The evening sun poured amber over the fields.
Rheia stood before the window, brushing her hair. Her eyes lingered on the far mountains, her hair swaying gently with the rhythm of the wind.
She saw Avon.
He walked toward the bench beneath the Ashwood. A pair of headphones hung around his neck, and a sword rested in his hand.
He gave the blade a short swing before sitting down, placing it beside him on the bench.
Then he put the headphones on, leaned back, and lay down—eyes closed, hands folded behind his head.
He lost himself to the music.
Through his closed eyes, he saw a shadow move across his eyelids.
He opened them.
To his right, in front of the training post, Rheia was swinging his sword like a cat batting with its paw. Yet her breathing carried the rhythm of a seasoned fighter.
Avon's lips curved as he watched her fight.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with a mocking smile.
"I'm fighting," she replied without looking.
"The sword is your enemy?"
"So this is how it feels to be an Eldrin." She turned toward him—then the sword slipped from her hand. She moved quickly, trying not to hurt herself.
"Hey… you're gonna hurt yourself." Avon rose from the bench.
"I'm sorry." She picked the sword up with both hands and walked toward him.
She pointed it at him.
"Now you're trying to kill me?" Avon said again, that same mocking smirk on his face.
She looked confused.
He reached out, gently took her wrist, and turned the sword horizontally.
"This is how you hand over a sword."
He took it from her and threw it toward the training post—the blade spun once through the air before striking dead center, burying itself deep in the trunk with a sharp, solid thud.
"Why the sudden interest in fighting?"
"No… it's just, I've never touched a sword before." Rheia brushed her hair aside as she spoke.
She sat down at the end of the bench.
"Who taught you the sword?" she asked again.
"Mostly Uncle Barren—and my brother, Aaron. Why? You wanna learn?"
"No, I was just asking." She looked at him. "Can you show me how you guys use RHI? I saw Ethan using it. Yours is wind too, right?" Her eyes held her curiosity.
Avon looked at his palm. She saw his expression shift; his face grew distant as he slowly tightened his fist.
"I don't have RHI."
"But… you're an Eldrin, right?" She frowned in confusion.
"So, where is Arya? There are places you should see. Veymont is a beautiful place." Avon stood up.
"She's with Ethan, I guess."
They both walked toward the estate.
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Edward sat alone in the library, a book open in his hand. One leg crossed, a glass of scotch balanced in his grip; he let his eyes linger on the page without reading. Rows of shelves stood silent behind him.
"Ed… I was looking for you." Freya stood in the doorway.
"I need your advice, dear," he said, his voice low and weary.
She walked to him, slipped behind the chair, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her hands crossed at his chest, her cheek resting against his neck.
"I noticed," she whispered. "What weighs on you?"
"Avon…" Edward said, his hand brushing against hers. "Lately I've felt this weight—as if something is coming for him. Something I can't see."
Her silence pressed him to continue.
"At first I thought Avon might take after his father. But instead… he's showing more of his Demian side. I don't know… but still—the feeling won't leave me." He bowed his head slightly.
"You're overthinking, dear," Freya said, moving to face him. "I'm concerned too. Avon has his struggles, yes—but he's our son. He knows what to do, and what not to."
"I know," Edward admitted, setting the glass aside. "But the world is pressing too hard on him."
Their eyes held. Then she leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips, grounding his unease as she hugged him.
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Trrr…
The interval bell echoed down the crowded hallway. Arya and Rheia walked side by side toward the lockers.
"So, what are you wearing tomorrow night? For the party?" Arya asked.
"I don't think I'm going to make it," Rheia murmured, brushing her hair back. "I'm not used to that kind of thing."
"Why not? It's fun. And the perfect chance to check out the boys." Arya grinned, bumping her shoulder playfully against Rheia's.
"I'm not sure…"
Arya stopped at her locker, leaned closer, and tapped a finger against Rheia's forehead.
"Okay, listen, dummy. After school, you're coming with me. We'll raid my wardrobe and find you something. No excuses."
Rheia didn't answer, but her silence said yes.
They slipped their books into the lockers, switching into sports sneakers as the chatter of the hallway swelled around them.
"Split into five or six and team up, got it?" the PE teacher barked from the sideline, his whistle swinging against his chest.
"And no ditching this time!" he shouted, his tone sharper.
The girls broke into groups. Rheia lingered at the edge, shifting awkwardly, caught between circles. After a pause, she slipped into the nearest team.
Her unease showed in every small motion—tucking her hair behind her ear, adjusting her sleeves, keeping her gaze low.
She took her place in the back row.
Thwack!
The server tossed the ball high and smacked it over the net. The rally snapped into motion. Shoes squeaked, voices called. Then—
A spike slammed from the other side, the ball cutting fast toward Rheia.
She froze. At the last moment, she stumbled aside, the ball thudding against the floor by her feet.
Heat rushed to her face as the other team cheered.
"You have to pass it to someone!" Arya hissed from across the net, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Rheia dragged in a breath. Her hand twitched toward her hair, then stopped. She planted her feet instead, eyes narrowing.
Next time—she wouldn't dodge.
Tap!
The serve launched.
Slap!
The ball struck her square in the face.
She staggered back, hands flying to her nose as the court froze. Then laughter broke on one side, jeers from another.
"Oh God—let me look!" Arya darted under the net, pulling Rheia's hands away. A thin red line trailed from her nose.
"Blood!" Arya gasped, panic spiking her voice.
"Take her to the infirmary!" the PE teacher barked from the sideline.
Arya slipped an arm around her shoulder and guided her off the court. Rheia kept her head down the whole way, every stare in the yard burning against her skin.
"I think it's stopped. You can go back, Arya," Rheia murmured, slowing her steps.
"No, we should get you checked."
"It's fine. I can go alone."
Arya hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'll go."
Reluctantly, Arya jogged back toward the court.
Rheia glanced over her shoulder. Arya was already laughing again with her teammates. Before turning away, a faint smile touched Rheia's lips.
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A short while later, she returned from the infirmary with a wad of cotton stuffed in her nose. She didn't even glance at the volleyball court.
Instead, Rheia drifted toward the football ground and sank beneath a tree, alone.
The sun hung high, its weight pressing down even in the shade. From the field, cheers and shouts carried wildly across the yard.
"You have to come back. I've seen chickens fight better than them," a teacher barked near the sideline.
Then his tone shifted, dropping lower. "Why did you stop? If it's about your parents…" He paused. "…I could talk to Mr. Hawkbane."
Hawkbane? Avon?
Rheia peeked around the tree. Avon's eyes flicked toward her, and she ducked back quickly, breath catching.
He was sitting beside the Jujutsu Club coach.
"It's not that. I'm just bored," Avon said evenly. "Like you said—the others are like chickens."
"I didn't mean them, Avon. With you, we could take this team to nationals," the coach pressed.
Avon shook his head. "Not anymore. My goals have changed, Coach."
"You haven't given it up completely, right?" the coach asked, studying him.
"No," Avon admitted, his gaze drifting across the field. "Never will."
The coach sighed, then smiled. "Listen, kid… on that path, you'll be standing against the whole world. All I can do is wish you luck."
Avon smirked faintly. "I like that energy in you, Coach."
The man rose with a chuckle. "Anyway—good luck, Avon. I'd better get back to these chicks."
He strode toward the court, leaving Avon stretched out on the grass as he plugged an earbud in his ear, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the wide sky.
From behind the tree, Rheia lingered in silence. She peeked again through the branches.
"What's a pretty girl doing here all alone?"
The voice cut through the air—sharp and taunting. It was the same boy Avon had fought before. A bandage ran across his nose.
Before Rheia could answer, a few more boys in football jerseys closed in, dropping into the grass around her, hemming her in.
"She's in our class, Shawn," one of them said.
"I heard you're a fucking Demian. Is that right?" Shawn pressed, leaning closer.
Rheia's pulse spiked. Her chest tightened; breath came shallow. Sweat slicked her palms as she sat frozen, refusing to meet their eyes.
"I'm sorry. I just… I need to go," she said quickly, pushing herself up.
"Hey, sit down. It's not like I asked you to spread your legs," Shawn sneered, his fingers closing around her wrist, tugging her back down.
"Please… I want to leave. I have things to do." She twisted, trying to free her hand.
"Uh… uh…"
A deliberate cough cut the air.
Avon shifted, rising from the grass until he sat upright—his gaze fixed on the field ahead.
"Hey, dipshit. I didn't know you were back. How was your off day?" Shawn called out, sneering as he spotted him.
"Now you're picking fights with girls?" Avon said with a faint smile. "Ohh, right—they won't hurt you, huh?"
Shawn chuckled, stepping closer. "Oh, how were the days back home? What did you say to your daddy?"
"My father?" Avon rose slowly, dusting his palms. "He said congrats—for fighting like a man."
Shawn's grin widened. "Father? Was it Edward? I can't see his RHI… or was it someone else?"
All of them burst out laughing at Shawn's words.
Avon snapped upright.
His fist tightened, knuckles whitening. Jaw set, he started toward Shawn.
Shawn lifted his hand and twisted his wrist.
A stone jerked up from the ground—then shot forward, hurtling toward Avon.
Avon didn't even flinch. He snapped the stone aside as if it were nothing—then drove his fist straight into Shawn's face, right where the bandage was.
Shawn hit the ground with a groan.
The others rushed toward him—
Whoooosh!
A blast of wind ripped through the field, hurling dust into the air and driving them back.
Avon exhaled, eyes closed, and turned back.
"Didn't you just get back today? After the suspension?" Ethan stood a few yards behind him, watching in silence.
"Why do you care?" Avon shot back.
"Hey, dimwits! Take him to the infirmary!" Ethan yelled toward the others, seeing Shawn still on the ground.
"Then fight and die." Ethan turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Avon sat back down in the same spot where he'd been resting before.
Rheia stood frozen, a silent onlooker. She had no idea what had just happened.
The field fell silent—a witness to it all.