The Histories Lecture Hall seemed colder than normal.
Not in temperature. In intent.
Nclai sat by the back wall once more, quiet, inscrutable. The light from the suspended lanterns cast moving shadows on the arched, long windows, creating uneven silhouettes across the rows of students.
Professor Ileron entered with purposeful strides, his robes acutely angled with gold-threaded sigils. His gaze swept across the hall. and lingered.
On Nclai.
He smiled, thin and artificial.
"Today," Ileron began, "we discuss the hierarchy of strength within awakened bloodlines. Specifically, the difference between earned growth and inherited anomalies."
Some of the students shifted in their seats. Lyra frowned from two rows ahead.
Nclai didn't move.
Professor Ileron raised a hand, conjuring a glyph of rising lineage tiers... each level drawn in red flame: D, C, B, A, S… and above that, a silhouette. Blank.
"Sovereign-tier remains unclassed. Mythologized. Dangerous. Incomplete."
He glanced back at Nclai.
"Some of you might have heard of recent... irregularities in the sparring assessments. I remind you, instinct is not the same as skill. And mutation is not the same as control."
A low chuckle rippled through the room.
Three boys near the front row turned in sync. All wore black-lined red coats. House insignias shimmered on their shoulders. Therin, Virel, and Marnex. Nobility. High-tier initiates.
The tallest one, Virel's younger cousin, Dresk, tilted his chin.
"Don't worry, Professor. Some of us know how to use our blood without fainting."
More laughter.
Nclai blinked once. Nothing more.
Dresk sneered. "Hey, ghost. If you're gonna keep sitting there like a statue, we'll need to hang a curtain over you. Or maybe dust you."
Even Lyra turned in her seat now, eyes narrowing.
Nclai's voice came, quiet and flat.
"I didn't know we were back in nursery."
Dresk's smirk cracked. The professor cleared his throat.
"Enough."
...
"Okay, to actual challenges," Ileron said. "A reminder first, though."
He waved a hand, and the glyphs floating behind him changed form, reassembling into four pulsing emblems, each of which spun slowly in the air. Red, silver, and black glowed along their edges.
"The Four Major Families," he said. "Each one a legacy. Each one... a weight on this Academy's future."
He pointed to the first.
"House Virel. Flame-kin bloodline. Known for blood combustion and martial supremacy. They've produced more duel champions in the last decade than any other line."
The second glyph turned cold blue.
"House Marnex. Heavy-blood wielders. Their strength lies in density manipulation and reinforcement. Hard to wound. Harder to shake."
The third burned violet at the edges.
"House Therin. Masters of bloodlight illusions. Their techniques blur the line between spell and perception. Deadliest at mid-range."
Then the final emblem. Crimson edges. A serpent curling around a dagger.
"And House Draas," said Ileron. "Assassins, for the most part. Bloodline manipulation and surgical domination. They don't make very many moves, but when they do. somebody dies.
Students fell quiet.
"These four families are your current pillars. Their students often enter ranked tiers early, thanks to inherited advantages. Some of you bear their names. Others will face them in the tournament. Know the difference."
He let the emblems hover for a moment longer.
...
"Now," he continued, voice sharpening, "the real challenge. As you are all aware, this quarter begins the Crimson Tier Tournament..."
Gasps, murmurs.
The three nobles straightened.
Professor Ileron's palm flashed. A projection formed. A crystal the color of frozen fire, pulsing faintly with red-gold light.
"The Bloodline Catalyst Crystal," he said. "A rare conduit. It draws the latent potential of the wielder's bloodline and forcibly advances it. For most of you… it means a leap in tier. A full rank."
Eyes widened. Even Lyra sat straighter.
"But," Ileron continued, "its true effect... adapts based on the blood."
He didn't look at Nclai directly. But the weight of it pressed anyway.
"To enter, you must pass preliminary duels in the training rings. Begin preparing. Your blood will tell us what you deserve."
Then the bell tolled.
Class dismissed.
...
Outside the hall, Dresk and the other two nobles were waiting. They didn't approach right away, just watched Nclai pass through the arch.
But they followed.
"We'll see you in the preliminaries, Azrael," Dresk called out.
"Make sure to show us something worth crushing," Marnex added.
Therin grinned. "Or better yet… don't show up at all."
They walked off, laughing.
Lyra caught up a moment later, eyes still narrowed.
"They're going to hound you until the first match," she muttered. "Want me to trip them on the stairs?"
Nclai didn't answer. He was already staring past the walkways.
At the edge of the horizon.
Where the sky had begun to bleed red.
...
Subsequently, in the stillness of his room, Nclai sat cross-legged against the shuttered window. His coat was at his side, and the slight scratches on his chest had started to fade. Outside, the sky seethed. moonless, turbulent.
The system flickered softly behind his eyes.
.....
System Notification
Bloodline Tournament Registration Confirmed
Combat Sync Opportunity: Active
Trait Unlock Threshold: Tracking...
....
Then silence again.
No percentages. No promises.
Only the weight of what was coming.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
To the thing in his blood beginning to stir again.
...