The duel's dust had long since settled, but its echoes lingered in every corner of the Academy of Fangs. Wherever Ash walked, the whispers followed. Some in awe, some in resentment, and more in envy.
"He beat Caius Serpentis. No one's ever humiliated a Serpent Crest heir like that."
"Slum-born trash using dirty tricks. That's all it was."
"Maybe he has a patron. That Lord Varian brought him in, didn't he? There must be some scheme behind it."
Ash heard it all, though he never flinched or slowed his pace. His footsteps echoed steadily down marble corridors adorned with banners of noble houses. Crimson lions, golden hawks, silver stags, and the ever-twisting green serpent. It seemed the Serpent Crest banner was everywhere these days, a reminder that Caius's humiliation had not dulled his family's influence.
The Codex whispered in his mind, steady and sharp:
"They do not forget. They will bleed you drop by drop, test your defenses, probe your weaknesses. This is how war begins—not with trumpets, but with whispers."
Ash exhaled quietly. He knew it already. Caius had not confronted him again since the duel. Instead, the air itself had thickened with hostility, as if every shadow carried eyes.
And then the little things began.
---
The first incident happened in the mess hall.
Ash had just sat with his tray—thin soup, stale bread, and a slice of dried meat—when a noble-born with a hawk crest "tripped" passing by, his hand knocking the tray clean from Ash's grip.
The food splattered across the floor. The noble straightened, feigning shock.
"Oh… clumsy me. You'll forgive me, won't you, gutter rat?"
Laughter erupted from his friends. Ash stared at the mess silently, then raised his eyes to meet the noble's. Cold. Sharp. Calculated.
The boy's grin faltered for just a heartbeat. But before the moment stretched too long, Garrick bounded in.
"Ah! Wonderful! Free bread for the floor tiles. I hear they've been starving lately." He bent down, scooped up the meat, and theatrically tossed it in the air before biting half of it in one go. "Delicious! Floor-seasoned. Adds a certain crunch."
The laughter shifted, uneasy now, some students chuckling with Garrick while others glared. Ash rose without a word and fetched another tray.
But he knew. This was no accident. It was the beginning.
---
A day later, his spell diagrams vanished from his desk in the Arcanum Chambers. Weeks of careful notes on mana circulation and formation arrays, gone. The instructor scolded him in front of the class for negligence.
Ash kept his composure, but the Codex's voice was sharp:
"They test your patience. Strike back. Humiliate one of them as they humiliated you. Fear will silence the rest."
But Ash shook his head imperceptibly. Not yet.
The following morning, his practice partner withdrew from their martial lesson, claiming illness. By evening, three more nobles had refused to spar with him. Even common-born students, once eager to sit near him, now avoided his shadow, their eyes flicking nervously to the serpent banners that hung over the halls.
Only Garrick stayed.
"Seems the Serpents are tightening the noose," Garrick said one evening, tossing pebbles into the training yard fountain. "You're not getting partners, your notes are gone, and someone smeared your name on the practice board."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "Smeared?"
Garrick smirked. "They wrote: 'Ash the Rat, first of his name, king of the gutters.' Creative, isn't it? I'd give it a three out of ten."
Ash almost smiled. Almost.
---
Despite the isolation, Ash continued with lessons. The Academy was relentless.
In the Hall of Tomes, he studied ancient magical treatises under strict supervision, memorizing more in an evening than some nobles managed in weeks. The Codex's voice filled in gaps the texts left behind.
"This incantation is flawed. The true efficiency lies in condensing syllables. Watch carefully—each wasted word bleeds mana like an open wound."
In the Arcanum Chambers, he practiced channeling mana through circles drawn into the floor. His control grew sharper by the day, though every success seemed to sharpen noble envy.
In the Martial Yard, instructors paired him against increasingly hostile opponents. They came at him harder, angrier, as if hoping to humble him with bruises. Yet Ash evaded, countered, and endured. Each dodge felt guided by the Codex, as if ancient battlefields whispered through his veins.
But the weight grew. Even when he excelled, the sneers deepened.
---
One night, Ash sat beneath a torch in the empty yard, practicing the weaving of flame and wind to create a spiraling ember strike. His hands trembled slightly from exhaustion.
The Codex whispered, pressing harder now.
"You let them circle. Each day, their noose tightens. In war, you cut off an enemy before their noose is complete. Otherwise, they will strangle you at leisure."
Ash exhaled, steady. If I strike first, I'll only prove their whispers right. That I'm dangerous. That I don't belong.
"You already don't belong," the Codex hissed. "Do not fool yourself into believing loyalty will shield you. Nobles only respect power, Ash. Show them weakness, and they'll bury you."
For a moment, Ash's fist clenched. The Codex's words were true—but they weren't all the truth. He thought of Garrick, who stayed despite the growing hostility. He thought of the common-born student who once smiled at him with admiration before fear pulled him away.
Not all were enemies. Not yet.
---
The following week, Ash found his satchel cut open, its contents strewn across the mud outside the dormitory. Ink bled into parchment, pages ruined. He stood there quietly, staring at the wreckage, while nobles smirked from a distance.
Before Ash could move, Garrick stomped up, eyes blazing.
"Which one of you crests did this?" he barked. "You think tearing a bag makes you powerful? Pathetic! If you've got an issue with Ash, duel him! Oh wait—he already made one of you eat dirt!"
Snickers rose from the crowd, but no one stepped forward.
Garrick crouched and began scooping the ruined parchments into the satchel. "Come on, Ash. We'll fix this. Or I'll fix it. You've got better things to do than patch holes."
Ash's eyes lingered on the boy for a moment. In this place where even commoners avoided him out of fear, Garrick's loyalty was a rare, bright flame.
"Why?" Ash asked softly.
Garrick looked up, genuinely confused. "Why what?"
"Why stay by me? You've seen what happens."
Garrick grinned. "Because you're worth it. And besides, I like being around the guy who humiliated Caius Serpentis. Makes me feel taller."
Ash shook his head, but for the first time in days, a small smile tugged at his lips.
---
That night, as Ash lay in his bunk, the Codex stirred once more.
"The serpent is patient. He watches. Each day, his circle tightens. Soon, Ash, you must decide: endure until strangled, or cut the serpent's head before it strikes."
Ash closed his eyes. Outside, the serpent banners swayed gently in the wind, as if watching him even in the dark.
The war had not begun, but its shadow had already fallen over him.
---