The bells tolled in the gray dawn, their echo carrying across frost-slick stone. The students stirred, voices already buzzing with rumor, but the whispers had sharpened. They were no longer idle speculation. They were intent.
"They rise too high.""They bend what none should.""If the priests cannot break them, we must."
The words passed from noble to noble, slipping between silken cloaks and sharpened smiles. The Academy had become a board, and every heir a piece. At the center of the game stood Team Two — too visible, too dangerous.
In a shadowed alcove near the eastern courtyard, four heirs huddled close. Their houses were not the greatest, not the most powerful, but within the Academy, ambition carried weight.
"They shame us all," hissed one, his cloak embroidered with a hawk in silver thread. "Chainbound, mirrors — every trial bends to them. If Aldery commands beasts and curses, then what worth remains for the rest of us?"
"He is no noble," another muttered. "He is blasphemy wrapped in silence. If the priests do not strike soon, he will climb above us all."
A third heir leaned closer, his smile sharp. "Then let us strike first. Not with blades — too dangerous, too visible. But with shame. With division. Break his team, and his silence will crack."
"And how?"
"Rowan Stag. Pride is his weakness. Bait him into folly. Make him stumble. Make him yield without Aldery's shadow. The hall will laugh. The priests will see. Their unity will fracture."
"And Celina?"
"Court her. If she bends, Aldery bends. If she spurns, rumor will sharpen until her curse consumes her."
"And Rane?"
"Stone cracks if cut away. He is steady, but steadiness is not strength. Isolate him, and he is nothing."
The fourth heir frowned. "And Aldery himself?"
The one with the hawk emblem smiled faintly. "He will not move — not unless pressed. That is what we want. If he reveals his power in open day, in front of nobles and priests alike… then even silence will not shield him."
Their laughter was soft, thin, and hungry.
When Team Two crossed the courtyard that morning, the nobles' whispers were sharper, their stares less hidden. Cloaks swished as knots of students broke apart, only to reform behind their backs.
Rowan felt it at once. The weight of eyes. The curve of mocking smiles. His chest burned, pride begging for release.
Mikel noticed too, but only slowed his stride. His calm eyes swept the stones, marking every glance too sharp, every laugh too brittle.
Celina's emerald gaze flicked across the crowd, her cursed wrist trembling faintly. She saw nobles lean close to whisper her name, their smiles honeyed but their eyes sharp. She did not flinch. Her silence cut sharper than any answer.
And Ernest — Ernest walked calm, merciless. His black eyes did not search, but they saw. Every whisper, every glance, every plot was weighed and remembered.
The yard drills began with Serren's bark. His staff cracked stone, his voice thundered commands. Blades struck, sweat flew, pride flared.
But beneath the noise, the trap was set.
The hawk-emblazoned heir stepped forward, his voice loud. "Rowan Stag!"
The yard stilled.
"You call yourself heir, yet in the mirrors you faltered. Without Aldery's shadow, you are nothing. Prove otherwise."
Rowan's breath caught. His face flushed hot. His pride roared.
Mikel's calm hand touched his arm. "Noise," he whispered.
Rowan stiffened. His pride screamed, but he swallowed it.
The noble smirked. "See? He hides behind silence. The Stag bends."
Laughter rippled.
Rowan snapped. "I do not bend!" His blade was out, his stance sharp.
The heir grinned. The trap had sprung.
They clashed. Steel against wood, shouts echoing across the yard. Rowan fought hard, pride driving his arms. Sweat poured down his brow, his breath ragged. His opponent pressed steadily, every strike measured, every glance gleaming with mocking triumph.
Rowan staggered once. His blade faltered. Gasps rose.
The noble sneered. "See? Without Aldery, you are nothing."
Rowan roared, striking harder, reckless now. His pride burned, but his form cracked. He stumbled again, blade wide.
The noble raised his weapon for a finishing blow.
"Enough."
Ernest's voice cut through the yard. Calm. Merciless.
The noble froze mid-strike. His body stiffened, his eyes widened. His blade slipped from his hand.
Gasps erupted.
"He commanded him.""Not beast. Not chain. A noble heir."
The heir collapsed to his knees, trembling, his smirk shattered.
The yard fell silent.
Rowan panted, shame and fury battling on his face. He had nearly fallen — and Ernest had saved him, not with shield or blade, but with word.
The nobles' whispers swelled, sharper than ever.
That evening, the dining hall seethed. Nobles clustered in corners, their voices sharp.
"They saw. He commanded him.""Not beast. Not chain. A noble.""Heresy.""Power."
Rowan sat stiff, his appetite gone. Shame burned in him — shame that he had faltered, that Ernest had needed to act. Pride warred with gratitude, leaving only bitterness.
Mikel ate steadily, unshaken. His calm eyes swept the hall, but he gave no words.
Celina sat apart, as always, though her emerald gaze flicked toward Ernest once, recognition sharper than before.
Ernest ate in silence. His black eyes gave nothing. He listened. He remembered.
At the far end, the conspiring nobles whispered bitterly. Their plan had not broken Team Two. Instead, it had revealed more — too much.
That night, Rowan broke.
"I shamed us," he whispered, voice raw. "I nearly fell. You had to—" He choked on the word. "You had to command him."
"Yes," Ernest said calmly.
Rowan's fists clenched. "Now they know. Now they'll never stop."
"They were never going to stop," Ernest said.
Mikel's voice was steady. "Noise bends. We remain."
Celina leaned back, her emerald eyes sharp. "They saw more than noise. They saw what you are, Aldery. And they will not forget."
Ernest's gaze met hers. Calm. Merciless. "Nor will I."
The silence that followed was iron.
That night, Ernest wrote:
Nobles moved. Rowan baited. He faltered. I commanded. Too visible.
Whispers sharper. Some call heresy. Some call power.
Rowan's pride burns, but bends. Mikel steady. Celina sharper. Recognition deepens.
Nobles will not stop. Priests will not wait. Storm sharpens.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard lay pale in moonlight. Celina's candle burned steady. Rowan's lamp flickered 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. And now nobles themselves kneel."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"Let them. I am the Voice that commands — even in silence."