The crisp morning air outside the infirmary tasted almost foreign to Edran after days confined to the medicinal haze within. The Academy's white stone courtyard gleamed under the sun, its familiar sight broken by the lingering stares of students and instructors alike. Whispers rippled through the crowd as soon as he stepped into view, low but sharp enough to reach his ears.
"That's him… the one who fought Valric to a draw and still stood."
"I heard his Qi flared with something ancient—something dangerous."
"They say the Heirs of Flame weren't pleased…"
Edran ignored them. His steps were steady, but each one sent a faint reminder of the strain his body had endured. Beneath the surface of calm, his mind replayed the moment the Dragon Vein had stirred—heat like molten iron in his bones, the thunderous beat of something far older than him.
He pushed the memory aside as the familiar sound of hurried footsteps drew closer.
"Brother!"
Lirien, his younger sister, nearly collided into him, her long dark braid whipping over her shoulder. "You're walking around already? You're insane! The healers said you'd need at least another week—"
"I heal fast," Edran replied evenly, though a faint twitch of pain at his ribs betrayed the lie.
Behind her came Darius, his older brother, a head taller and built like a fortress. His gaze was sharp, sweeping over Edran's frame as though assessing the hidden damage. "Fast healing doesn't mean invulnerability. You've been reckless."
Edran allowed himself the ghost of a smile. "Says the one who nearly shattered his opponent's jaw in three exchanges."
Darius's lips twitched. "He deserved it."
The three fell into step, weaving through the academy's main path toward the residential quarters. Along the way, they passed training fields where other students sparred. More than a few paused mid-drill to glance their way, eyes ranging from respectful curiosity to outright hostility.
Lirien lowered her voice. "There are rumors, you know. Some say you cheated, others say you have a hidden master. And…" she hesitated, "some claim the thing that flared in your fight wasn't human."
Edran's steps slowed fractionally, though his expression didn't change. "Rumors fade. Let them talk."
But in the corner of his vision, he caught movement—three students standing at the edge of the sparring field, watching him intently. One, a tall boy with silver hair, met his gaze with an expression that promised future confrontation.
They reached the quieter halls near the northern wing when Darius spoke again, his tone low. "Be careful, Edran. You've stepped into the sight of more than just students."
Edran didn't need the warning. He already felt it—that weight, like unseen eyes measuring him.
---
That weight had a name.
From a shaded archway near the outer courtyard, Veyth leaned against the cold stone, arms crossed. The faint wind played with the hem of his black, insignia-less robe. His gaze followed Edran's retreating form, sharp and calculating.
He had arrived at the Academy only a year ago, his rise quiet but unrelenting. On paper, he was a mid-level Core Formation cultivator who had chosen to "train down" among younger talents for reasons unknown. In truth, his purpose was far more complex.
A pale-haired attendant stepped out of the shadows behind him. "You saw it, didn't you? In the finals."
Veyth didn't look away from Edran. "I did."
"That… thing in his Qi. Could it be—"
"It's not for you to name," Veyth cut him off, voice low but edged. "The Master will want confirmation. Until then, we watch."
The attendant hesitated. "And if he notices?"
"Then I'll know how much of a threat he truly is."
Veyth's eyes narrowed slightly as Edran disappeared into the distance with his siblings. He'd met prodigies before—some burned bright and fast, others smoldered until they became unstoppable. But this one… this one carried something far older than talent.
And the Master had an interest in old things.
---
Back in the family's quarters within the Academy's guest wing, Edran eased into a seat by the open window. Lirien busied herself with pouring tea, her movements sharp in a way that betrayed her lingering worry.
"You didn't tell us about the finals," she said suddenly. "Not the real part. What happened before you blacked out?"
Edran met her gaze, then Darius's. For a moment, silence hung heavy.
"I pushed past my limit," he said simply. "And something… answered."
"That's not reassuring," Darius muttered, though there was no accusation in his tone.
"It wasn't meant to be," Edran replied.
They drank in silence for a time. Outside, the hum of the Academy's activity drifted in—calls from the sparring yards, the distant clash of weapons.
When they finally left the quarters, the three made their way toward the main assembly hall. The upcoming announcements for the post-tournament training lists were drawing a crowd. Every step drew more eyes, and Edran could almost taste the mixed air of awe and challenge.
From the far side of the courtyard, Veyth moved through the crowd with the ease of a shadow, never close enough to draw suspicion, but never far enough to lose sight of his target.
The first move had been made.
And Edran, though unaware of the player, could feel the game beginning.