"You've met him already, haven't you? Gelrad?"
A man in a teacher's robe stepped in slowly, his long beard flowing, hair already streaked with white. His eyes were sharp, his face calm, but he carried the air of someone who pulled strings from the shadows. He stood near the door, eyeing Gelrad perched on a chair in front of a table cluttered with glass vials and bottles.
Gelrad whipped his head around, a grin spreading across his lips. "Yeah, just like you figured—he's pretty intriguing," he said casually, his hands still wiping up a spill on the table.
He got to his feet, rearranging the little bottles, swapping out the empty ones, and tucking a small note into his pocket. His workspace was a mess as always, splashed with red, green, and purple liquids still steaming faintly all his own experiments.
"This year's applicants are something else, huh?" Gelrad said, hopping back onto the table, knees pulled up a bit. "All from such high places... nobles, future heroes, folks who think this academy's got a spot waiting just for them."
As he talked, he stuck out his tongue a little at the man standing there—pure instinct, a habit he couldn't shake.
The man fixed him with a piercing look. "Stick to the plan. Don't overdo it, got it?" His voice was flat, but the tone carried enough weight to make Gelrad's grin falter just a touch.
"Sure, sure, no worries," Gelrad replied, still laid-back but dialing down the jokes. "Why would I mess up the plan anyway? Hell, I'm enjoying watching these nobles turn into monsters."
He said "monsters" lightly, but there was a gleeful edge to it, like he'd been waiting for this day forever.
The man chuckled softly, dipping his head. "Good. Oh, and don't forget Sophie Dola. We need her in place."
He raised his right hand, pressing a finger to his lips—a subtle signal they both understood, a reminder that Sophie Dola's name was locked into the part of the plan that couldn't afford a single slip.
Gelrad nodded, a bit more serious now. "Of course. I'll play it just how she wants," he said, his voice light but no longer empty.
The man glanced at the workbench one last time—the bottles, the dripping liquids—then back at Gelrad. "Take care of yourself," he murmured. "We're not there yet."
"I know," Gelrad shot back with a firm nod.
As the man turned and slipped out, closing the door softly behind him, Gelrad sank back onto the table. He stared out the small window at the faint silhouette of Asnia's towers, a thin smile curling his lips.
"What kinda face you gonna give me this time, Sophie? Heh." He let out a small giggle, a laugh that bubbled up unbidden, then hopped down, brushing off his uniform stained with potion splatters.
He headed to the door, twisting the worn wooden handle, and shut the experiment storeroom behind him with care. But as he stepped out, his foot nearly collided with someone standing right there in the narrow corridor.
Gelrad halted fast, chest heaving with a quick breath.
"Oops—" he muttered, straightening up and looking up with a startled glance.
Before him stood a tall guy with red hair, broad shoulders, and a sharp face, hair slicked back neat. His expression screamed irritation at bumping into anyone this close. He sized up Gelrad with eyes that measured him, like deciding if the kid was even worth noticing.
"Get out of my way," his voice rumbled, heavy and commanding, echoing down the corridor like a low thud that stirred the air.
Gelrad swallowed, but didn't rise to the bait. He flashed a smile, right hand shooting up quick to calm things. "Ah, sorry about that—total accident," he said, voice pitched a little high but sounding genuine.
The red-haired guy stared a second longer, then brushed the air near Gelrad's shoulder like swatting away a pest. He strode past, tall frame moving with arrogance, like everyone around him was beneath notice. Gelrad just watched his back, stepping aside to give plenty of room.
Once the guy was far enough, Gelrad let out a quiet breath and muttered under his breath, "Tch, what a power-tripping ass. Thinks I can't fight back, huh?"
He grumbled low, like a kid who'd spent too long watching others and built up a habit of it. Still, he had no plans to chase or challenge. He eyed the corridor a moment, then walked off in the opposite direction, his pocket rustling with each easy step.
Meanwhile, afternoon light was bleeding into evening outside. Footsteps echoed across the grounds, mixed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional clatter of dropped things as students rushed about. Asnia Academy had wound down for the day. The grand gates stood open, letting those done with classes spill out toward the city, their homes, or new alleys to explore.
Alen lingered near the gate's edge, shifting one foot forward, then back. He stretched his muscles slow, shoulders rolling up, neck twisting side to side with a faint crack of joints in the air. He drew in a breath of the soft evening breeze, then let it out easy.
"Not bad at all," he murmured. "Even lighter than that madman's lessons."
A faint smile tugged at him, his thoughts drifting to Andreas—his adoptive father, always pushing him past his age, drilling exercises no kid should endure, leaving him screaming in the night more than once. But looking back now, Alen felt the academy was far more human than Andreas's old ways.
"Time to head home, huh?" he said softly, like confirming it to himself.
He glanced down at the bustle before the gates. Amid the shuffling feet, chatter, laughs, and little shouts, Alen felt like he was seeing a world that echoed his past but felt worlds apart. The one he'd known as Cyrus was all fire and ash, endless risings from ruin. This one was calmer, no burning buildings, no screams, just the gentle glow of city lights and everyday hum.
"I don't want this peace to change," he whispered even softer, speaking to himself, or maybe to shadows of the past he never fully let fade. "For me... for my people... for everything I missed to get here."
He breathed deep again, savoring the quiet amid the noise, before stepping through the gates, blending into the flow of students heading away.
On the walk, Alen strolled easy, taking in the capital sprawling below Asnia's hill. The sky softened to gray, and the city's grand buildings stood clear like pieces of a vast, tidy puzzle. Streetlamps flickered on along the roads, carving soft lines of light over narrow paths, the sign that the city was waking its night face.
Down the hill, the capital thrummed, shops glowing, vendors at their stalls, kids darting sidewalks, evening wind tousling Alen's white hair.