatten you right here."
"You could try."
"Is that a challenge?"
"No," Noven said. "It's a disappointment."
Then he stood.
Slowly. Smoothly. He was taller than people expected. Lean. Calm. Dangerous in a way that didn't make sense—like a blade wrapped in silk.
"Let's settle it," Brann said. "Now."
⸻
Minutes Later – Courtyard Duel Circle
The cafeteria had emptied like blood from a vein. Students rushed out, flooding to the stone courtyard where duels were sanctioned. Instructors weren't around. No one wanted them to be.
It wasn't official.
That made it better.
The crowd circled the two like wolves awaiting meat.
Brann cracked his neck. His aura flared—raw, violent, crackling with dark-blue embers.
"Don't hold back," he grinned.
"I never do," Noven said, still calm.
But what made the crowd murmur wasn't his confidence.
It was that someone was watching from above.
Princess Elaris.
She stood on the balcony outside the upper library, her snow-white hair catching the breeze like banners on a battlefield. Her expression unreadable. But her eyes never left Noven.
⸻
The fight began with explosion.
Brann blitzed forward, fist cocked, his aura exploding around his arm like a coiled serpent. It should've shattered bone.
Noven didn't block.
He sidestepped—barely.
An inch. Maybe less.
Brann's punch grazed empty air.
Then Noven tilted his head, just enough, and whispered as the wind passed his ear.
"Too slow."
Brann growled and unleashed a flurry—rapid punches, each with the weight of aura-enhanced strength.
But Noven moved like a ghost.
Not fast.
Just right.
Every dodge looked rehearsed. Every angle, precise.
He never hit back.
He didn't need to.
"Fight me!" Brann roared.
"I am," Noven said. "I'm showing you exactly how helpless you are."
Another punch missed.
Another blur dodged.
The crowd shifted from excitement to unease.
Was this guy… mocking him?
"Stand still!" Brann yelled, his aura flaring in frustration.
Then—Noven stopped.
Let Brann's fist come close.
Close enough to feel the wind of it.
And then he spoke, cold and cutting.
"You fight like someone who's always been told they're strong. Never tested it. Never bled for it. Never earned it."
Brann froze. Mid-punch.
"Wanna know the difference between you and me?" Noven said, voice barely audible over the wind.
"I don't need to win. I just need you to realize… you already lost."
And for a moment—
Brann hesitated.
Just long enough for his own doubt to catch up.
Then—
BOOM.
His aura sputtered. Unstable. Cracked.
He swung wildly—and punched the stone pillar behind Noven.
The crack echoed.
And with it, the illusion of his invincibility shattered.
He fell to one knee, clutching his bleeding hand.
Noven didn't gloat.
He didn't smirk.
He simply turned away.
Like the whole thing hadn't been worth noticing.
⸻
Later – Night
The academy slept.
But Elaris didn't.
She found him again—this time at the back of the garden wall, where no torches burned. The stars watched from above, silent judges in silver cloaks.
"You humiliated him without lifting a finger," she said.
"I spared him."
"That was mercy?"
"No. That was cruelty disguised as mercy. It lasts longer."
She said nothing for a long time.
Then:
"Why do you always look at the sky like that?"
Noven didn't answer right away.
He just stared upward—into the void between stars.
Then he said softly, "Because it doesn't lie."
He paused.
His voice dropped—almost a whisper.
"It changes. But it never lies."
⸻
Flashback – Years Ago
A boy stood in a concrete room. No windows. No warmth. Just light panels on the ceiling buzzing like insects.
A voice behind glass shouted orders.
He obeyed.
He always obeyed.
He had never seen the sun. Not even once.
He didn't even know what a sky looked like.
Until one day—he escaped.
And he stepped outside.
The sky was massive.
Blue. Unending.
It hurt to look at.
He looked surprised.
From something he had no words for.
Wonder.
⸻
Back to Present
"You always look so far away," Elaris said beside him. "Like you're not really here."
Noven lowered his gaze.
"I've seen far places."
She studied him.
"I still don't know who you are."
That's when it happened.
A sudden cold.
Not from the wind—but from him.
From Noven.
His presence changed.
Everything felt heavier.
The air thickened. Like gravity remembered something it had forgotten.
And when he looked at her—those crimson eyes weren't just unreadable.
They were warning her.
"Don't pry into my life," he said softly.
Not a threat.
Not angry.
Just final.
And he walked away.
Not fast.
Just far.
Elaris stood there.
For a moment.
Motionless.
Heart clenched tighter than she expected.
She didn't know why.
But the night felt colder without him standing next to her.
And she didn't like that feeling.
Not one bit.
⸻
Far Above – The Watching
On the tallest spire of Velgrath, something crouched.
Cloaked. Masked.
It didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But it had watched every step.
Every word.
And it whispered a name into the wind.
"Noven…"
Like it was remembering something long buried.
Like the hunt was beginning.