The Academy's banquet hall was a cathedral of wealth. Chandeliers of cut crystal burned with magefire, their light reflected in gilded mirrors. A long table stretched the length of the chamber, laden with silver dishes, jeweled goblets, and platters of delicacies brought from every corner of the empire.
Here, appearances mattered more than blood. One could win more with a glance or a word than with a sword. It was the place where reputations rose—and where fools were fed to wolves.
Lucian remembered it well.
In his first life, he had walked into this hall as prey. He had been mocked, humiliated, cornered until he fled in shame. His disgrace had fed the nobles' laughter for years.
This time, he entered with his chin lifted, every step measured, every breath a calculation.
The moment he crossed the threshold, whispers followed.
The crownless dares to appear.He humiliated Renard—let us see if he can survive the banquet.He'll be chewed to bones before the night is over.
Lucian ignored them. His gaze swept the hall like a blade, cataloguing faces. Calvus Renard, surrounded by sycophants, his smile sharp with malice. Alaric Veynar, lips curled in a sneer. Dozens of others, each eager to see him stumble.
And there, in the corner, Seren Veyra and Kael Draven. Outcasts among outcasts. They gave him small, sharp nods.
My pack, Lucian thought. Small, but growing.
He took his seat at the lower end of the table, the place reserved for the weakest. The sneers that followed were expected. He let them roll off him like rain.
The banquet began with toasts. Silver goblets clinked, voices rang with hollow cheer. Food was served—roasted fowl, spiced venison, fruits glazed in honey.
But beneath the laughter, Lucian felt the tension coil. Tonight was not about food. It was about spectacle.
The trap was coming.
He did not wait long.
It began with Calvus Renard rising to his feet, goblet raised high. His golden hair gleamed in the candlelight, his voice smooth, practiced.
"To our honored guests of Class D," he declared, eyes glittering with mockery. "May they one day rise high enough to lick the boots of those above them."
Laughter erupted.
Lucian did not move. He sipped his wine, expression calm, letting the insult hang unanswered.
Calvus smirked, emboldened. "And to Lucian Ardelion, who shocked us all in the courtyard! Surely it was luck—or perhaps a trick. A man of his blood could not truly best a Renard."
All eyes turned. The hall hushed, waiting for Lucian to stumble, to defend himself, to lash out and be torn apart.
Lucian set down his goblet. His voice was calm, almost conversational.
"You flatter me, Renard. To speak my name in every breath—one would think you are my herald, not my rival."
Gasps rippled. Some students smothered laughter, not at Lucian, but at the jab.
Calvus's smile faltered.
Lucian leaned back, fingers steepled. "But if you insist on wagers of luck, let us make one. Before all here, let us see whose fortune fails first."
Calvus's eyes narrowed. "A wager?"
Lucian gestured smoothly to the table. "A simple game. Three goblets, two filled with wine, one with vinegar. Blindly chosen. Whichever of us drinks the vinegar loses. Do you dare risk your fortune?"
The hall buzzed. Nobles leaned forward eagerly.
Calvus hesitated. He could not refuse—cowardice before the crowd was worse than vinegar. And he could not see Lucian's hand, not yet.
"Very well," Calvus said, his grin returning. "Let us see your luck run dry."
The servants prepared the goblets, shuffling them. The hall watched in silence as the two boys faced one another across the table.
Lucian's gaze never wavered. In my past life, you made me drink dirt and laughed as I gagged. This time, I will make you swallow poison with a smile.
Calvus reached first, lifting his goblet with dramatic flair. Lucian lifted another, smooth and unhurried. Together, they drank.
Sweet wine touched Lucian's tongue. Across the table, Calvus's face twisted as vinegar burned down his throat.
The hall erupted. Laughter, cheers, jeers.
Calvus slammed his goblet down, eyes blazing. "You cheated!"
Lucian's smile was faint, sharp as glass. "No, Renard. I adapted."
Whispers spread like wildfire. He outplayed him again.Renard humiliated twice in a week!
Calvus seethed, his hands trembling. He could not strike here, not before so many witnesses.
Lucian leaned forward, voice low enough for only him to hear.
"Careful, Calvus. If you keep falling at my feet, people will start calling you my shadow."
The prodigy's face went scarlet.
The banquet did not end there. Other nobles tried their hand, testing Lucian with barbed words and subtle traps. But each time, he turned them aside, his replies precise, his restraint unshakable.
Where once he had been the banquet's fool, tonight he became its storm.
And when the feast ended, it was not his shame that followed him into the night, but the nobles' unease.
Later, back in the dormitory, Seren studied him with narrowed eyes.
"You didn't just survive tonight. You dominated it. Do you realize what you've done?"
Lucian poured himself a glass of water, his movements calm. "Yes. I showed them that a crownless wolf does not bow at the table. He makes others choke on their pride."
Kael barked a laugh, slapping the table. "Gods above, Renard's face! I thought he'd vomit vinegar all over the silver."
Seren shook her head. "You've made yourself a target of half the noble houses."
Lucian's gaze sharpened. "Good. Let them aim higher. Wolves grow fatter on reckless prey."
But even as he spoke, far above in a private chamber, a different group of nobles gathered.
Alaric Veynar leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes cold. "He makes fools of us. Twice now. This cannot stand."
A voice from the shadows replied, smooth and chilling. "Then it shall not. We need only strike in the dark, where no laughter shields him."
The room fell silent, the weight of an unspoken plan hanging in the air.
The banquet had ended, but the hunt had begun.
And Lucian, though he smiled in his dormitory, felt the shift in the wind.
The wolves were sharpening their knives.