The bells rang late that morning, as if the Academy itself had needed time to catch its breath. The chain's memory still weighed on every corner of stone, and though no one said it aloud, all knew: something had shifted.
Students moved in clusters, their whispers sharper than ever.
"Team Two touched a relic.""Gold almost broke.""Aldery… he tamed it.""What sort of power bends a god's chain?"
The words followed Ernest into the yard, though none dared speak them where his black eyes could hear. He walked with the same steady pace, his face calm, merciless in its silence. Yet around him the air pressed heavier. He could feel it—the Academy turning its gaze toward Team Two.
Rowan walked at his flank. His jaw was tight, but not with pride anymore. He carried himself differently now, shoulders squarer, his step less restless. No longer the boy who sought noise; now he followed silence, and it steadied him.
Mikel trailed just behind, his stride unhurried, his eyes sharp on every shadow. He spoke little, but his presence was a weight that held the others steady, as stone holds walls.
Celina walked apart, as always. Her emerald gaze looked ahead, her golden hair catching every shard of sunlight. Students still parted for her—not for who she was, but for the curse that clung to her like flame. Her wrist trembled faintly beneath her sleeve, but her face remained unflinching.
They were a shape now. Four, moving together, yet each distinct. The Academy saw it, even if the team themselves had yet to name it.
The morning lecture passed in uneasy silence. Halvern droned about resonance patterns and the old wars, his chalk scratching symbols onto the slate. The priests did not attend. Yet their absence pressed heavier than their presence had the day before. Every student knew: silence was only waiting.
Rowan's gaze slid to Ernest more than once, as if to confirm something he hadn't yet decided to believe. Mikel took notes in his neat, steady hand, though he never needed them. Celina's emerald eyes remained fixed on the front, but once—only once—they flicked sideways to Ernest.
When the bell rang, the class emptied in a rush of whispers. Team Two lingered.
Rowan broke the silence first. His voice was low, rough, but steady. "We need to speak."
Ernest nodded. "Lecture room five. After drills."
Celina's lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "Yes."
The afternoon yard rang with the sound of wood on wood. Serren barked louder than usual, his staff striking stone, sweat running down his brow. He drove them harder, as if to burn away the weight of yesterday.
"Blades! Cut clean! No waste! Again!"
Rowan fought with sharper focus now, his blade moving in arcs that carried purpose rather than pride. His breath came ragged, his hands blistered, but he did not falter.
Mikel's rhythm was steady, each strike clean, each guard unbroken. He was the kind of fighter others forgot to notice until the field cleared and he remained, calm as always.
Celina disarmed her partner in three moves, her flame flickering beneath skin, the curse gnawing, but her control absolute. She did not boast, did not falter.
Ernest cut lines of silence into the air. His blade never wasted motion. Even Serren's sharp eyes lingered only a moment before moving on. Approval enough.
By dismissal, sweat dripped from brows, breath burned lungs, but Team Two walked from the yard with steps that matched.
Lecture room five was small, its walls etched with chalk dust and the stale smell of oil. The window looked west, where the trees stood dark, as though they remembered the goblin horn. A single lamp burned on the table, its light thin, steady.
Ernest closed the door. Silence assembled.
Rowan spoke first. "The relic. The chain. You touched it and it—obeyed." His voice wavered, but only with the weight of what he'd seen. "That isn't… human."
"It doesn't matter what it is," Ernest said. His tone was calm, unyielding. "It matters that it obeyed."
Rowan's jaw clenched. He nodded slowly. "Then I'll follow it. Whatever it is, I'll follow. Better to march with a commander than stumble alone."
The words hung heavy. He had sworn without knowing he had.
Mikel's steady voice filled the space that followed. "You turned noise into discipline, Ernest. Rowan stands straighter now because of you. The priests may test us, but you—" He paused, searching for the word. "You hold us."
Rowan flushed, but he did not deny it.
Celina leaned back, her emerald eyes sharp in the lamplight. "Chains bowed to you. The curse bowed to you. Even beasts kneel. You command what should not be commanded."
Her words were not accusation, nor praise. They were recognition, spoken with the weight of someone who understood what it meant to wear chains.
Ernest's gaze met hers, calm, merciless. "Everything bends."
For the first time, her lips curved—not in amusement, but in something closer to respect. "Perhaps."
Silence stretched. The lamp burned. The four of them sat in its light, bound not by oath, not by ritual, but by shared recognition.
Evening fell, the dining hall alive with whispers.
"Team Two is different.""They move together now.""Gold follows Aldery's silence. Stag no longer mocks. Rane anchors them all.""They're dangerous."
Rowan sat straighter, pride tempered into discipline. Mikel ate in calm silence, his steadiness an answer to all questions. Celina ignored the stares, her emerald eyes sharp, her beauty sharper still. Ernest ate without word, his silence heavier than every whisper.
The Academy watched. The priests watched. But Team Two—at last—had begun to see themselves.
In his chamber, Ernest lit his lamp low. He opened his notebook.
Rowan—noise dulled. Loyalty forming. Follows silence.
Mikel—anchor constant. Words few, weight heavy.
Celina—curse gnaws, but she bends it. Recognition grows. Respect forming.
Team Two moves as shape now. Four, but one shadow. The Academy sees it. Priests see it. Useful, dangerous.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard below lay silver under moonlight. Across the green, Celina's candle burned again, unwavering. Rowan's window was dark—he slept heavy now, no longer restless. Mikel's lamp glowed steady, faint but constant.
His reflection met his gaze. Pale. Calm. Merciless.
"The forest bent," he whispered. "The nobles bowed. The beast knelt. The chain obeyed. And now… the team begins to march."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"Four, but one shadow. I am the Voice that commands—even in silence."