The field grew quiet after Exousia and Sebastian disappeared into the trees. The fading echo of Exousia's indignation—"I will find out how you cheated!"—finally died away, leaving only the rustle of the wind.
Leaves settled on the scorched patch of earth where a pillar of fire had raged only moments ago. The air still smelled faintly of ozone and burnt grass.
Arion adjusted his collar where he had been grabbed, smoothing out the wrinkles with annoying casualness. "Well," he said lightly, dusting ash off his shoulder. "She's energetic. I feel tired just watching her."
Sophia didn't respond. She was watching him. Not lazily, as she usually did. Not irritated, as she often was. She was studying him. Like a biologist looking at a new, potentially invasive species.
"You didn't chant," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I rarely do. Takes too long."
"You reinforced your arm before my kick landed. And you cast a barrier inside a third-circle fire spell without a geometric base."
"I just reacted."
"That's not how reaction works, Arion. Reaction is flinching. You didn't flinch. You rewrote the laws of physics in a nanosecond."
He shrugged, kicking a pebble with his shoe. "Physics is flexible if you ask nicely."
She stepped forward, her boots crunching on the dry grass. The playfulness vanished from her face. "Hold still."
"That never ends well," Arion muttered, but he stopped moving.
"Arion."
He obeyed, lowering his hands.
She reached for his left forearm, lifting it slightly. She expected to feel heat—the residual warmth of a body that had just used high-density mana. But his skin was cool. She pushed up the sleeve of his blazer. The fabric was intact. His skin was unblemished. No burn marks. No bruising. No residual heat distortion.
Her kick had been real. It was a move that could dent steel plate. He should at least have scorch damage. He should be wincing.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign of pain. There was none. "You reinforced your body," she murmured. "Full skeletal and muscular enhancement. Instantly."
"I didn't think about it."
"That is the problem."
He blinked, looking genuinely perplexed. "For you?"
"For the Academy." She dropped his arm, though she didn't step back. "Students don't do that by accident, Arion. Masters do that by accident. You are walking around with the instincts of a veteran war-mage, pretending to be a clumsy older student."
Her gaze shifted to the ring. The silver band sat quietly on his finger. Unassuming. Innocent-looking. It looked like a trinket one might buy at a street festival for two copper coins. But after seeing it swallow a pillar of fire, it looked like the most dangerous thing in the forest.
She reached for his hand.
He stiffened just slightly—a micro-movement of surprise—but he didn't pull away. Her fingers wrapped around his left hand. His palm was calloused, rougher than the soft, lotion-smooth hands of the noble students she was used to.
She lifted his hand to eye level, examining the ring closely. The silver was dull, lacking the polish of enchanting metals like Orichalcum or Mithril.
"What does it do?" she asked.
He tilted his head, looking at his own hand as if seeing it for the first time. "…It's a ring."
"Arion."
"It was a gift."
"From your master."
"Yes."
"And you never asked what it does?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He looked genuinely confused by the question. As if she had asked him why he breathed air. "She told me not to take it off."
"That's it?"
"Yes. She said, 'Keep this on'."
"That doesn't concern you?"
He thought for a moment, weighing the memory. "…Not really."
Sophia stared at him. The breeze blew a strand of hair across her face, but she didn't brush it away. "You're wearing unknown enchanted jewelry made by a 'terrifying woman' who trained you in forbidden ancient magic, and you don't care what it does?"
He gave a small, easy smile. It was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Teacher, if she wanted me dead, I wouldn't need a ring for that. She could do it with a spoon."
The statement was said casually. That made it worse.
Sophia looked back down at the band. She needed to know. She poured a thin thread of her mana into it. Gently. Testing. Usually, an enchanted object would flare, or vibrate, or push back against foreign mana. The ring did not flare. It did not reject her.
It ate it.
Her mana vanished into the silver like water into a crack in the desert floor. But then, something inside it shifted. Subtle. Heavy. Like a vault door closing quietly in a deep, dark room.
She withdrew her mana immediately, a shiver running up her spine. "…It responded."
"To you?"
"Yes. It felt… hungry."
He looked at it with mild interest, twisting it slightly on his finger. "It always does that?"
"No."
He shrugged again. "It tightens sometimes."
Her eyes snapped back to him. "Tightens?"
"When I overdo things. Or when I get too… excited. It squeezes."
"How much is 'overdo'?"
He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Hard to say. Usually when I try to use magic the 'normal' way. It doesn't like that."
"You've never tried removing it?"
"No."
"Why?"
He met her gaze calmly. His eyes were dark, and for a moment, the laziness was gone, replaced by a terrifying kind of acceptance. "Because she said not to."
The simplicity of that answer unsettled her more than if he had given something complicated. It wasn't fear. It wasn't loyalty. It was absolute, unthinking obedience. A dog trained not to bite the hand that feeds it, even if the hand is holding a knife.
She released his hand slowly. The contact broken, the air between them felt colder.
"From now on," she said carefully, adopting her teacher voice to mask her unease, "if it tightens—even a little—you stop. Immediately."
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
He didn't respond. He just adjusted his sleeve, covering the silver band again.
The wind passed between them again, carrying the sound of distant chatter from the main campus. She looked at him differently now. Before, he was an anomaly. A funny older student. A problem for her paperwork. Now, he was a variable she could not calculate. A sealed vessel.
"You chose me," she said suddenly.
"Yes."
"Why? Truly?"
He answered without hesitation. "You looked bored."
She stared at him. "That is not a serious answer."
"It is."
A pause. "Look at the others," Arion said, gesturing vaguely toward the invisible castle. "Exousia wants glory. Sebastian wants knowledge. The Principal wants order. They are all… trying. So hard. All the time."
He looked at her. "You were the only one at the ceremony who looked like you wanted to go home and take a nap. You weren't trying to impress anyone."
Her brows knit slightly. "That's your selection criteria? Laziness?"
"Comfort," he corrected. "I like quiet. You looked quiet."
Silence lingered. Sophia processed this. He hadn't chosen her for her hidden talent, or her lineage, or her potential. He chose her because she represented the path of least resistance. In a way, it was insulting. In another way, it was the most honest thing anyone had said to her in years.
Then she exhaled softly, the tension leaving her shoulders. "You are reckless."
"I prefer uncomplicated."
She turned away slightly, folding her arms. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows across the field. "From tomorrow, we train before sunrise."
"That early?" Arion groaned, his face falling. "I take it back. I should have picked the energetic one."
"Yes. 5:00 AM."
"Why? Are you punishing me?"
"To avoid gossip," she said sharply. "And to avoid stupidity. If you are going to use forbidden ancient magic, you are going to do it when the Principal is asleep."
He smiled faintly. "Alright. 5:00 AM."
She began walking back toward the academy. Her long coat swished around her ankles. After a few steps, she stopped. She didn't turn around. She stared at the castle turrets in the distance.
"If your master returns…" she said, her voice carrying clearly across the grass.
He waited.
"…I want to meet her."
He laughed lightly. It was a dry, hollow sound. "No, you don't."
That answer made her pause. For just a fraction of a second. Then she continued walking, her pace slightly faster than before.
Arion remained standing in the field alone. He glanced at the ring. It looked completely ordinary. Just a piece of silver. He tapped it once with his thumb.
"Don't tighten randomly," he muttered to the band. "She's sharp. She'll notice."
The ring gave no response. It just sat there, cold and heavy.
The wind moved through the grass, whispering secrets he tried hard to ignore. And in the distance, the academy bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the beginning of his new, complicated life.