Chapter 72 – Excellence Camp – Duel Hall XII

Ashern City, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan sat on a bench alongside Farrah, who remained close to him as they both looked out at the park across the street. The area they had chosen had minimal foot traffic—just a few scattered passersby and the occasional merchant with a small cart. The festival's main activities were concentrated elsewhere, leaving this corner of the city relatively peaceful.

Farrah hadn't said anything since they'd arrived. She just sat in silence with him. Bryan was thankful for that. He wasn't even sure he wanted to say anything—what could he say after breaking down like that?

They'd been sitting here for thirty minutes in complete silence. The only sounds were distant festival music, the rustle of leaves in the light breeze, and the occasional laughter of children playing in the park.

Bryan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was still focused on looking forward, her dark curls stirring slightly in the breeze, her profile serene against the backdrop of trees and festival banners. Her long ears occasionally twitched, picking up sounds beyond his range of hearing.

‘How could I?’

He couldn't believe he had let himself have a moment of weakness. The tear that had escaped felt like a betrayal of everything he'd been taught. Emotions were vulnerabilities—openings that could be exploited. He wondered how she saw him in that moment, if her perception of him had changed.

Farrah was holding his hand, her thumb caressing the back of it in small, soothing circles. The gesture was simple but somehow grounding, as if she were tethering him to reality with that gentle touch.

"I was an orphan."

Bryan said suddenly, the words escaping before he could reconsider.

Farrah remained silent, but she turned to look at him, her thumb stopping its movement on the back of his hand. Her green eyes were attentive, but she didn't push or prod—just waited.

"My memories of then are fuzzy at best, but it wasn't the best time living there with white hair, red eyes, and how my skin is. I was just treated... differently."

Bryan ran his free hand through his hair, feeling the strands slip between his fingers.

He had no plans to share, to go into depth about his background. It was the farthest thing he wanted to do. Yet, as they sat in silence he couldn’t help but want to give a piece of himself away.

The tinest of pieces.

"It's natural though. People fear what they don't know, what they can't understand."

He stared at a small pebble on the ground near his foot.

"I don't blame them."

"I'm sorry."

Farrah said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Her apology was unwarranted, something she did not need to say. It was as if she was saying the words he would have liked to hear from the other kids ten so years ago.

If they said it back then, or even now if he were to encounter any of them, maybe, just maybe he would have felt something. But right now? In his current state, it fell on deaf ear.

Bryan shrugged as he looked up at the sky. A few wispy clouds drifted overhead, their edges tinged with gold from the afternoon sun.

"Then one day my dad came and got me, and that was the end of it."

"Adoptive?"

Farrah asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

Bryan shook his head, then let out a hollow laugh that contained no humor.

"I'm not even sure about that anymore."

They fell silent once more. Bryan wondered if he had overshared, revealed too much of himself. This wasn't like him—opening up, showing vulnerability. Yet something about Farrah made it feel... possible.

He looked over and saw Farrah was back to gazing at the park, her thumb resuming its gentle caress on the back of his hand. Her expression was thoughtful, but not pitying—he was grateful for that.

"Why aren't you asking more questions?"

Bryan asked, studying her profile.

Farrah shrugged, a small movement that caused her curls to bounce slightly.

"This isn't about me."

"I thought you'd be trying to pry."

Farrah shook her head as she turned to look at him, her green eyes meeting his red ones directly.

"I have questions."

She admitted.

"But I'm not willing to push for them if it means losing you in the process."

Bryan looked away from her, unable to hold her gaze. Her honesty was disarming, her concern genuine in a way he wasn't accustomed to.

"Thanks."

Farrah laughed lightly, the sound warm in the quiet space between them.

After another fifteen minutes of comfortable silence, Farrah hopped up from her seat and turned to face him. The sudden movement sent a small cloud of dust rising from the ground around her feet. She made a gesture with both hands, inviting him to grab them.

Bryan obliged, surprised by his own willingness to accept the contact. Her hands were warm and smaller than his, but her grip was firm as she pulled him up from the bench.

"Time to head back?"

He asked, assuming their moment of peace was over.

"Nope, not even close."

Farrah said, a playful smile spreading across her face.

"Then what? Back to the duel hall?"

"Nope, not even close."

She giggled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Want to take another guess?"

"No."

Bryan said flatly.

"Good, because you were going to miss it by a mile anyway."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, setting off down the cobbled street with a purposeful stride. Bryan followed, allowing himself to be led through the winding streets of Ashern City.

As they walked, he saw a black mouse scurrying along a windowsill to his right. His pulse quickened, but when he blinked, the creature was gone—just another hallucination, or perhaps a real mouse this time. He couldn't be sure anymore.

Farrah took him to a more crowded area, where festival-goers browsed merchant stalls and street performers entertained small gatherings. The scents of various foods filled the air—spiced meats, fresh bread, sweet confections.

She approached a stall selling food, the vendor a middle-aged woman with flour-dusted hands and a cheerful smile.

"Two sweet Kushari. And one sweet roll, please."

Farrah ordered, pointing to the items displayed on the counter. The Kushari—sticks piercing through slices of fried meat alongside vegetables—sizzled on a grill behind the vendor, while the sweet rolls—light brown balls on sticks—were arranged in neat rows.

For a moment, Farrah's image flickered before Bryan's eyes, replaced by another woman—taller, with long black hair—before flashing back to normal. Bryan turned to look over his shoulder, searching for the source of the illusion, but there was nothing unusual among the festival crowd.

Farrah passed him one of the Kushari, the stick warm against his palm.

"Here, eat something."

They walked away from the stall, weaving through the crowd. Bryan bit into the Kushari, the meat soft and tender, seeming to melt in his mouth. The blend of spices was pleasant, warming him from the inside.

"Good, right?"

Farrah asked, already halfway through her own.

Bryan nodded, continuing to eat as they strolled through the festival. After finishing the Kushari, Farrah split the sweet roll into two halves and gave one to Bryan. He ate it slowly, the sweetness dissolving on his tongue, leaving a lingering taste of honey and cinnamon.

"I like eating these, but I have to watch how many I get because I could eat sweet rolls all day."

Farrah admitted, licking a crumb from her finger.

"Young couple over there! Do you want to play a game?"

An older man called out to them from where he sat on a blanket spread on the ground. Several cups were arranged face down before him, with small trinkets displayed at the edge of the blanket.

They approached, and the old man smiled, his face creased with deep wrinkles that spoke of a life spent outdoors.

"One copper tale, all you have to do is follow the dice and win a prize."

Bryan noticed Farrah looking at a blue trinket on the blanket—a small, misshapen creature with bulging eyes and an oddly endearing ugliness.

Bryan pulled out one copper tale from his pocket. He'd only grabbed some coins because he was in the city; otherwise, he would never have bothered with them.

The older man smiled and showed Bryan the dice before tossing it into the air and covering it with a cup before it hit the blanket. He started moving the cups around, his weathered hands working with surprising dexterity, going faster and faster until the cups were a blur.

The older man stopped and spread his hands.

"Where's the dice?"

Bryan pointed to the man's right hand.

The older man raised a bushy eyebrow.

"It's in your right hand."

Bryan stated confidently.

The older man opened his right hand, revealing the dice, and chuckled.

"I must be slowing down. Well, pick a prize."

Bryan reached down and grabbed the ugly blue trinket that he had noticed Farrah glance at earlier.

"Here."

He said, handing it to her.

Farrah smiled, her eyes lighting up as she accepted the small figurine.

"Thanks."

She turned to the older man.

"Can I try?"

"Sure, one copper tale."

Farrah passed him a coin, and he started the game again, this time moving his hands a bit quicker than before. The cups blurred together as he shuffled them across the blanket.

When he finished, Farrah pointed at the center cup. The older man raised it, revealing the dice underneath.

"Pick a prize."

He said, gesturing to the collection of trinkets.

Farrah selected a red figurine that matched the blue one in style and handed it to Bryan.

"I don't want that ugly thing."

Bryan said, eyeing the misshapen creature with distaste.

"You have to take it."

Farrah insisted, pushing it toward him.

"I wouldn't be caught dead with that thing."

"Take it."

Farrah's tone left no room for argument, her expression a mix of amusement and determination.

Bryan looked at her face, then reluctantly took the trinket and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Enjoy the festival."

The older man told them with a knowing smile as they walked away.

Farrah and Bryan continued through the festival, playing a few more games. Farrah ended up getting Bryan his own mask—a simple design with red and gold accents that he refused to wear but carried nonetheless.

The activities were simple, but Bryan found himself enjoying the simplicity of it all. There was something refreshing about these mundane pastimes after weeks of intense training and the recent chaos in his mind.

After finishing a game where they had to put a ball through a tiny hole—which Bryan won, earning another ugly trinket for Farrah—they encountered a young girl sitting alone on a bench. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, her small shoulders hunched and trembling slightly.

Farrah approached the child, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying.

"What's wrong?"

Farrah asked gently, kneeling to the girl's level.

The kid wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Timmy pushed me and ran away."

Her voice was small and wobbly with unshed tears.

"Why did Timmy push you? And where did he go?"

Farrah asked, her tone gentle.

"I don't know. We were playing, and then the other boys came and said Timmy likes me. Then he pushed me and ran away saying no he doesn't."

The little girl's lower lip trembled as she spoke.

Farrah reached out and gently wiped the child's tears away with her thumb.

"Sometimes people say things they don't mean, and he didn't mean to hurt you. Sometimes people hurt the ones they like when they don't mean to."

She tucked a strand of the girl's hair behind her ear.

"What's your name? And where are your parents?"

"I'm Cindy. My mom is at the restaurant. She said that I could come out and play."

"Let's get you back to your mother."

Farrah suggested.

"No!"

Cindy protested.

"I'm going to wait for Timmy."

"Timmy is gone."

Bryan said flatly, earning a fresh wave of tears from Cindy.

"He's not gone!"

She wailed, her small hands balling into fists.

Farrah shot him a look that clearly told him to shut up, and he did, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘I hate kids.’

Bryan thought as he away from Cindy.

"Did he say he was going to be back?"

Farrah asked, turning her attention back to Cindy.

"No, but he told me he was going to take me back to his mom before he ran off."

Cindy sniffled, wiping her nose again.

Farrah looked at Bryan.

"We should wait around."

Bryan nodded, leaning against a nearby post as he watched how naturally Farrah interacted with Cindy. She had a way with children that he'd never possessed—or needed.

After about five minutes, Bryan noticed a small boy peeking from behind a stall, watching them. The child ducked back whenever Cindy looked in his direction.

"Cindy, does Timmy have brown hair and a purple shirt?"

Bryan asked, nodding subtly toward the stall.

"Yes."

Cindy replied, perking up slightly.

Bryan motioned to Farrah, who followed his gaze to where Timmy was hiding. She motioned for Bryan to go get him.

He shook his head firmly.

Farrah glared at him, her green eyes narrowing.

Bryan scratched the back of his neck and reluctantly walked off toward the stall. How was he supposed to bring Timmy over to Cindy? He briefly considered simply picking the kid up and dropping him in front of the girl—it would be efficient, if nothing else.

Bryan ended up behind Timmy, who was still peeking around the edge of the stall.

"It's not nice to peek."

Bryan said, causing the boy to jump and spin around.

"You!"

Timmy exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Yup, me."

Bryan confirmed.

"You shouldn't have pushed Cindy. Go over there and say you're sorry so I can leave."

Timmy looked down at his feet, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground.

"I can't."

Bryan sighed, his patience already wearing thin.

"Just say the words."

"No, I can't."

Timmy insisted, his voice small but stubborn.

"Why not?"

"I told Cindy I would get her that mask she wanted, but now it's gone. How am I supposed to apologize without it?"

Timmy's distress seemed genuine, his small face scrunched with worry.

"That's it? Just a mask?"

Bryan asked incredulously.

Timmy nodded slowly.

"Alright, what about something else?"

"Like what?"

Timmy asked, looking up with a flicker of hope.

Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out the few trinkets Farrah had won for him during their time at the festival.

"Will any of these do?"

Timmy looked at them and immediately grabbed the red figurine Farrah had given Bryan—the very first one.

Bryan snatched it back.

"Hold on, not that one."

Timmy reluctantly returned it, then pointed to a goofy-eyed trinket that was black and white.

"Maybe this one."

Then he picked up another.

"Or maybe this one."

Bryan, growing impatient, shoved all four trinkets into Timmy's hands.

"Take them all."

"Are you sure, mister?"

Timmy asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yeah."

"Thanks!"

Timmy started to run off, but Bryan grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.

Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out the talisman he'd received earlier from the elderly vendor—the one meant to bind two people together if a name was written on it.

"You like her, right?"

Timmy blushed, his cheeks turning a bright pink.

"I don't know—"

"So that's a yes."

Bryan cut him off, pressing the talisman into the boy's hand.

"Write her name on this, then."

Timmy looked at the talisman, turning it over in his small hands.

"I can't take this."

"Why not?"

Bryan asked.

"Because..."

Timmy trailed off, his eyes darting toward where Cindy sat with Farrah.

"Because what?"

Bryan pressed.

Timmy looked over to where Cindy was waiting.

"Aren't you going to write her name on it?"

Bryan followed Timmy's gaze and realized the boy wasn't looking at Cindy, but at Farrah. The implication was clear, and Bryan felt an unexpected warmth rise to his face.

"No."

Bryan said firmly, shoving the talisman into Timmy's hands.

"You sure about this?"

Timmy asked, looking up at Bryan with surprising perceptiveness for a child.

"Just take it and stop being mean to people."

Bryan said, turning away to hide his expression.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't think she'd fall."

Timmy insisted.

"It was all Joshua's fault."

Bryan shook his head and walked back toward Farrah and Cindy, Timmy trailing behind him. The boy apologized to Cindy and presented the trinkets with a flourish that made the little girl giggle despite her earlier tears.

Farrah approached Bryan, a small smile playing on her lips.

"What?"

Bryan asked defensively.

"Nothing. Just a bit unexpected is all."

Farrah replied, her eyes warm with something that looked dangerously like affection.

"We should go."

Bryan said, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him.

Farrah grabbed his arm and leaned in close, her curls brushing against his cheek as she pressed a quick kiss to his face.

"That's your reward."

She said, pulling back with a smile that made his chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.

Bryan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form words, another voice cut through the air.

"Farrah Jewels Heartland!"

Bryan turned to see an elegant dark elf woman approaching them, her long pointed ears adorned with delicate silver jewelry that caught the afternoon light. Her deep green traveling dress was clearly expensive, the fabric flowing around her as she moved with grace. Beside her stood a younger boy—clearly Farrah's brother from the resemblance—with a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Farrah's cheeks flushed a deep red, her hand immediately dropping from Bryan's arm.

"Mom?!"

Her voice rose in pitch, a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

The younger boy nudged his mother's side, his grin widening.

"Told you she was with a boy!"

He stage-whispered, loud enough for Bryan to hear clearly.

"Elie, shut up!"

Farrah hissed, her long ears flattening slightly against her head in embarrassment.

"Language, Farrah."

Helena Heartland's tone was mild but carried an unmistakable note of authority. Her eyes—the same vibrant green as Farrah's—moved from her daughter to Bryan, assessing him with the keen scrutiny of a protective mother.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She asked, her gaze returning to Farrah.

Farrah crossed her arms, her initial embarrassment giving way to defiance.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Mom. I'm just enjoying the festival with a friend."

"A friend you were just kissing?"

Elie chimed in, bouncing on his toes with the delight of a younger sibling who's caught their older sister in an embarrassing situation.

"It was on the cheek, you little pest!"

Farrah snapped, making a grab for her brother, who danced out of reach with a laugh.

Bryan stood awkwardly to the side, unsure of his place in this family drama. He'd never experienced anything like this—the teasing, the bickering, the embarrassed flush on Farrah's cheeks. It was all foreign territory.

Helena's attention shifted fully to Bryan, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe in a careful assessment.

The dark skinned woman was a full three inches taller than him causing him to look up slightly.

"And who might you be?"

Her tone was polite but carried an undercurrent of maternal scrutiny that made Bryan straighten his posture instinctively.

"Bryan Blackwood."

He replied, maintaining eye contact despite his discomfort. Years of Inquisition training had taught him to never show weakness in unfamiliar situations.

"And what is your relationship with my daughter?"

Helena asked, her eyebrow arching slightly.

Bryan glanced at Farrah, who was still glaring at her brother, then back at Helena. What was their relationship? He wasn't even sure himself.

"We're teammates."

He said finally, the word feeling inadequate even as he spoke it.

"Teammates?"

Helena repeated, her tone suggesting she found the answer lacking.

Bryan nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him that was not the correct response.

Helena turned to Farrah.

"I'm not too sure about this one."

"Mom!"

Farrah protested, her embarrassment returning full force.

Helena's expression softened slightly, and she changed the subject.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

Farrah replied, still flustered.

"So junk food, then."

Helena said, eyeing her daughter knowingly. Farrah's shoulders slumped slightly, confirming her mother's assessment.

While Farrah and Helena continued their conversation, Elie circled around Bryan, studying him with unabashed curiosity. The boy moved with the boundless energy of youth, his dark elf features more pronounced than his sister's.

"Why is your hair so white? And what's with the eyes?"

Elie asked, tilting his head as he completed his circuit around Bryan.

Bryan shrugged, unused to such direct questioning about his appearance.

"You like it?"

"It's so cool!"

Elie exclaimed, his eyes wide with genuine admiration.

"How'd you get them that color?"

"I was just born this way."

Bryan replied, watching the boy's animated expressions with mild interest.

"My cousin was born with one green eye and one golden eye. Everyone says he's a freak, but he's sooooo cool."

Elie continued, seemingly unaware of any social boundaries. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper covering his mouth with the side of his hand as if to prevent any words from escaping the immediate vicinity.

"So you like my sister?"

"What?"

Bryan replied, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic.

Elie grinned, a knowing look beyond his years crossing his face.

"I like Randel more. He's way more amusing."

Bryan's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Randel.

"You met Randel?"

Elie asked, bouncing slightly on his toes.

Bryan thought back to his encounter with Randel at the duel hall, the memory still tinged with an irrational dislike he couldn't fully explain.

"I did."

"How was it?"

Elie pressed, his eyes bright with interest.

"What are you talking about?"

Bryan asked, growing increasingly confused by the boy's line of questioning.

"The duel hall!"

Elie replied, raising his hands in excitement.

"It was okay."

Bryan said flatly, hoping to end the conversation.

"You lost, didn't you?"

Elie asked, his tone suddenly accusatory.

"No."

"Don't lie."

"Why would I lie?"

Bryan countered, feeling absurdly defensive.

"Why am I even arguing with a kid?"

He muttered, more to himself than to Elie.

"I'm not a kid!"

Elie protested, his voice rising.

"Right."

Bryan said dismissively.

"I'm not! And that's why you lost!"

Elie insisted, his cheeks puffing out in indignation.

"Elie, stop bothering Farrah's friend."

Helena called, her attention returning to them. She approached Bryan, her expression softening slightly.

"You will join us for dinner."

It wasn't a question. Bryan looked over at Farrah, seeking some indication of what he should do.

"Eyes to the front."

Helena said sharply.

"Don't look at her for help."

Bryan felt distinctly uncomfortable. This wasn't part of his plan for the day, and he'd already experienced enough emotional turmoil.

"I don't think—"

"The only correct answer I should hear is 'yes, ma'am.'"

Helena interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bryan hesitated, then nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Helena's expression brightened immediately, the transition so sudden it was almost jarring.

"Excellent! I know just the place."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at an upscale restaurant in the city's second ring. The establishment was clearly designed for nobility—crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the tables were spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy, and the servers moved with practiced efficiency. The tablecloth was a crisp white, the silverware polished to a mirror shine.

Bryan sat uncomfortably across from Helena, with Farrah beside him and Elie next to his mother. The menu prices were exorbitant, but Helena had waved away his concern, ordering for the table with the casual confidence of someone accustomed to such establishments.

"So, Bryan."

Helena began once their appetizers had been served—delicate pastries filled with some kind of savory cream.

"What is your magical attribute?"

Bryan hesitated, glancing at Farrah, who gave him a small nod of encouragement.

"Blood."

He said simply.

Helena's eyebrows rose in surprise, while Elie's eyes widened with excitement.

"Blood magic? That's... unusual."

Helena said, her tone carefully neutral.

"Can you show me?"

Elie asked eagerly, practically bouncing in his seat.

"No!"

Farrah interjected before Bryan could respond.

"We're in a restaurant, Elie."

Elie pouted, slumping back in his chair.

"You never let me see the cool stuff."

"And what rank are you at the academy?"

Helena continued, seemingly unfazed by the exchange between her children.

"First."

Bryan replied, taking a sip of water to avoid elaborating.

Helena's expression showed genuine surprise.

"First? Out of all the Excellence Camp students?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's quite impressive."

She said, her tone warming slightly.

"And how do you find the Reinhart Institute? Is the curriculum challenging enough?"

The questions continued through the appetizers and into the main course—a delicate fish dish for Helena and Farrah, roast lamb for Elie, and a steak for Bryan. Helena inquired about his classes, his instructors, his future plans. Farrah occasionally tried to intervene when the questions became too personal, only to be gently but firmly redirected by her mother.

Throughout the meal, Bryan found himself observing the family dynamics with a strange sense of detachment. The way Farrah and Elie bickered good-naturedly, how Helena would intervene, the shared jokes and references to past family events—it was like watching a play about a life he'd never experienced.

This was what a normal family looked like, he realized. The gentle teasing, the obvious affection beneath the occasional friction—all of it was foreign to him. His upbringing in the white room of the Inquisition had been clinical, focused solely on training and development. Human interaction had been limited to instructors and Zoltan.

As Helena shared a story about Farrah's childhood escapades, causing her daughter to bury her face in her hands with embarrassment, Bryan felt a strange hollowness in his chest. For a brief moment, the restaurant seemed to shimmer around him, the walls fading to white, the chandelier transforming into the harsh lighting of his childhood room.

He blinked, and the illusion was gone. But the unsettling feeling remained.

"Bryan?"

Farrah's voice pulled him back to the present. Her hand rested lightly on his arm.

"Are you okay? You zoned out for a moment."

"I'm fine."

He said, forcing himself to focus on the meal before him.

Throughout dessert—an elaborate confection involving layers of pastry and cream—Bryan caught glimpses of other distortions. A server's face briefly blurred into an silver mask. The clink of silverware momentarily sounded like the mechanical clicks of the training room. Each time, he forced himself to blink, to focus, to remain grounded in the present.

By the time they left the restaurant, the sun had begun to set. The festival was reaching its peak, with lanterns being lit throughout the city and music growing louder in the main square.

"We should be heading back to the academy."

Farrah said, glancing at Bryan.

Helena nodded, though her expression suggested she would have preferred more time with her daughter.

"I understand. Your studies come first."

She embraced Farrah warmly, then turned to Bryan with a more measured smile.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Bryan. Take care of my daughter."

"Mom!"

Farrah protested, but Helena merely smiled.

Elie darted forward to give his sister a quick hug, then turned to Bryan.

"Next time, you have to show me the blood magic."

He insisted.

"We'll see."

Bryan replied noncommittally.

As they walked away, Farrah let out a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing visibly once they turned the corner.

"I'm so sorry for getting you dragged into that mess."

She said, her expression genuinely apologetic.

"It's not that big of a deal."

Bryan replied, surprising himself with the sincerity of his words.

Farrah smiled, the tension leaving her face.

"I had fun today."

"Yeah, it was... different."

Bryan admitted, his hands finding their way into his pockets.

"So we're going to do this again sometime?"

Farrah asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

"I don't know."

Bryan replied honestly.

"So we're going to do this again sometime?"

Farrah repeated, her tone more insistent.

Bryan's lips twitched slightly, almost forming a smile.

"I'm guessing the only correct answer here is 'yes, ma'am'?"

Farrah giggled.

"What do you think?"

She asked, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked.

Bryan was quiet for a moment, considering her question.

"I don't know why you like me."

He said finally, voicing the thought that had been lingering in his mind throughout the day.

Farrah paused mid-step, turning to face him directly.

"Who said anything about me liking you?"

Her expression was unreadable in the fading light.

Bryan raised an eyebrow.

"You don't?"

"What do you think?"

She countered, her green eyes studying his face.

"I just told you what I think, but it doesn't make sense."

Bryan said, growing frustrated with her evasiveness.

Farrah smiled, a soft expression that somehow made her eyes seem brighter.

"We like who we like. Does there have to be a reason?"

"I would hope so."

Bryan replied, frowning slightly.

"Is there a reason you like me?"

Farrah asked, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"I never said that."

Bryan said quickly.

"Wrong answer."

Farrah replied, her smile never faltering.

Bryan ran a hand through his white hair, struggling to articulate feelings he didn't fully understand.

"I'm not sure. This is different. I'm not used to any of this."

"Different how?"

Farrah pressed, taking a step closer to him.

Bryan shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"Just different."

Farrah studied him for a moment, then nodded, as if coming to a decision.

"Well, nothing has to change. I like it the way things are now."

Her words carried a gentle acceptance that eased some of the tension in Bryan's shoulders. They continued walking, the academy's lights visible in the distance.

"You know, I think my mom liked you."

Farrah said after a comfortable silence.

"How can you tell?"

Bryan asked.

"She didn't threaten you."

Farrah replied with a laugh.

"That's her liking me?"

"Trust me, with my mom, that's a good sign."

The rest of the walk passed in comfortable conversation, Farrah sharing stories about growing up in Dynosis, the port city's unique blend of cultures, and her family's role in maintaining diplomatic relations with neighboring cities.

By the time they reached the Rose Garden Dormitory, the moon was high in the sky, casting silver light across the academy grounds. They stopped at the entrance, the moment suddenly awkward as they prepared to part ways.

"Thank you for today."

Farrah said softly.

"For what?"

Bryan asked, genuinely confused.

"For being there. For talking to me. For putting up with my crazy family."

She smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Goodnight, Bryan."

"Night."

Bryan replied, watching as she turned and headed inside. He waited until she had disappeared up the stairs before entering himself, making his way to his own room on the fifth floor.

When he opened his door, the first thing he saw was a small black mouse sitting on his desk, purple eyes gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the window.

Bryan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. The mouse was still there.

"You're not real."

He muttered, pressing his palms against his temples.

"Just in my head."

He blinked hard, but the mouse remained, watching him with an unsettling intelligence.

Bryan struck his forehead with the heel of his palm.

"Just in my head. Just in my head."

He repeated, turning away from the desk and heading to the bathroom to wash his face.

The mouse followed, scurrying along the edge of the wall.

What are you doing?

A familiar voice echoed in his mind—Zoltan's voice, clear and sardonic as ever.

"Go away."

Bryan said through gritted teeth, splashing cold water on his face.

Talk to me, Bryan. What's going on?

The voice persisted, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"You're not real."

Bryan insisted, gripping the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned white.

Talk to me, Bryan.

The voice repeated, growing louder.

What's going on?

Another voice joined in, similar but slightly different in pitch.

Talk to me, Bryan.

What's going on?

The voices multiplied, echoing and overlapping until they became a cacophony in his mind. Bryan looked up at the mirror and saw not just one mouse reflected behind him, but dozens—black fur, purple eyes, covering every surface of the bathroom.

Talk to me, Bryan.

What's going on?

Talk to me, Bryan.

What's going on?

The voices crescendoed, drowning out all other sound. Bryan clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught.

Bryan jolted upright, his body drenched in sweat. The morning sun was creeping in through his window, casting long shadows across his room. He looked around wildly, heart pounding in his chest.

The room was empty. No mice, no voices, just the familiar furniture and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

"Was it all... fake?"

He whispered, running a trembling hand through his damp hair.

A small movement on his blanket caught his eye. A black mouse sat there, watching him with those distinctive purple eyes.

So you're up.

The voice in his head was clear, singular, and achingly familiar.

Bryan blinked, half expecting the mouse to vanish like all the other hallucinations.

Don't pass out again.

Zoltan said, his tone carrying a hint of genuine concern beneath the usual sarcasm.

We need to talk.