Aeron POV
Aeron stayed exactly where he was.
The root around his ankle did not hurt.
That somehow made it worse.
Pain was simple. Pain meant anger, danger, a very respectable reason to panic.
This felt calm.
Deliberate.
Far more terrifying.
He turned slowly toward Angelina, moving with the care of a man who had just realised he was in the presence of a dangerous, elegant tigress.
She stood by the bench, evening light behind her, black hair edged in gold. Her expression had barely changed.
If anything, she looked more amused now.
Aeron swallowed.
"I was already leaving," he said, aiming for calm and landing somewhere around fragile.
Angelina's gaze dipped to the root around his ankle, then back to him.
"I know."
That did nothing for his peace of mind.
Aeron looked at the root.
Then at her.
Then back at the root.
He tugged at his leg.
Nothing.
He tried again with slightly more force while pretending it was the exact same amount of force.
The root did not move.
Angelina watched in silence.
Aeron slowly straightened.
This was humiliation.
Elegant, beautiful humiliation.
"Sit," Angelina said softly.
Aeron looked at the bench, then at her, then at the root around his ankle, which had clearly accepted her authority faster than he had.
He sat.
The root loosened at once and slipped back into the ground with obscene obedience.
Aeron stared after it.
'Even the plants listen better than I do.'
Angelina stepped closer and sat beside him with effortless poise, like awkwardness had never been allowed near her.
Aeron kept a respectful distance.
Mostly because every instinct in him was trying to flee in six directions at once.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The pond rippled ahead of them. Gold light deepened into amber over the sea of clouds beyond the academy.
Then Angelina turned slightly.
"You really were trying to escape."
Aeron kept his eyes forward.
"Yes."
A pause.
"At least you are honest."
"That was not strategy," Aeron admitted. "That was survival."
A soft sound left her.
Almost a laugh.
Which somehow felt even more dangerous.
When Aeron glanced at her, he immediately regretted it.
Because she was looking at him now.
Properly looking.
With interest.
That was somehow worse than annoyance.
Her green eyes held his, vivid even in the fading light, the jagged shape at their centre seeming brighter now.
Then Angelina leaned slightly closer.
It was a small movement.
It changed everything.
Most people would probably have leaned back.
Aeron did not.
His brain had stopped supporting actions that required dignity, self-preservation, or common sense.
So he stared.
In awe.
In open admiration.
Nothing impure.
Just the helpless appreciation of someone seeing something extraordinary up close and realising reality had no business being this unfair.
'It really is different.'
'Seeing someone through a screen and seeing them in real life are completely different things.'
'This is absurd.'
'She actually looks like this.'
Something in Angelina's expression shifted.
A small crack in her calm amusement.
Surprise.
Then her eyes sharpened.
The green in them brightened.
Aeron felt a faint pressure brush against his thoughts, light but close enough to make him suddenly aware of every stupid thing happening inside his own head.
Angelina leaned a fraction closer.
"…You're strange."
Aeron blinked.
That seemed fair.
Her gaze stayed on him.
"I can practically see your thoughts."
Aeron's soul nearly left through his mouth.
Of course she could.
Of course it had to be one of those abilities.
'Right. Emotion vision.'
'Wonderful. Everyone loves having their internal collapse turned into visible colours.'
The faint curve of Angelina's lips deepened.
Aeron froze.
Did she—
No.
Surely not all of it.
Only enough to ruin his life.
Her eyes dimmed slightly.
Then she asked, "What class are you in?"
Aeron opened his mouth.
"…Spade."
That got a reaction.
Small, but clear.
"Spade?"
Aeron regretted answering instantly.
She looked at him again, more carefully now, as though trying to place a face she should have known.
"I didn't know someone like you was in—"
She stopped.
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"What is your—"
Aeron's trait twitched.
His body tensed before his thoughts caught up.
Something beneath the bench—beneath her—felt wrong.
A faint pulse.
Hidden.
Unnatural.
His gaze dropped.
There.
His chest tightened.
"Wait."
The word came out low and sharp.
Angelina's eyes flicked to him.
Then the ground beneath her flared.
A magic circle burst into existence under the bench, black and crimson lines blazing outward. Power snapped through the air hard enough to make the evening feel split open.
Angelina's expression changed instantly.
Her hand moved—
And stopped.
Her eyes widened.
"My mana—"
Gone.
Black iron erupted upward.
Bars.
Thick, jagged bars shot up around her seat and slammed shut in less than a breath.
Clang.
Angelina jerked against them on instinct.
Nothing moved.
She was trapped.
Aeron stood half-risen, heart hammering as the peaceful corner of the academy turned wrong in an instant.
Then he heard footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Almost silent.
Aeron turned.
A student stepped from the dim path beyond the hedges. At first glance, he looked ordinary. Black hair. Lean build. Calm face. The sort of person Aeron would have forgotten a second after seeing him.
Which somehow made him worse.
The second-year stopped a short distance away. His gaze passed over the cage around Angelina, then shifted to Aeron.
His hand moved.
A small black sphere dropped from his fingers and struck the ground.
Aeron felt it instantly.
His trait twitched hard.
It was not an explosion.
It was separation.
A sharp, unnatural division, as though a piece of the world had just been cut away.
The air changed.
The space changed.
This place had been isolated.
Angelina's eyes hardened.
Then the boy spoke, voice quiet and calm.
"You should have let him leave."
The evening stayed still for half a breath.
Aeron stared at him.
Ordinary.
And yet every instinct in him was pulling tight.
His trait had already judged the distance between them.
C-rank.
The knowledge settled into him coldly.
Angelina, trapped behind the bars, kept her eyes fixed on the boy.
The second-year looked at her, then back at Aeron.
"If the principal were still here, this would have been troublesome."
Aeron's heartbeat thudded harder.
"But he is gone for now." A pause. "And you are simply unfortunate enough to be here."
Aeron felt deeply offended by how accurate that was.
'Gone?'
'What does that mean, gone?'
Why am I being included in this? I did not apply to be included in this.
Then the boy's outline shimmered.
The disguise gave way in ripples, like a reflection breaking apart.
His frame narrowed, sharpened, became something built more for killing than classrooms. A white hood fell over his head, shadowing his face, and a pale cloak draped from his shoulders. Along its edges ran a single red line, looping like blood pulled into pattern.
Simple.
Clean.
Distinct in exactly the worst way.
Aeron's confusion deepened.
'That is definitely not academy uniform.'
'That is also not in the story.'
The boy lifted one hand.
Tiny sparks skipped over his fingers before vanishing.
Lightning affinity.
Great.
Because apparently this evening was still not dramatic enough.
The hooded figure's gaze settled on Angelina.
"I am from the Frayed," he said.
Aeron blinked.
The what?
The name meant nothing to him.
Not vaguely familiar.
Not half-remembered.
Nothing.
The figure continued.
"I am here for the one who still follows the proper thread."
Angelina's eyes narrowed from within the cage.
"And that is supposed to mean something to me?"
"It does not need to."
A faint spark slid across his fingers and vanished.
The hooded boy looked at her for another moment.
"Kyle Vireth Svant has already stepped away from it. Lyra Vanthel as well."
His voice remained even.
"But you have not."
The silence that followed felt thin.
"You remain where you are meant to be."
Angelina's gaze turned colder.
"And because of that?"
"You are still of use."
Aeron's thoughts tripped over each other.
'Use? For what?'
'What proper thread?'
This did not feel like ordinary danger.
It felt misplaced.
Like something had entered the story from the wrong direction.
The boy took one slow step forward.
"The principal is gone. Your mana is sealed. This place is cut away."
His hood turned slightly toward Aeron.
"And he is only here by misfortune."
Aeron did not appreciate being summarised so efficiently.
"The only reason I have explained even this much," the boy said quietly, "is because neither of you will be in a position to speak of it."
Then his gaze shifted fully to Aeron.
After all—
"You should have let him leave."
The words fell over the pond like a second silence.
Aeron tensed.
Oh no.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. The air felt thinner. Angelina was trapped, the space around them had been cut off, and the second-year stood there with lightning flickering over his fingers like none of this required effort.
And Aeron—
Aeron had never actually been in a real fight before.
Not a proper one.
He had watched them. Analysed them. Avoided them with tremendous dedication.
But this?
This was his first.
'No, no, no.'
'I am an extra.'
'Extras are supposed to be elsewhere.'
Thin strands of mana stirred through him on instinct, and that only made the panic worse.
Across from him, the hooded boy stayed calm.
Certain.
Like he had already decided how this would end.
From inside the cage, Angelina's voice cut in, steady and low.
"Do you have a way to leave?"
Aeron's throat felt dry.
His eyes stayed on the second-year, shoulders tightening as the reality finally settled in.
His first fight in the story.
And he was catastrophically unprepared.
The assassin's ring glowed.
A knife appeared in midair.
Aeron saw it above him for a single instant, watching the black blade begin to fall point-first toward his face.
Then it vanished.
Not fully.
Just enough for the metal to disappear and leave only a crackle of pale lightning in its place.
Aeron's eyes widened.
His body moved before his thoughts did.
He twisted hard to the side.
A streak of lightning ripped past his cheek.
Heat snapped against his skin.
The bench behind him exploded apart a heartbeat later.
Wood and splinters burst into the air.
Aeron stumbled two steps across the stone path, breath catching in his throat as he stared at the ruined bench.
His mind arrived late.
'What?'
'What was that?'
'Why did my body already move?'
Behind him, the assassin lowered his hand slightly, as if testing something.
Aeron felt it then.
That thin, awful sensation under his skin.
His trait.
Not speaking. Not warning.
Just pulling at him.
The world looked wrong.
Threads of movement. Tiny shifts in intent. The angle of the assassin's wrist. The tension in his shoulder. The place the next attack would be before it happened.
Aeron's stomach dropped.
'No.'
'No, I do not want this responsibility.'
The assassin moved first.
His arm flicked once, almost lazily, and a dagger cut through the air toward Aeron's chest.
Aeron twisted aside on instinct.
The blade passed so close he felt the air split against his uniform.
His foot scraped across stone as he stumbled out of the line of attack—
Then his trait screamed.
Not in words.
In tension.
A thin tendril.
Barely visible.
Wrapped around the dagger's hilt like a strand pulled taut through the air.
Aeron's eyes widened.
The assassin's fingers curled.
The tendril tightened.
The dagger yanked back.
'The boss has a Phase two?!'
Not toward its owner.
Toward Aeron's spine.
"Oh, come on—"
Aeron threw himself forward.
The blade flashed through the space where his back had been a heartbeat earlier, missing him by inches before snapping back into the assassin's hand.
Aeron landed badly, caught himself, and staggered another step away.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.
'It comes back too?'
'Of course it comes back too.'
The assassin watched him in silence beneath the white hood.
Then the ring on his finger glowed again.
A second dagger appeared.
Then a third.
Aeron's face tightened.
"No," he muttered. "No, can we calm down?"
The first dagger came from the front.
Aeron leaned away.
The second vanished mid-flight.
Lightning cracked at his left.
Aeron ducked with a strangled sound as the blue-white streak tore over his head and detonated into the hedge behind him.
Leaves burst apart.
The third came low.
He barely got his leg clear.
The assassin did not pause.
His hand moved again.
Dagger.
Tendril.
Vanish.
Lightning.
Return.
Everything started happening too quickly for Aeron to think through properly.
He could only move.
Step.
Twist.
Duck.
Flinch.
Barely.
Again.
Again.
Stone cracked where lightning struck. Scorched leaves and splinters littered the path. The quiet corner by the pond had turned into a death trap in less than ten seconds.
And Aeron was surviving by fractions.
Not skill.
Not planning.
Fractions.
Another dagger spun toward his throat.
He bent back.
It missed.
The tendril tightened.
The blade reversed instantly and ripped back toward his face—
Aeron hurled himself sideways so hard his shoulder screamed, and the dagger hissed past his ear.
He stumbled, nearly lost his footing, and only then realised something deeply horrible.
His body was seeing it first.
Not his eyes.
Not fully.
His body.
The assassin's wrist shifted.
Aeron moved.
The tendril tensed.
Aeron moved.
The ring glowed.
Aeron moved.
His trait dragged him through the fight ahead of his own thoughts, stitching danger together from details his mind had not yet caught up to.
Somehow, that was worse than the attack itself.
No.
No, I do not want to be good at this.
Across from him, the assassin finally tilted his head.
A small movement.
Interested.
That was not encouraging.
From inside the cage, Angelina's voice cut through the chaos.
"You can read him."
Aeron nearly got stabbed again from the emotional damage alone.
"I would like," he said, ducking another dagger, "to clarify—"
The dagger vanished.
Lightning burst at his side.
Aeron jumped back as the strike tore through the stone where he had just been.
"—that read is an extremely generous word!"
He was breathing hard now.
Too hard.
His legs already burned.
And the assassin had still not taken a real step back.
That was the worst part.
He was testing him.
Aeron saw it suddenly.
The spacing of the throws. The timing of the recalls. The way the lightning only came after forcing him into narrower angles.
This was not just an attack.
It was pressure.
The assassin was herding him.
Learning how he moved.
Learning how far he could dodge.
Learning when he would break.
Aeron's stomach dropped.
'Oh, this is bad.'
'This is very bad.'
Another dagger flashed toward him.
Aeron slipped to the side.
The tendril tightened at once.
He saw the return path.
No—
Not just the return path.
The next throw too.
High front.
Low right.
Then lightning from the blind spot.
The pattern snapped together in his head a split second before it happened.
Aeron's eyes widened.
He dropped flat.
The recalled dagger sliced through the space above him.
A second blade shot across where his ribs had been.
Then lightning cracked behind him exactly where he would have retreated if he had stayed standing.
For half a second, even the assassin went still.
Aeron lay on the ground staring up at the darkening sky, chest heaving.
Then, very breathlessly, he said,
"I hate this."
The assassin's ring glowed again.
This time, slower.
More deliberate.
Aeron pushed himself up, breathing unevenly, eyes fixed on the hand.
His panic was still there.
Still enormous.
But something else had started to rise underneath it now.
A sick, sinking understanding.
He could not keep doing this.
He could not dodge forever.
Sooner or later, the assassin would close the gap, and half a second would be enough.
The assassin's ring glowed again.
This time, slower.
More deliberate.
Aeron pushed himself up, breathing unevenly, eyes fixed on the hand.
His panic was still there.
Still enormous.
But something else had started to rise underneath it now.
A sick, sinking understanding.
He could not keep doing this.
He could not dodge forever.
Sooner or later, the assassin would close the gap, and half a second would be enough.
His hand twitched.
For one desperate instant, Aeron thought of Iori.
Of the space mark left on him.
He could feel it even now, faint beneath the chaos, like a warped pressure resting quietly against his skin. One touch. One press. That was all it would take.
Iori would be here.
Immediately.
Relief hit him so hard it almost made his chest ache.
Then Aeron stopped.
No.
His fingers curled into his palm.
Not yet.
From the cage, Angelina's voice came again, lower this time.
"If you keep retreating, you'll die."
Aeron swallowed hard.
Yes.
Wonderful.
Very motivating.
Another dagger formed in the assassin's hand as pale sparks crawled over his fingers.
Aeron straightened slowly, threads of mana trembling around him without command, thin and unsteady in the air.
His hands shook.
His breathing refused to calm.
But his gaze stayed on the assassin.
He was done looking like prey.
Not because fear had left him.Because there was nowhere left to run.
Aeron met the assassin's gaze.
His first real fight had begun.
Now he had to fight back.