The room was tense after Silsa's revelation. His bruises were fresh, his voice still shaky from the pain, but his eyes burned with something Alex hadn't seen before.
Joren immediately dashed to the corner of the room, rummaging through his trunk until he pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were rolls of bandages, a jar of ointment, and a cloth. He hurried back, kneeling beside Silsa.
"Hold still," Joren said firmly, dipping the cloth into water. He began cleaning the blood from Silsa's lip with surprising gentleness.
Silsa winced, but didn't complain. Toren fetched extra cloths, muttering curses under his breath about "spoiled nobles who think the world belongs to them." Alex sat close, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
"You should have told us sooner," Alex said, his voice low but edged with fury. "We wouldn't have let you walk alone."
Silsa shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's done." His tone was strange—too calm for the situation.
Joren tied a neat bandage around Silsa's arm. "There. Better than nothing."
Silsa flexed his fingers, testing the ache. Then, slowly, he set the scrolls aside and looked up at all three of them. His usual calm, quiet eyes were gone—replaced by a fire that startled even Alex.
"You're all angry," Silsa said, his voice steady but sharp. "I can see it. I feel it too. But listen carefully—we will not answer them now."
Toren snapped his head up. "What? After what they did to you?"
Silsa leaned forward, his words cutting through the room like a blade. "Do you want to fight them in some dark hallway, like common thugs? Do you want to get thrown out of Crownspire for breaking rules, while they laugh behind our backs? No. That's exactly what they want."
Alex frowned, caught between rage and reason. "Then what do we do? Just sit and take it?"
Silsa's eyes flashed. He slammed his fist against the desk, startling them all. "No. We show them. Not in whispers, not in shadows—we break them in front of everyone. In exams. In the training grounds. In simulations. Where every single student and every instructor will see who truly deserves the top."
The room fell silent.
Silsa stood, shoulders squared despite his bruises. His voice grew stronger, fiercer, as if pain itself was fueling him.
"They think bloodlines and family names make them untouchable. But we've already proven we can stand among them. Now we'll go further. We'll crush their pride, shatter their egos, until they never dare touch us again."
He paced the room, looking each of them in the eye.
"Every day, we'll give everything. We'll bleed in our clubs. We'll sweat in training. We'll break our bodies and rebuild them stronger. And when the exams come… when the practicals come… we won't just win. We'll destroy them."
Toren's jaw tightened, fire igniting in his chest. "I like the sound of that."
Joren clenched his fists, the healer's calm now replaced with fury. "We'll make them regret ever underestimating us."
Alex finally rose, his heart pounding with raw energy. He felt as if Silsa's words had carved themselves into his bones. "We'll rise together," he said. "The four of us. And when the time comes… we'll show them who truly belongs at the top."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The air in the room buzzed with unspoken resolve.
Then Silsa extended his hand, palm open. "An oath. Here and now."
Without hesitation, Alex placed his hand on top. Toren followed, his grip strong and unyielding. Joren laid his hand last, steady and sure.
Four hands, bound not by blood, but by fire.
Silsa's voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried more weight than any shout.
"We rise together… or not at all."
And just like that, their path was set.
The bruises on Silsa's skin would fade—but the fire in his words burned brighter than ever.
On the other hand of Crownspire
Inside their lavish dorm room, the Varlen boys lounged as if the academy itself belonged to them. Velvet drapes hung from the windows, and polished steel weapons rested on stands by their beds—gifts from their influential families. Kael, the tallest of the group, leaned back in his chair, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
"Did you see the look on that strategist's face?" he sneered, recalling how Silas had crumpled beneath their fists.
Ronan, broad-shouldered and brash, cracked his knuckles. "Pathetic. They don't know their place. It's better we remind them now, before they get any wild ideas."
The others laughed, but there was an edge to it. They weren't just being arrogant—they were plotting.
"Next time," Kael said, lowering his voice, "we won't stop at a warning. Let's make sure everyone understands who runs this academy."
And with that, silence hung heavy, like a storm brewing.