Patterns of Friction

The Cost of Survival

Survival in Aetheris Academy wasn't just about strength.

It was about calculated moves, knowing when to strike and when to retreat, and most importantly… knowing who to trust.

Cael had already proven that he wouldn't be eliminated so easily.

But survival came with a price.

And tonight, he was about to see just how high that price could be.

The Invitation That Wasn't a Request

After the dinner at Darius's estate, Cael expected things to quiet down.

He was wrong.

The following morning, a letter arrived.

Not from Darius.

Not from one of his noble lackeys.

But from The Guild of Veiled Hands.

Soren whistled when he saw the seal. "Well, that didn't take long."

Cael turned the letter over in his hands, running his thumb along the wax insignia—a dagger wrapped in silk.

The symbol of Aetheris's most notorious underground faction.

He unfolded the parchment.

"The Veiled Hands have taken an interest in you, Nox."

"Meet us at the abandoned amphitheater by midnight. Come alone."

Soren leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You're going, aren't you?"

Cael slipped the letter into his coat. "Of course."

Soren chuckled. "Thought so."

Then, his expression turned serious. "Watch your back. They don't summon people unless they're valuable… or disposable."

Cael only smiled.

"I plan to be the former."

The Amphitheater's Secrets

By midnight, Aetheris was quiet.

Most students were asleep—or locked in their own secret dealings.

Cael moved through the shadows, steps soundless as he approached the abandoned amphitheater—a relic of the academy's past, long forgotten by the nobles who now ruled it.

Stone pillars stood cracked and crumbling, ivy curling around them like nature reclaiming its throne. The seats were empty, save for the shadows that lurked in the corners.

And at the center?

A figure stood, cloaked in black.

"Welcome, Nox," a voice echoed from beneath the hood.

Cael stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "You summoned me."

A soft chuckle. "We invite many. Few walk away."

From the shadows, more figures emerged. Five, six—no, seven.

The Veiled Hands.

Aetheris's hidden power.

"You've made quite the impression," the leader continued. "Surviving an assassination, walking into Darius's den unshaken… We admire that."

Cael tilted his head slightly. "Admiration or recruitment?"

The leader smirked. "Both."

One of the other members, a woman with raven-black hair and gold eyes, stepped forward. "We're offering you a place among us. A seat at the table of those who truly understand how Aetheris works."

Cael didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he observed.

Every movement, every glance, every subtle shift in their stance.

This wasn't just an invitation.

This was a test.

Finally, he spoke.

"And if I refuse?"

The leader's smile didn't fade.

"Then we'll be forced to reconsider your survival."

Cael exhaled slowly. "Threats don't impress me."

"Good," the leader said. "Because this isn't a threat. It's reality."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, the leader reached into their cloak and tossed something at Cael's feet.

A dagger.

Sleek. Sharp. Marked with the crest of House Valenforth.

Cael's eyes darkened.

A clear message.

"Take it," the leader murmured. "Show us where you stand."

A Decision in the Dark

Cael crouched, picking up the dagger.

He ran a finger along the blade—still fresh with blood.

Someone had died for this moment.

For this choice.

His mind raced.

If he refused, the Veiled Hands would see him as an enemy.

If he accepted, he would be stepping into another war.

But then again…

Hadn't he already done that?

He rose to his feet, dagger in hand.

Then, without a word, he sheathed it into his belt.

The leader watched, then gave a slow nod.

"A wise choice."

Cael's voice was steady. "Don't mistake my acceptance for submission."

A chuckle. "We wouldn't dream of it, Nox."

The shadows around them shifted.

And just like that, the Veiled Hands vanished.

Leaving Cael standing alone—dagger in hand, and another secret buried deep within Aetheris.

The First Strike

By the time Cael returned to his dorm, the game had already changed.

Word spread fast in Aetheris.

By dawn, the academy buzzed with rumors.

Not just about Cael.

But about Darius.

More specifically, about House Valenforth's growing troubles.

Soren greeted him with a raised eyebrow. "So, what did the Veiled Hands want?"

Cael smirked. "An alliance."

Soren's grin was sharp. "And you accepted?"

Cael unsheathed the dagger, twirling it between his fingers.

"For now."

Soren leaned back, satisfied. "Good. Because I have news for you."

He tossed a parchment onto the table.

Cael picked it up, eyes narrowing as he read.

It was a summons.

Not from the Veiled Hands.

Not from Darius.

But from Aetheris's Council.

A seat of true power.

And they wanted to see him.

Cael exhaled.

First the nobles.

Then the underground.

And now… the academy itself.

The game had officially begun.