The bells tolled hard enough to shake dust from rafters. The Academy woke uneasy; voices were sharp, laughter brittle. The priests had lingered too long after yesterday's drill, their pale gazes heavy as chains. Students felt it in their bones: something would break.
Ernest dressed with calm hands. His satchel lay neatly packed, blade polished, uniform pressed. He closed the trunk with a soft click. The air in his chamber was cold; his breath fogged against the glass. Across the courtyard, Celina's candle burned out only when the bells fell silent, as if she'd waited for morning to give her permission.
The corridor buzzed with rumor.
"They'll test again today.""Not drills. Something else.""Priests whisper to instructors at night."
Ernest walked through the noise. It parted.
Lecture hall three was colder than stone should be. The oculus cast a pale circle of light; dust swam in it like motes of ash. Magister Halvern stood at the dais, his spectacles dull with shadow. Beside him stood two priests, robes white, eyes too bright.
"Today," Halvern said, voice clipped, "a test of control under pressure. Containment. Discipline. You will not flinch."
He gestured. Servants rolled in a heavy iron cage. Inside: a beast half-wolf, half-shadow, its eyes red coals, its claws too long for flesh. It snarled, teeth clattering against the bars.
The class flinched. Whispers rose.
"Abyss hound—""They're using that?""It'll kill someone—"
"Silence," Halvern snapped. His staff struck the floor. "Teams will restrain the beast. Bind it, not kill. Control. Fail, and the priests will record your weakness."
The priests' smiles were thin.
Team Two was called first. Of course.
Ernest rose without haste. Celina walked beside him, calm as ever, though the curse at her wrist pulsed faintly. Rowan followed, blade clenched, pride buried under grit. Mikel brought up the rear, steady as stone.
The cage door groaned open. The beast burst free—fur bristling, claws raking, a snarl tearing the air.
"Rowan," Ernest said, his voice steel.
Rowan moved left, blade flashing. His swing cut air, loud, deliberate, drawing the hound's eyes.
"Mikel."
The honest blade shifted right, stance low, steady, his wooden sword biting into the beast's flank just enough to stagger.
"Celina."
Her hand lifted. Green-white flame burst forth, bright, caged. The curse bit her wrist; her face did not break. Fire hemmed the beast, not burning, but blinding.
Ernest stepped forward, black eyes narrowing. His voice slid out, low, quiet, edged with power.
"Kneel."
The beast froze mid-snarl. Its eyes widened, blood-red dimming. Its legs trembled. Claws scraped stone as it sank, unwilling, but obeying.
The hall went silent.
Ernest's gaze sharpened. "Still."
The beast stilled. Breath heaved, but it did not move. Its eyes rolled, terror blooming.
The priests leaned forward. The old one with white lashes smiled faintly. His lips moved. He saw. He knows.
Ernest stepped back. "Bind."
Rowan lunged, rope snapping around legs. Mikel tied knots firm. Celina's fire held the beast's eyes down.
Halvern's staff struck the ground. "Containment complete."
The class exhaled as one. Whispers rose, sharp as knives.
"Aldery's voice—""The beast… it obeyed.""Not natural. Not human."
The priests whispered to one another. Their eyes gleamed.
After dismissal, Rowan approached, sweat streaking his brow. "You—your words. You made it obey."
"Yes," Ernest said.
Rowan hesitated. Then: "I don't care how. You saved us."
Mikel nodded. "Control. That's victory."
Celina's eyes met Ernest's. For the first time, she spoke the truth aloud: "You command what even gods curse."
The words hung heavy, dangerous. The priests were listening.
Ernest inclined his head, calm, merciless. "Noise is small. Control is victory."
Evening fell thick. The dining hall buzzed louder than ever.
"Team Two bound the beast.""Aldery spoke. It obeyed.""Gold's curse didn't break her. Stag fought steady. Rane—stone.""The priests saw everything."
Ernest ate in silence, whispers circling like wolves. Across the hall, Celina's emerald eyes caught his once, long enough for recognition to spark. Rowan sat straighter, no longer mocked, his pride tempered. Mikel's calm anchored the table.
The priests sat apart, their white robes a pale wound in the room. The old one watched Ernest with eyes like frost.
In his chamber, Ernest lit his lamp. He opened his notebook.
Priests escalated. Loosed abyss hound. Veil held.
Voice commanded beast. Too visible. Must be masked.
Rowan—loyalty forming. Pride shaping into purpose.
Mikel—anchor. Unbreakable.
Celina—curse gnawed, but she endured. Fire bent to her will. She saw too much.
Priests know. They hunger.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard lay below, silver in moonlight. Across the green, Celina's candle burned again—steady, unwavering, as if daring the gods to break it.
His reflection met him in the glass. Pale. Calm. Merciless.
"The forest bent," he whispered. "The nobles bowed. The class learns. The beast knelt."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"And the priests—let them circle. They too will kneel. I am the Voice that commands—even in silence."