Carion approached, his movements effortless, his presence drawing attention. Ian tensed, eyes narrowing as he watched the man weave through the crowd with practiced ease.
"Carion," Rhys drawled, lazily swirling his drink. "Didn't know they were letting just anyone in tonight."
Carion smirked. "And yet, here you are." He turned to Reina with an amused glint in his eyes. "Still keeping this one in check?"
Reina chuckled, tilting her head. "Someone has to. It's been a while... still charming your way into places?"
Carion placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Reina. I assure you, I was invited."
His gaze flickered toward Ian briefly before settling on Myrra. With a polite, practiced smile, he extended a hand. "It's nice seeing you again, young lady. Would you grant me the honor of a dance?"
Myrra offered a small, apologetic smile but didn't reach for his hand. Instead, she shifted closer to Ian, her grip on his arm gentle yet firm. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a bit tired."
For a fleeting moment, an unsettling presence clung to the air around Carion, something Ian couldn't quite define, yet it prickled at the edges of his awareness. It wasn't overtly wrong, no aggression or tension, yet it felt… familiar. A whisper of something beneath the surface, just beyond his understanding, like a sensation he had encountered before but couldn't quite place.
Carion held Myrra's gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his expression unreadable, before letting out a soft chuckle. "No worries." With an easy nod, he withdrew, disappearing back into the crowd.
Cailen leaned in, brow furrowed. "Who was that?"
Rhys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Someone you don't want to deal with."
Varian smirked. "He kind of seems like your type, Rhys."
Rhys scoffed, shooting him a glare. "Don't compare me to that guy."
The ball continued around them, the music swelling, laughter ringing through the grand hall. Couples twirled across the dance floor, conversations hummed in the background, yet Ian's mind lingered. Carion had always seemed off, even back in Efsagroth. There was something about him that never sat right. And tonight, Ian had felt it again.
As the evening drew to a close and guests filtered out into the night, Rhys found himself lost in thought. He knew Carion well, getting the attention of a beautiful woman had never been a challenge for him. And yet, his interest in Myrra felt… wrong.
He pulled Ian aside, lowering his voice. "That was strange," Rhys muttered. "Carion isn't the type to chase after someone like this…" He paused, something shifting in his expression. "Actually, now that I think about it, he barely pays attention to anyone unless there's something to gain."
He continued. "I'll look into it. If he's up to something."
Ian gave a firm nod. "Let me know what you find."
The two of them stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them. The night air was cool, but that lingering unease remained.
Ian was still in the dark. The pieces were there, scattered and incomplete, but for now, all he could do was wait, for Enira, for Eryndor to provide him any leads.
Back at their apartment, the warmth of the room was a welcome contrast to the long night behind them. Myrra stretched as she sank into the couch beside Ian, her body finally relaxing after the long night.
"You know… I really had fun tonight," she said, glancing at him.
Ian raised a brow. "You sound surprised."
She smirked. "Maybe a little. I always thought things like this would be dull, all formalities and small talk. But… it wasn't." She paused. "I think a big part of that was you."
Ian huffed a small laugh. "I barely did anything."
Myrra shook her head. "You kept me company. That's what made it better."
She leaned back slightly, her shoulder brushing against his. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn't awkward, it was easy, natural, like the night had settled into something softer now.
Myrra hesitated, then exhaled. "Your company just makes things feel… I don't know. Lighter?" She turned to him, her expression softer than usual. "I like that."
Ian didn't say anything, but his gaze held hers, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Before she could overthink it, she shifted closer, brushing her fingers lightly along his jaw before leaning in. The kiss was slow, unhurried, her lips pressing against his with a quiet certainty.
It wasn't planned, but it felt right.
Ian responded without hesitation, his hand slipping to the small of her back as he deepened the kiss. The exhaustion of the evening melted away, replaced by the slow, burning pull between them. Myrra's fingers curled into the fabric of his dress, gripping just enough to keep him close, as if afraid the moment might slip away.
He turned, pulling her fully into his arms, their bodies fitting together with effortless familiarity. The brush of his fingertips against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. Myrra let out a quiet hum, tilting her head as his lips ghosted down the line of her jaw, lingering at the hollow of her throat before trailing lower.
His hands traced slow, deliberate lines along her sides, skimming the curves of her waist, lingering at the edges of her dress.
Her breath hitched when his fingers toyed with the fabric, teasing along the hem before slipping higher. The faint rasp of his touch against her bare skin sent a rush of heat curling in her stomach, anticipation coiling tight.
Just as his fingers found the delicate clasp at the back of her dress....
A sharp chime shattered the moment.
Myrra stiffened, eyes widening in realization. Her communication device buzzed insistently from the nearby table. With a groan, she reached for it, Ian reluctantly pulling back as she answered.
"Aunt?" Her voice was steady, but the pink dusting her cheeks betrayed her flustered state.
Ian exhaled as he leaned back against the couch, watching her expression shift between attentive and mildly exasperated.
The call lasted a few minutes, casual check-ins, a few questions about the ball, nothing too pressing. By the time it ended, Myrra set the device down with a sigh, stealing a quick glance at Ian before slipping off the couch.
"I should… probably get some rest," she murmured, her voice quieter than usual.
Ian tilted his head, catching the way she hesitated before turning toward her room. A faint, almost mischievous smile ghosted her lips as she moved quickly, as if sneaking away before he could stop her.
He watched her retreat, shaking his head in amusement.
Back in her room, Myrra pressed her fingers against her burning cheeks, exhaling slowly as she buried herself beneath the sheets. Her heart still pounded in her chest, the memory of his touch lingering.
Now alone, Ian leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Silence filled the room, the warmth of the moment lingering even as he let out a slow breath. After a while, he pushed himself up and headed to his room. Sleep came easily.
By morning, things had settled, mostly. There was a brief awkwardness, a flicker of hesitation in the way they spoke, the way their gazes lingered just a second too long. But it didn't last. Soon enough, everything fell into place, as if nothing had changed.
Or maybe… as if something had.
Meanwhile, Ian, now fully aware of the potential threat Carion posed, had become subtly but unmistakably more protective of Myrra. Nothing had happened yet, but that didn't ease his vigilance.
Classes continued as usual, with a steady rhythm, except for combat training. Sylve completed her hundred laps few weeks back. Myrra was close, managing ninety-six in the last session. Ian had been training her privately at Axilya's facility, pushing her beyond what the standard regimen required.
Axilya wasn't around often, but when she was, she would guide Myrra, and sometimes Ian as well.
Meanwhile, Cailen was making progress at his own pace, reaching sixty-five laps. His progress was slow, but he didn't seem to mind. He wasn't the only one lagging behind; several students from Synthetic Alchemy, Neural Restoration, and Regenerative Healing struggled even more. Combat training wasn't their priority, and it showed.
Sylve had progressed to the Combat Awareness & Strategy stage, the point where training focused on maintaining a calm mindset, identifying strengths and weaknesses, and analyzing combat patterns. That was the usual path.
The mock battle with the training puppet had been meant as an evaluation tool, a way to gauge each student's level before guiding them through the structured progression: core fundamentals, basic stance and footwork, controlled sparring, combat awareness and strategy, reaction training and finally tactical sparring. From there, training exercises would escalate to duels in different environments and real-world combat scenarios.
However, some students had managed to defeat the puppet outright. Instead of following the standard progression, they had been pushed straight to the final stage. Ian was one of them.
Ian stepped into the combat ring, rolling his shoulders as he eyed his opponent, a member of Innate Sword path, wielding a long, well-crafted spear. The weapon gleamed under the training room's artificial lighting, its edge razor-sharp, its reach considerable.
His opponent wasted no time. With a sharp thrust, the spear shot forward, aiming for Ian's midsection. He sidestepped, the tip slicing through the air where he'd stood a moment ago. Another strike followed, faster, more precise. Ian ducked, feeling the rush of displaced air as it passed overhead.
He's good, Ian noted. But that was it, just good.
Ian moved in. The moment the next thrust came, he twisted to the side, closing the gap. His opponent reacted quickly, using the spear's length to spin it into a sweeping arc, forcing Ian back. He barely avoided the strike, the wind whipping against his cheek.
Not bad, Ian admitted. But the openings were there.
He shifted his stance, waiting for the next attack. As expected, the spear lunged toward him, this time aimed at his shoulder. Ian didn't dodge. Instead, he caught the shaft with his bare hand, wrenching it aside. His opponent staggered, off balance, and Ian capitalized instantly. A sharp strike to the ribs sent the other fighter skidding backward.
His opponent gritted his teeth and lunged again, this time unleashing a flurry of rapid jabs. Ian weaved through them with ease, sidestepping and shifting his weight effortlessly. It was almost routine, until the pattern changed.
A flicker of energy surged around the spear, and in an instant, smaller, condensed spears of raw force materialized in the air, hurtling toward him.
Ian reacted immediately. His fight with Axilya had taught him the horror of the Innate Sword path. He moved swiftly, condensing the metal rings around his wrists, shaping them in an instant into layered shields along his forearms. The moment the energy spears struck, they splintered against the metallic barriers, their force dissipating before they could fully pierce through.
The impact sent a jolt up his arms, but he barely flinched. This? This was nothing.
Axilya was much stronger. A lot stronger.
His opponent pressed forward, thinking he had gained the advantage. Ian saw the shift in stance, the slight bend of the knees, the subtle twitch of fingers, he was about to go for a heavier attack.
Ian didn't give him the chance.
Stepping in fast, he closed the distance before the spear could be fully retracted, his hand latching onto the shaft just below the spearhead. A twist of his wrist, a sudden redirection of force, and the weapon was nearly wrenched from his opponent's grip.
The spearman struggled to hold on, but Ian had already moved. A sharp elbow to the ribs, a knee driving into his opponent's thigh to break his balance, then a final shove that sent him staggering back.
The fight was decided before his opponent even hit the ground.
"That's it… Ian wins." The instructor stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the fighters.
He turned to the spearman first. "Your form is solid, and your control isn't bad, but you rely too much on the spear's reach. The moment that advantage was gone, you were wide open." He crossed his arms. "Learn to fight at all distances, not just where you're comfortable. And if you're going to shape your intent, then commit to it. Hesitation ruins execution."
Then, he turned to Ian. "And you." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're strong, no doubt. Controlled. Efficient. But you're coasting." His tone sharpened. "I've seen fighters like you before, ones who only push when they have to. That kind of thinking will hold you back."
He paused for a moment before adding, "In a real fight, end it the moment you can. Never hesitate."
Ian nodded, silent but accepting the words.