The academy's bells tolled dawn, deep iron notes rolling across the marble spires. Ash woke to their echo, eyes opening into the same gray ceiling that had become his refuge and his cage. He sat up slowly, the chill of the stone floor seeping through his feet, and the Codex stirred within him like an ember rekindling.
"Another day, another siege upon your will. Be ready."
Ash didn't reply. His satchel sat repaired beside the bunk—clumsily stitched by Garrick the night before, every crooked thread a testament of loyalty. Ash ran his hand across it once, then rose.
---
The first sting came in the Arcanum Chambers.
Ash stood before his mana circle, hands poised, focusing on weaving flame into controlled spirals. But when he channeled, the circle sputtered—then exploded in sparks, the backlash searing his palm. Gasps rang out.
"Lack of focus," the instructor snapped. "If you cannot handle even basic formation, perhaps you should return to the gutter you came from."
Laughter rippled through the noble-born.
Ash's gaze dropped to the circle. It had been altered—one rune deliberately smudged into misalignment. Not by accident.
"Sabotage," the Codex confirmed coldly. "A soldier's weapon blunted before the charge. Classic tactic. Strike the hand before the duel, break the quill before the scribe."
Ash clenched his burned palm, forcing calm into his voice. "May I try again?"
The instructor sneered, but permitted it. Ash redrew the circle carefully, ignoring the murmurs, and on his second attempt the flames spiraled true—burning bright and controlled until the instructor himself had to look away.
---
That evening, whispers trailed him through the dorm corridors.
"He cheats. Did you see how he fixed it so fast? No slum-born could do that."
"Caius will crush him soon. It's only a matter of time."
"I heard he's not even human—maybe some relic-possessed bastard."
Ash kept walking, but his shoulders grew heavier with each word.
Garrick appeared suddenly, sliding into step beside him.
"Rumors travel faster than arrows in this place. Don't mind them."
Ash's lips tightened. "Easier said than done."
"Well, if it helps—half the things they're saying about me aren't true either."
Ash gave him a sidelong look. "Such as?"
"That I snore like a dying ox. Which is ridiculous. I sound far more majestic than that."
Despite himself, Ash huffed a short breath that almost resembled laughter. Garrick grinned wide, satisfied.
---
Elsewhere, far above in one of the tower chambers draped with green banners, Caius Serpentis sat at a polished table. Candles lit the serpent-emblazoned room, shadows flickering across faces gathered around him—three other noble-born, all wearing crests of minor houses aligned with Serpent.
Caius's silver hair gleamed in the light, but his expression was carved from ice.
"He has not bent," Caius said softly. "Not to whispers. Not to isolation. Even sabotage has only sharpened him."
One boy sneered. "Then strike him directly. Crush him in another duel, this time with witnesses loyal to us."
Caius's hand clenched around his goblet. "I will. But humiliation must be complete. He must not just fall—he must drown in his own image. The boy thrives on composure. Break that, and you break him."
The others murmured in agreement.
Another girl leaned forward. "And what of his ally? The loud one. Hollow."
Caius's smile was serpent-slick. "Step on the jester, and you harden the king. Leave him. His foolishness will blind Ash more than sharpen him."
The conspirators chuckled darkly.
---
Days passed, and the pressure grew relentless.
Ash's quills went missing before exams, his ink replaced with water. Pages in his assigned tomes were ripped out, leaving him scrambling during recitations. A common-born boy who once studied with him appeared one morning with a blackened eye, whispering, "They told me not to sit near you again."
Ash's hands curled into fists beneath his desk, his silence speaking more than rage.
The Codex whispered sharper now, pressing like a blade against his thoughts:
"This is no longer testing the walls—it is the slow grinding of siege engines. They seek to starve you, demoralize you, and isolate you until the strike comes. Preempt them, Ash. Choose one, strike him down, and the rest will scatter."
Ash shook his head slightly as the instructor droned on at the front. No. Not yet.
"Not yet?" The strategist's soul almost hissed. "You would allow them to dictate the pace? In war, surrendering initiative is death."
But Ash held firm. He wouldn't play Caius's game—not yet.
---
One night, in the mess hall, Garrick slammed his tray onto the table opposite Ash. His normally cheerful face was grim, brows furrowed.
"This is going too far, Ash. They're not going to stop."
Ash stirred his stew slowly. "I know."
"Then why aren't you doing anything?!" Garrick's voice cracked loud enough to draw glances. He leaned in, lowering his tone. "You're letting them pick at you, piece by piece. Soon there'll be nothing left."
Ash's eyes lifted, calm but cold. "If I act now, I prove them right. That I'm dangerous. That I don't belong."
Garrick groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's what you need to be—dangerous. Better dangerous than broken."
Ash didn't answer.
But the Codex murmured approvingly of Garrick's words: "At last, the fool speaks sense."
---
Later that night, Ash walked alone past the torchlit halls of the academy. The stone corridors were quiet, banners swaying in the draft.
But above, in the tower chamber, Caius stood at the window, watching.
"A serpent strikes not in haste," Caius whispered to himself. "But when the prey no longer sees the grass move."
Below, Ash paused, eyes narrowing, as though he could feel unseen eyes piercing his back.
The serpent was coiling. And the noose was almost ready.
---