Chapter 46 – A Meeting of Interests
The academy bustled with its usual energy, students moving between halls, training yards, and study chambers. Lyrian walked through the corridors, leaving behind the lingering echoes of Reynard and Dorian's endless banter.
His mind was elsewhere, barely registering the chatter of students around him—until a sudden commotion caught his attention.
"Come on, Lucia, it's fate! We keep running into each other. Maybe it's the world telling us something?"
Lyrian glanced toward the source of the voice—a dark-haired boy, grinning smugly, leaning far too close to a girl with fiery red hair tied back in a loose braid.
Lucia folded her arms, unimpressed. "You 'run into me' because you keep following me, Ewan."
Ewan placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Me? Follow you? I would never! I just happened to be walking this way. And what a beautiful coincidence it is."
Lucia stared at him blankly. "You just came out of the library. You don't even read."
"Hey! I read all kinds of things!" Ewan huffed. "Just the other day, I was reading about—uh, ancient battle techniques! For…strategic reasons."
Lucia's expression remained unchanged.
Ewan shifted tactics. "Listen, all I'm saying is, you and I? We'd make a great team. You're beautiful, I'm… well, me. It's a perfect match."
A brief silence.
Then, Lucia punched him square in the stomach.
Ewan let out a wheeze, doubling over as nearby students burst into laughter.
"Try reading about personal space next time," Lucia said, brushing past him.
Lyrian smirked faintly before continuing on.
Around the courtyard, students were sparring, studying, or exchanging gossip about the rumored tournament.
"They say the tournament won't just be about skill," someone whispered.
"I heard upperclassmen might get involved," another added.
Lyrian kept walking, filing away the information for later. The academy had its fair share of rumors, but this one seemed to be gaining traction.
The days passed quickly, and soon, the weekend arrived.
Lyrian made his way toward Elyreina's dormitory, where she was already waiting. She studied him for a moment.
"You actually got some sleep this time?" she asked.
"Maybe a little," Lyrian admitted, adjusting the strap of his coat. "Let's go."
Together, they walked toward Professor Marlowe's office, the air crisp with the morning chill.
When they reached the door, Lyrian slowed his steps. The door wasn't fully shut, and voices drifted from inside.
"…I'm telling you, this tournament could be dangerous if the academy isn't careful," came Marlowe's voice.
"We both know it's not just about competition," replied a second voice—deeper, steady. Instructor Varos.
Lyrian and Elyreina exchanged a glance but said nothing.
"Can we come in?" Elyreina finally asked, knocking lightly on the door.
There was a brief pause before Marlowe's voice answered, "Enter."
As they stepped inside, their eyes fell upon the man sitting across from Marlowe.
Instructor Varos was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark gray uniform neatly pressed, his presence calm yet commanding. He had short black hair streaked with silver at the temples, and a gaze that seemed to measure everything in an instant.
At first, he simply stared at Lyrian, something flickering in his expression.
Then, in a casual tone, he asked, "Are they your grandkids, Marlowe?"
Marlowe sighed, rubbing his temples. "No. More complicated than that." His tone held a quiet weight, something unspoken lingering in the air.
Varos gave a small nod but didn't push. Instead, as his gaze rested on Lyrian again, something clicked in his mind.
I've seen this kid before.
He recalled watching a certain student train alone from the academy's upper levels. At the time, it had been nothing more than a passing observation.
But now, seeing Lyrian up close, recognizing the focused intensity in his eyes, Varos realized…
It was him.
Still, he said nothing, only turning back to Marlowe.
"You said you were checking on something?" Varos asked.
Marlowe exhaled. "Just making sure he's all right."
Varos frowned slightly at that response. It wasn't the kind of vague answer Marlowe usually gave, and it left him… curious.