Patterns of Friction

Aetheris Thrives on Blood

Aetheris Academy had its own ecosystem—a delicate balance of power that ruled over the noble houses, scholars, and warriors that roamed its halls.

It was ancient, unshakable, and ruthless.

Those who didn't understand how the game was played?

They became forgotten names carved into stone plaques, honored only by dust.

Those who knew?

They became the rulers of tomorrow.

Cael had no intention of being forgotten.

Morning at Aetheris felt different.

Every step Cael took down the academy halls carried a new weight. Whispers followed him like shadows, drifting through the air—too soft to catch entirely, but loud enough for him to recognize the meaning.

"That's him."

"The assassin failed."

"And yet he's still here."

Darius's pawns didn't bother to hide their stares. Some sneered, others glared, and a few simply looked… uneasy.

Good.

Let them fear.

Soren walked beside him, as casual as ever, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. "You've gained a reputation overnight," he mused. "How does it feel?"

Cael exhaled through his nose. "Irritating."

Soren chuckled. "You'll get used to it."

They stopped in front of the massive iron-forged doors leading to the morning assembly hall. The grand chamber beyond was already packed with students, all gathered for the daily announcements.

This was Darius's ground.

It was no secret—this was where nobles made their presence known, where alliances were solidified with a nod or shattered with a single, well-placed word.

And today?

Cael was walking straight into Darius's arena.

Soren stepped forward to push open the doors, flashing Cael a smirk. "Shall we?"

Cael adjusted his coat.

And then he walked through.

A Show of Power

The moment Cael entered, the room shifted.

Silence spread like ripples on water.

The nobles—Darius's people—turned toward him, their expressions carefully schooled, yet their eyes betrayed them. Some were shocked. Others were wary. A few looked outright furious.

Because he was still here.

Because they had failed.

Darius himself sat at the front, dressed in his usual pristine academy uniform. His golden crest gleamed under the morning light, a symbol of his noble lineage. His features were unbothered, elegant, composed.

But his fingers—

They tapped once, twice, thrice against the wooden surface of the table.

A silent tick of irritation.

Cael almost smiled.

Darius had expected him to be gone by now.

And yet—here he was.

Slowly, Cael made his way forward, ignoring the piercing stares as he passed. His steps were measured, unhurried—deliberate.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

The academy thrived on power plays.

And today, he was making his first move.

He took his seat beside Soren, not bothering to look at Darius.

But he felt the noble's gaze burning into him.

Soren leaned over slightly, voice amused. "Oh, he's seething."

Cael hummed, eyes still forward. "Good."

The morning announcements began.

But Cael already knew—

Today wasn't about words.

Today was about war.

An Invitation Wrapped in Poison

It came after assembly.

A student—not one of Darius's inner circle, but someone clearly working under him—approached with carefully constructed politeness.

"A message for you," he said, offering a folded note.

Cael took it without hesitation.

The moment he unfolded it, a single name at the bottom caught his eye.

Darius Valenforth.

Soren glanced over. "Well, that's interesting. An invitation?"

Cael read the words, his smirk growing sharper.

"Dinner. Seventh Bell. My estate. Let's talk."

Soren exhaled a laugh. "That's not an invitation. That's a challenge."

Cael folded the note and tucked it into his coat. "Then I suppose I should accept."

Soren's grin widened. "That's the spirit."

The Lion's Den

That evening, Cael stood at the entrance of the Valenforth estate—a grand structure sitting just outside the academy grounds, where Darius and his noble allies held their private gatherings.

It wasn't just a dinner.

It was a test.

An unspoken warning disguised as hospitality.

Soren had wanted to come, but Cael had declined.

"This is a game of words," he had said. "And I want to see how Darius plays."

So now he stood alone at the grand gates.

A servant led him inside, through halls lined with gold and history, until they reached a lavish dining hall.

Darius sat at the head of the table, his expression calm, unreadable.

Around him sat six others—nobles, all of them.

This was not just dinner.

This was an audience.

Cael stepped forward and took the empty seat directly opposite Darius.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Darius smiled. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation, Nox."

Cael met his gaze evenly. "I was curious."

Darius leaned back in his chair. "Curious?"

Cael tilted his head. "Yes. I wanted to see if this was a trap or just a poorly veiled attempt at intimidation."

A murmur ran through the nobles, but Darius?

He simply chuckled.

"A trap?" he echoed. "No, Nox. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted time with that pitiful attempt last night."

The room tensed.

Cael's fingers tapped lightly against his glass. "Ah. So you admit it, then."

Darius smirked. "If you're still alive, then it means you were worthy of surviving. And that, Nox, is worth acknowledging."

Cael's eyes didn't waver. "I see. So this is what? A test? A game?"

Darius leaned forward slightly.

"Everything in Aetheris is a game."

Cael exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Then you must be very disappointed that I'm still playing."

For the first time, Darius's smirk faltered.

Just a flicker.

But Cael saw it.

The evening went on, filled with carefully placed words, veiled threats, and false pleasantries.

But in the end?

Cael walked out alive.

And as he stepped past the Valenforth gates, he knew—

The war had begun.