Chapter 5

Communal Areas. Valtara Academy.

Southern Wing.

Five months, three weeks, three days left.

The dining hall smelled of roasted poultry, butter, and freshly baked bread, but to Zara, none of that mattered. She leaned across the table, her fork untouched, eyes wide with concern at the boy slumped over his plate.

“Caden,” she whispered urgently, shaking his arm, “you’re fading away… you’re practically see-through! Look at you—your cheeks are hollow, your eyes are sunken, your soul is halfway to the afterlife!”

Caden groaned, lifting his head just enough for his forehead to smack the edge of his cup. “Zara, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!” she wailed. “You’re withering! Like an old leaf in autumn! Like a piece of bread left out too long! Like—”

“—like someone who should’ve quit on day one,” Gael cut in with a booming laugh, raising his mug of a strange milkshake of lactose and high on protein. His biceps flexed with the motion, practically daring the light to bounce off them. “Training is meant to weed out the weak and leave only the strong. That’s how the world works, my little twigs.”

“Thank you, Gael,” Caden muttered flatly, lifting his cup of water and pouring a Zoelle-special edition concoction. “Your tender words have restored my will to live. Truly inspiring.” He took a weak sip and nearly choked.

"Caden, seriously," Zara said, "You need to stop, no one is working as hard as you, I know that you're frustrated for losing against Betrand and Abelard on the same day, but..."

"That's not important," Caden said, drinking his potion with his eyes closed before coughing, "That was never the case..."

"Then what was?"

Caden looked dead at the table.

"I'm not sure anymore... I thought it was for something, but now I'm not sure if I want to live or if I want to shout louder than this barbarian."

Gael spat his milkshake on Zara, grossing her out and making her throw a punch at the giant's face, but before anyone could laugh, a voice thundered across the hall.

“CAADEEEN!”

The table jolted. Even Gael flinched, half his milkshake sloshing down his chest—and Zara's. But it wasn’t Gael who had spoken.

"CAADEEEN TASSAD! THERE YOU ARE!"

From the grand entrance of the hall, Abelard stood, robes immaculate, his gaze sharp enough to slice bread. He strode forward, every step radiating impatience, until he loomed directly over Caden.

“You.” His voice dripped with venom. “You will stop this farce.”

Caden blinked. “Farce?”

“Yes!” Abelard snapped, jabbing a finger toward him. “Your ridiculous morning screams! Your stomping, your splashing—every dawn you shatter the peace of this entire wing. Do you know how many times I’ve been woken up because of you?!”

Gael stood up to talk to the prince, but Abelard ignited one of his fingers with a snap, startling the giant for his aggressiveness.

“This isn’t a joke,” Abelard snarled. His eyes burned. Veins popped at his forehead. “I am at the edge of madness because of you lot. I wanted to be the better man, an example to all of how royalty should be. I wanted to stand unfazed, unprovoked, at your little ruse. How can someone hate me so much as to wake me, and the entire western wing, for three consecutive days? This pathetic charade, this conspiracy to ‘get back at me’ for the… incident at the duel, needs to end now.”

Caden blinked again, slower this time. He had expected anger. He hadn’t expected that.

“You… think I’m doing this to get back at you?” he said, incredulous.

Abelard’s jaw tightened. “Don’t play the fool. Every cry, every stumble—it’s a performance, why wouldn't it be? You want me to pay for burning you, but you can't fight me directly. You want me to lose my mind. Well, sorry, but no. It ends today.”

The table had gone quiet, but Zara whispered, "I told you..."

Caden leaned back, his tired eyes sharpening with something that wasn’t sarcasm this time. His voice dropped lower, steady.

"My prince, I promise you my training has nothing to do with our duel," he said, despite Zara's widened eyes begging him not to continue, "Besides, even if you burned me, I have the satisfaction of hitting you once, which is a great honor and privilege for me... your grace."

"That shock?" Abelard laughed, "It lasted only for a few seconds, twig, you can't even cast proper offensive magic with your lightning... you're nothing."

"That's not the point, your highness," he said, "it's what it means..."

Everyone in the hall had leaned in. Valery shushed one of her friends to hear the conversation.

“If you can make god bleed,” he said, raising his bandaged arm, “people will stop believing in him.”

The words landed like a hammer. Abelard froze, his fury twisting into something rawer—something closer to fear. Then, without another word, he seized Caden by the collar and dragged him out of the dining hall.

The stone corridors were empty at midday, sunbeams streaming through tall windows. Abelard shoved Caden against a wall, his hand blazing with fire.

“You think of yourself that highly, Tassad?” the prince hissed. Heat radiated so fiercely that the stone behind Caden blackened. "Let's see what happens when a little bolt faces a volcano."

Flames licked out. Caden winced as they seared across his arm, smoke rising from his sleeve. 

But this time, he wasn’t entirely helpless.

He had been preparing. This whole interaction, he had been preparing.

As Abelard pressed in, fire swelling, Caden clenched his fist. The static that had tingled in his bones since morning now hummed, alive, begging to be released.

And when Abelard leaned closer, whispering like a predator savoring victory—

Caden struck.

A burst of electrostatic energy exploded from his palm, catching Abelard square in the chest. The prince’s eyes went wide as he was thrown back, skidding across the corridor floor until he slammed against the opposite wall. His fine robes smoked where the charge had hit.

Caden’s chest heaved. His arm sparked faintly, aching from the release, but he stood his ground.

Abelard pushed himself up, trembling, eyes blazing hotter than his fire. “You dare…” he growled, flames erupting around him in a deadly halo. For a heartbeat, it looked as if he might truly unleash everything—burn Caden to ash right there in the school.

“Enough.”

The voice was sharp as glass.

Valery Sarashen stepped out from the corner’s shadow, her gaze fixed coldly on the prince. Her arms crossed, her presence commanding.

“Continue,” she said coolly, “and I will make sure your father knows of this, your highness. I will make sure every noble in the court hears of how their future prince bullies weaker students out of pride.”

The fire in Abelard’s hands flickered.

Caden’s knees almost buckled—not from fear this time, but from the sheer shock that someone had intervened.

And for the first time, Abelard hesitated.

His face twisted red, his lips curling as though he wanted to unleash fire right there, but the weight of Valery Sarashen’s cold gaze pinned him in place. He scrambled his feet awkwardly, nearly tripping on his robe as he spun and stormed off. His fury was loud in every stomp, the muttering under his breath too faint to catch—but clear enough in its venom. 

"The duchess and the patrician nobody, I should've known!"

Caden barely had time to register the thought before pain swept over him again. His legs buckled, the burns on his arms throbbing, and the world tilted out of focus. The last thing he heard was Valery’s distant voice calling his name—then everything went dark.

When he came to, he was no longer in the corridor. The first thing he noticed was the softness beneath him—not a cot from the infirmary, but a velvet couch, finely woven and faintly scented of lavender. A silken canopy drifted above, and the quiet of the room was broken only by the faint tick of a jeweled clock. Caden blinked, groaning, and turned his head.

"Hey, you, you're finally awake."

Valery Sarashen sat nearby, poised in an armchair with her legs crossed, her golden hair shimmering faintly in the afternoon light spilling through tall windows. She had not changed from the calm, unreadable expression she’d worn earlier, though now her eyes followed him with an unsettling sharpness.

“You defied him,” she said at last, her voice smooth but edged. “The prince himself. Even Gael—brute that he is—would never dare. Yet you stood, wounded as you are, pummeled as you are from all that surreal shouting and training.”

Caden let out a weak laugh, though it turned into a cough. “Well… I don’t know if impressed is the right word. I mostly feel like I got charred alive.” He glanced around the lavish room. “Why am I here and... ugh... Not in the infirmary? I appreciate it, my lady Sarashen, but I should go... or people will… talk.”

Valery tilted her head, a wry smile touching her lips. “People always talk. They will say what they will, especially about me, and believe me when I say, they already say a lot about you. I fore one find myself unbothered, I would even say flattered to be pictured at all in the prince's mind and cause him pain. Speaking of princes, however…” She let her gaze drift briefly toward the window. “He is arrogant enough to believe every shadow moves against him. Let him think you and I are conspiring. He is already convinced of it. No rumor could wound him more than his own paranoia.”

Caden frowned, shifting with a hiss of pain. “Still… not taking me to the infirmary… doesn’t that risk making things worse?”

“For him, yes. For us?” She shook her head lightly. “It is simpler this way. You’ll recover without placing the prince in further scandal.”

"I meant that if I don't go to the infirmary, how am I supposed to heal from this?"

"I've sent for help. It is better to treat you here."

Before Caden could reply, a knock rattled the door. One of Valery’s attendants, a demure noblewoman with curled auburn hair, peeked in. “Your Grace,” she said softly, “the doctor wasn’t available, but… someone from the infirmary insisted on coming when she heard it was Caden.”

The door opened wider—and Zoelle slipped in, carrying a satchel of salves and bandages. Her eyes widened the moment she saw him sprawled across Valery’s couch. “Caden!” she gasped, rushing to his side. Without hesitation, she set down her satchel and began tending to his burns, her hands moving quickly and practiced.

Caden groaned but managed a crooked smile. “You’re really everywhere I end up, aren’t you?”

Zoelle shot him a look somewhere between relief and scolding, but said nothing as she carefully unwrapped a roll of linen.

Valery leaned back in her chair, watching the scene with faint amusement, though her eyes remained cold and calculating.

"You two are close, I see," she said.

"We met a few days ago, my lady," Zoelle said, "she's my junior in the afternoons, we do research together."

"So that's where you go..." Valery grinned, "I should've known, given you walk towards the Eastern wing every sunset after class."

"What is that supposed to—Ouch, hey—what is that supposed to mean?" Caden said as he complained about Zoelle's treatment.

"Nothing at all, just a comment."

"I guess today's research is cancelled... You need to rest," Zoelle said, struggling to heal her friend's body. 

"I can't rest, I'll wake up tomorrow and wail even harder," Caden said, determined.

"You're not serious..."

"Dead serious."

"You're more dead than serious right now, Caden, stop it!"

"I can't stop, Zoelle, just give me another tonic..."

"No, no more, this is too much, you'll die!"

"I can take it, I must take it..." Tears came out, "If I can't survive here, I won't survive then—" Caden stopped his words, looking away, "You wouldn't understand."

"Caden..." Zoelle said with a knot in her throat.

Valery let the silence linger for a moment, then leaned forward, her sharp gaze cutting into him.
“Enough of this martyr talk. Tell me instead—how did you manage to land such a blow on the prince? You sent him staggering.”

Caden hesitated, then reached into the folds of his charred shirt and pulled out a faintly scorched medallion, the edges lined with strange grooves. “This."

"A medallion?" Valery asked, confused.

"It's a battery..."

Zoelle blinked. “A… what?”

Caden ran his finger along the lines. “A battery, I stayed up last night cramming everything I could about magical storage. The problem isn’t the spell itself—it’s the artifact. People think it’s all about complexity in runes, but that’s just smoke. It’s about the circuitry—how the energy flows. I etched a path that could hold and release charge. This morning I tested it… before sleeping... before Gael dragged me out.”

Zoelle’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “You… you made this? From scratch? That’s—Caden, that’s genius!” She nearly dropped her satchel in excitement, pride brimming across her face.

Valery raised her brows, intrigued. Her earlier aloofness gave way to something sharper, hungrier. She leaned closer, her golden hair catching the light. “Fascinating... but is this thing legitimate?”

Caden avoided her gaze, fiddling with the trinket. “It’s not much. But I want to test something… properly this time.” His eyes darted toward Valery. “You’re lightning-attuned, aren’t you, Duchess?”

A faint smile tugged her lips. “What's this? Didn't you see me during the affinity test?”

"I didn't, I was dealing with something else."

"Something else, you say?" Valery said, "Who are you?"

“Please, my lady Valery, I need you to charge it. Just a basic bolt, nothing more.”

Valery extended her hand, and with effortless precision, a thread of blue-white current sparked into the medallion. It hummed faintly, light tracing the etched grooves like a living thing.

Caden placed the medallion against his chest, closed his eyes, and began weaving a healing spell—only this time, he drew from the stored charge. The energy flared, searing through him, yet instead of burning, it spread warmth and vitality. His wounds glowed faintly as the scorched skin knit together, his muscles relaxing. He gasped, feeling life rush back into his limbs.

Zoelle covered her mouth, astonished. “He’s… he’s healing himself? That’s impossible!”

The medallion suddenly sparked, a thin crack running down its surface. With a sharp pop, it fried in his hand, smoke curling upward.

But Caden was smiling. He flexed his once-burnt arm, the skin nearly smooth again. “It worked. Not perfectly, but… it worked.”

Valery leaned back, laughter escaping her lips, soft and incredulous. “You’re either brilliant, or utterly insane. Perhaps both.”

Zoelle shook her head, though her eyes shone with admiration.

Caden twirled the fried medallion between his fingers, then looked squarely at Valery. “Duchess, if I've caught your curiosity, then I have a proposition."

"Ho~" Valery said, leaning on her seat, "Proposition, you say?"

"I want more of these. A stock of them. Enough that I can keep charging and refining them. Zoelle and I—we can take this further. But I need a sponsor.”

"Caden, wait, that's..." Zoelle said, nervously, "We can do this without help..."

Valery's expression sharpened, as though weighing the audacity of his request. “You’re bold, asking me to bankroll your reckless tinkering... why would I support you beyond the trivial ire of a prince?”

Caden remained silent for a moment, but then he remembered something vital. Valery Sarashen wasn't the only one attuned to lightning...

"Duchess..." he grinned, "Doesn't your family run the statemanship of the capital by decree of his majesty the king?"

"Indeed, I don't know why this is a question. What of it?"

"Caden... everyone knows that..." Zoelle said, still surprised to see this boy being so aloof and detached from society.

"What if I bring a proposal to you and your family for an invention, a prototype?"

"What for?"

"It's a surprise, but you saw the potential this experiment possesses; you called it fascinating. What if I could give you something even better you can show to your father, and in the process revolutionize the entire city?"

Valery considered him for a moment that seemed like an eternity. Caden noticed her friends were looking at him like a terrible leech seeking to suck their goddess dry.

Zoelle’s eyes flickered nervously between them, but her heart was clearly hammering with hope.

For a moment, silence stretched—then Valery smiled, slow and deliberate, as if tasting the gamble. “Fine. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious. I’ll sponsor you, Tassad. Consider it… an investment.”

Relief spread across Caden’s face, but before he could celebrate, his body buckled. His vision spun, darkness surged. 

"You won't be... disappointed... duchess."

He collapsed where he stood.

"Caden!" Zoelle said.

"You better not..." Valery said, turning away.

*******

When he next opened his eyes, the pale light of dawn streamed through his window. His clock read just past five. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. Every muscle screamed—but at his chest, a faintly humming medallion pulsed, soothing the ache enough to move.

There was no one shouting his name. He had woken up by reflex.

“Gael…” he muttered. But the giant hadn’t come. Likely silenced by what happened with Abelard.

Caden clenched his jaw. No excuses. If Gael wouldn’t drag him out, then he’d drag himself.

By the time he stormed into the courtyard, the morning chill biting at his skin, his medallion glowed faintly on his chest. He clenched his fists, letting the charge wash through his body, and shouted at the top of his lungs:

“SAFARRAAANCHOOOU!”

The cry echoed through the academy grounds, startling crows from their perches.

A voice answered—not Gael’s.

“Don’t tear your lungs before sunrise, fool.”

Caden spun, and his eyes nearly bulged. Valery Sarashen, was jogging toward him, dressed in sleek training gear that left her hair tied up and her perfect figure on full display.

“You—what—why—” Caden stammered, his face heating.

She smirked at his expression. “I told you. You're my investment now, and I’m here to take care of it. From now on, we’re allies. So don’t think you’re running alone.”

"But..."

"Do you think the prince will tolerate another Safaranch—that? I need to make sure he doesn't show up blazing in a tornado of fire."

Before he could respond, the thunder of sandals slapped against stone. Gael appeared from the barracks, hair a mess, eyes wet with sudden tears. He rushed to Caden’s side, gripping his shoulders, kneading his muscles like dough. “You idiot! You did the shout…! That’s my boy! SAFARRAAANCHOOOU!”

Caden wheezed with laughter even as Gael pressed painfully into his chest."Sa-fa....rranshouu..."

Valery crossed her arms, cheeks pink, watching them both.

“Come on, Duchess,” Caden teased between gasps, “your turn—say it with us.”

Her blush deepened. “Not in this lifetime.”

Caden and Gael roared the word again anyway, their voices breaking into the cold dawn, carrying through the academy.

And just like that, the day began—with bruises, laughter, and an unlikely alliance.