The bells tolled with clarity, their sound carrying bright against the cold stone of the Academy. Yet for all their clarity, no one listened to the bells that morning. The voices of noble heirs drowned them, sharper and louder than they had ever been.
The Trials had not only tested Team Two. They had changed the Academy itself.
"They faced a chainbound and lived.""They shattered illusions.""Aldery commands things no man should.""Gold's curse flared, yet she bent it.""Stag faltered, but sharpened.""Rane — steady as ever. Stone unshaken."
The words ran like wildfire through every corridor, spilling from lips gilded with ambition and sharpened with envy.
The Academy was no longer a place of quiet rivalries. It had become a chessboard, and every heir knew it. The pieces had shifted, and at the center of them stood Ernest Aldery and his team.
When Team Two crossed the courtyard, every gaze followed. Cloaks rustled as nobles turned, voices dropping to hushed tones.
Rowan flushed under the stares. Once mocked for faltering, now weighed as though he were suddenly something worth notice. Pride rose in him like fire, but shame gnawed still at its edges.
Mikel walked calm as ever, unhurried, his stride steady. He noticed the glances but gave them no weight.
Celina moved apart, as always, her emerald eyes fixed forward, her beauty too sharp to ignore. Whispers of her curse slithered through the air, but no one dared speak too loudly. Her silence made their voices brittle.
And Ernest — Ernest walked with the same unbroken calm. His black eyes swept the courtyard, not to meet gazes but to mark them. He did not answer whispers. He did not slow. His silence bent the air, and the nobles bent with it.
By midday, the dining hall buzzed with more than clatter of cutlery. Nobles clustered in corners, voices hushed yet urgent.
At one table, three heirs of middling houses leaned close.
"If we stand with Aldery, we will rise," one whispered. "No priest could break us, no rival could touch us."
Another scoffed. "Stand with him? He is no shield — he is blade. And blades cut even those who wield them."
"But better to grasp a blade than face it," the first pressed.
At another table, two heirs of higher blood spoke low.
"The Gold girl is key. Beauty, curse, power. If she bends to him, then bending her means bending him."
"And if she does not?"
"Then she burns with him."
Across the hall, Rowan felt their gazes burning into his back. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to turn. Pride warred with fury in his chest.
Mikel chewed steadily, unbothered. He noticed, of course, but calm was his armor.
Celina ignored them, her emerald eyes cool, her hand steady on the goblet though her cursed wrist trembled faintly beneath the sleeve.
And Ernest ate in silence, calm, merciless. He heard it all, but he gave no answer.
That afternoon, after drills, a noble heir from House Valestine — older, taller, his cloak rich with silver thread — approached Rowan.
"Stag," he said smoothly, his voice sharp as steel. "You fought well in the mirrors. A pity Aldery's voice steadied you, or else we might have seen your true worth."
Rowan stiffened, his pride flaring. "My worth is mine alone."
The heir smiled faintly. "Then prove it. Duel me. Without Aldery's shadow over you."
Rowan's hand twitched toward his hilt, but Mikel's steady hand touched his arm.
"Noise," Mikel said softly.
Rowan froze. His pride screamed, but he swallowed it. The noble smirked and walked away.
Whispers rose immediately. Stag refused. Stag hides behind Aldery's silence.
Rowan burned with shame, though Ernest's calm black eyes rested on him for only a moment. No words. No judgment. That was sharper than any rebuke.
That evening, as nobles gathered in the common hall, a young heir with gold pins in his hair approached Celina. He bowed low, his voice sweet.
"Lady Gold. Your flame dazzled even in chains. Perhaps… perhaps you deserve more than to stand in Aldery's shadow. My house would honor you. We would lift you higher."
Celina's emerald eyes turned on him, sharp as glass. Her cursed wrist trembled faintly beneath her sleeve.
"My curse is mine," she said coldly. "And my place is not for you to name."
The boy's smile faltered. He retreated quickly.
Whispers spread. Gold spurns all. Her curse burns too deep. She is dangerous.
Celina sat apart once more. But when she glanced across the room, her eyes met Ernest's for a heartbeat. He gave nothing, but his silence weighed heavier than any answer she could have spoken.
Few approached Mikel. His quiet calm earned no admiration, no schemes. To most nobles, he was a shadow, an anchor unnoticed.
But Ernest saw. He watched how Mikel's steadiness held Rowan from folly, how his silence gave weight to Celina's defiance, how his calm anchored even his own silence.
And Ernest remembered.
No one dared approach Ernest directly. Whispers swirled, plans grew, but none could stand before his black gaze. His silence was heavier than their ambition.
Some plotted letters home, asking their parents how to treat the Aldery boy. Some whispered sabotage, or schemes to break his team apart. But none acted yet. None dared.
For now.
That night, in the quiet of lecture room five, Rowan burst first.
"They treat us like pawns. Pieces to bargain with, tokens to claim."
"They are nobles," Ernest said calmly. "That is all nobles do."
Rowan's fists clenched. "And you? You don't care?"
"I remember," Ernest said. His black eyes were merciless.
Mikel nodded. "Noise is noise. Discipline cuts it."
Rowan muttered curses under his breath, pride warring with shame.
Celina leaned back, her emerald gaze sharp. "They will not stop circling. They will test. They will try to claim, or to break. One of us will be pulled."
"And they will fail," Ernest said. "Noise bends. We remain."
The silence that followed was heavy, but it was a silence of iron, not of fear.
That night, Ernest wrote in his notebook.
Nobles circle. Some seek alliance, some seek to cut. Celina eyed as key. Rowan whispered as weakness. Mikel marked as anchor.
Noise louder, but noise bends.
They dare not approach me yet. Their fear sharpens their hunger. They will act soon. And when they do, they will bend too.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard lay pale in moonlight. Across the green, Celina's candle burned steady, Rowan's lamp glowed faint, Mikel's light constant.
His reflection stared back — pale, calm, merciless.
"The forest bent. The nobles bowed. The beast knelt. The chain obeyed. The mirrors cracked. Now the heirs whisper as priests do. Let them."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"I am the Voice that commands — even in silence."