The room was dark.
No lights, just the glow of the screen hovering above Kalen's desk. A silver of moonlight cut across the polished floor from a narrow window, fractured by shadows.
The stillness in the air wasn't peace - it was weight. Suffocating.
Sweat clung to Kalen's temple. His shirt stuck to his back. He hadn't trained.
Hadn't even moved for hours.
The voice message blinked at him.
One missed recording.
From him
Kalen stared at it for a long time...before pressing play.
Click
He already knew the rhythm. The tone. The weight, behind every clipped word.
"I heard about the rankings."
His voice was sharp. Controlled. Never loud - that would mean he cared enough to shout. Something that wasn't apparent.
"Jacob Lacura; four B-Class scores. Impressive. And you came in second...again."
Kalen didn't blink.
Thump
"Atleast you're consistent. I suppose that counts for something."
Thump
The screen dimmed slightly. As if it was ashamed.
"Your sister was leading by her first month. Didn't make excuses. She didn't need to be told twice. She acted."
Thump
"You - still crawling in the dirt."
That line...
"Your mother said you'd bloom late. I told her weeds don't bloom."
Kalen's jaw clenched.
Pause
"Get your name off my reports unless there's something worth reading."
The message ended.
The silence returned.
Kalen didn't move.
Didn't even breathe for a few seconds.
His head lowered. Arms resting on the table. Fingers curled inward.
One breathe.
Two.
Three.
BANG! CRACK!
His hand slammed the desk. A clean break formed across the surface - not from strength.
From frustration. From everything he'd bottled up.
The room held still.
He rose.
His reflection staring back at him from the darkened screen. The same eyes.
Same tired shadows under them. But they didn't look like his father's.
Or his sister's.
They were his own.
Tap tap tap
He walked to the small sink in the corner. Turning on the tap.
Gushh
Water rushed out.
Splashing it across his face.
It didn't seem to cool him.
His gloves lay on the shelf beside him. Heavy. Worn.
He picked one up.
Gripping it tightly.
Beside the shelf, tucked behind a forgotten book, was a small photograph.
Faded. Worn.
A woman with soft eyes and a quiet smile held a boy.
Him.
She wasn't dressed in noble garb. No seal, no crest. Just a scarf around her neck.
A commoner.
His mother.
He looked at it.
Longer than he meant to.
Outside, the hallway was empty on the Elite Class's floor.
No footsteps. No voices.
Only him.
The moonlight shifted slightly.
He thought about Jacob. About the praise, the looks, the awe.
Not jealousy. Not anger.
But pressure.
He was supposed to be more.
But who decided that?
Kalen Voss closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long while - he didn't see his father.
He saw her.
He saw himself.
----
Kalen walked the corridor like a ghost - eyes heavy, posture loose, the echo of his father's voice clinging to him like smoke.
'Weed...'
He hadn't responded to the message. Just let it play once.
Then again.
And again.
Now he moved through the Elite dorms hallway like he wasn't really there.
Tap tap tap ta-
Turning a corner he paused.
Seris was standing there, speaking to Veyna, her charcoal silver-trim uniform catching the light. She hadn't changed. Composed.
Perfect posture.
That same distant air.
Veyna's eyes flicked up.
She saw him instantly.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Seris didn't turn.
She must've heard him. Of course she did.
Kalen's hand twitched by his side. But he walked past without a word.
"He looks like hell", Veyna murmured, voice low.
"You really not gonna say anything?"
Seris didn't respond.
The faint buzz of hallway lights, and Kalen's footsteps echoed down the hall; each one quieter than the last.
"Aren't you engaged?"
----
Elsewhere in the training grounds, the sound of dull impacts echoed across the open space.
Torin Vale stood anchored like a fortress, bare arms crossed, as Enyx Virell's flame-covered fist slammed into his forearm.
HISS! THUD!
A sharp spark flared.
No movement. No wince.
Torin didn't budge.
"You really don't stagger, huh", Enyx muttered, shaking out his wrist. His red hair tied back now, sweat streaking his jawline and tattoos. "It's like punching bedrock"
Torin's eyes, calm as always, scanned him from head to toe. "Your form is better than before. But you're still impatient. You strike before reading."
"Maybe I don't want to read". Enyx replied. "Maybe I just like swinging."
There was a pause. Then the faintest curl of a smirk, touching Torin's lips.
They reset positions.
The tension was familiar.
Thud!
Almost brotherly in rthythm.
Underneath the punches however, there was something else simmering.
"You heard about Kalen?" Enyx asked mid-pivot, launching a faint Torin swatted away.
"Only that he's been quiet."
Enyx exhaled:
huff
"He's not the only one. Everyone's feeling it. Jacob, the second years...whatever's coming, it's not small."
Torin rolled his shoulders, his stance still.
"We weren't chosen to rest", "Something's always coming."
Enyx grinned, "You'd make a great motivational poster".
"I'd rather be the wall it hangs on".
------
**Author's Note:**
Let me know what you guys think so far! Drop a comment or leave a review - it really helps a lot.
And if you're enjoying the story, don't forget to add it to your collection!
****
-----