STRAY

It had been a few days since the Luminara cleanup.
Detention was finally behind us, and life at the Institute had almost slipped into something resembling routine: classes, training, the usual cafeteria noise.

If we keep this up, I’m not going to be dragged into another plot development or something.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, but being in detention and fighting a weapon dealer is enough for one semester.

The dining hall was noisy as always—clattering plates, low chatter, the occasional bark of laughter. I sat with Jeanne, Taiga, Lyra, and Evelyn at the long bench near the window.

“Not bad,” Jeanne said between mouthfuls of stew, nudging Taiga with her elbow. “You’re actually showing improvement.”

Taiga puffed his chest out. “Damn right. My storm control’s tighter than ever. No more accidental lightning strikes.”

“Yet,” Evelyn muttered, scribbling notes into her journal without looking up.

I chuckled.

Lyra sat a little apart from the rest of us, picking at her plate. Fish again — always fish.

“You know there’s other food, right?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

She gave me a flat look. “I like what I like.”

Jeanne rolled her eyes. “At this rate, you’re going to start smelling like a fishmonger’s stall.”

Lyra just kept eating, quiet.

Across the hall, the bully who put me in detention in the first place—Garret Draemont—stood with his crew. Apparently, it was common knowledge that his uncle funded Camelot Institute beside Crystalis. His team looked worn, fraying at the edges under his temper.

I don’t know what happened, but I was kind of happy to see them in that state.

Garret rose, sneering, and stalked toward Mira—grabbing one of her long ears and yanking it hard enough to make her stumble.

“Don’t you ever get tired of playing pet, rabbit?” Carden sneered.

Lyra’s chair screeched back. She was on her feet in an instant, eyes burning like stormlight.

“Enough!” she shouted, striding across the hall. She pried Mira free from Garret’s grip and guided her back, shielding her with her body. “Pick on someone who can actually fight back.”

Garret barked a laugh. “What? You volunteering?”

Lyra’s voice cut sharp. “Better me than a coward like you, who hides behind cheap shots.”

The insults flew back and forth, louder each time—Lyra hammering at his pride, Garret snapping back with jeers about Faunus being “weak-willed” and “docile.”

And then—of all people—Evelyn stood.

Her voice rang across the hall. “Garret’s behavior is boorish,” she said coldly, “but Lyra—Mira’s passivity does little to disprove his point. There is a reason Draven and Cryne scholars classify most Faunus traits as docile, skittish, and weak.”

The words struck like a blade. Even Garret blinked, as though surprised by how far Evelyn had gone.

Lyra’s eyes widened. Jeanne actually gaped, speechless for once.

I rose slowly, grabbing a tray off the table.

But Evelyn didn’t stop. Her voice rang sharp across the cafeteria.

“It’s childish to imagine Beastfolk could ever be equal to humans. The Silver Claw is proof enough—‘activists’ who claim justice, yet only throw tantrums like violent children.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

It wasn’t the best method of diffusing the situation—or my proudest—but honestly, what else could anyone do in that moment?

“Hey,” I called, voice flat.

Garret turned toward me.

CLANG.

My tray smashed into his face, bending in half with the impact. Food and metal clattered to the ground.

From the sidelines, Taiga groaned. “Oh boy. Here we go again.”

I dropped the ruined tray and cracked my knuckles. “Alright, round two. Let’s go.”

The cafeteria exploded into chaos. Garret’s goons rushed me first, overturning tables as they drew a Magitek gun and shield.

The first swung hard—I ducked, grabbed a chair, and jammed it up like a shield. The impact rattled my bones, but I shoved forward, chair legs tangling his feet, then kicked him flat on his back.

The second came from the side, swinging a tray like it was a sword. I snatched a soup bowl from a nearby table and hurled it—splat!—straight into his face. He staggered, blinded, just in time for me to vault onto the table, snatch a salt shaker, and crack it against his temple. He dropped like a sack of flour.

The first goon staggered back up. I grabbed a broom propped against the wall, spun it, and jabbed the bristles into his gut. As he doubled over, I used the handle like a lever, flipping him onto the same table his buddy was sprawled across. Both groaned in a heap.

I tossed the broom aside, breath coming hard. “Next?”

That’s when Garret stepped forward.

His Chronosphere glinted on his left arm, the Magitek gauntlet braced on his right.

“You’re so dead, Avalon.”

“Give it a decade or so,” I shot back.

He swung wide. I ducked, but the gauntlet clipped my shoulder with a bone-jarring crack that sent me stumbling back. Pain shot down my arm like fire.

Garret’s grin split across his face. “Not so cocky now, Avalon.”

“Big words,” I shot back, rolling my shoulders. “From the guy I beat barehanded. Wanna see me do it again?”

His eyes flared. He came in swinging. This time I pivoted, caught his wrist, and slammed my elbow into his ribs. He snarled, staggering—but one of his lackeys dove at me from behind. I twisted, flipping him over my hip and straight into a table. Trays and food exploded like shrapnel.

Garret roared and charged, gauntlet blazing. His punch splintered the wood where my head had been a second earlier. I rolled under, came up inside his guard, and drove my fist straight into his jaw.

The cafeteria erupted—cheers, shouts, screams as tables overturned and food went airborne.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said, breath heavy. “Beat you barehanded… again.”

Garret wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes burning.

I braced myself, chest heaving. The gauntlet whined, runes igniting until they glowed molten red. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

We slammed together again—blow for blow, sparks flashing as fist met steel, each strike rattling through my bones. The clash was raw, brutal, faster than the eye could track.

And then—

The air froze. Literally.

Shards of ice spiderwebbed across the floor, frost biting up the overturned tables. My next punch froze mid-air, suspended in shimmering glass. Garret’s gauntlet locked in place, steam hissing as frost devoured the runes.

Every voice in the hall died at once.

Professor Aira stood at the doorway, her gaze colder than the ice pinning us in place.

“…Detention,” she said, her voice sharp as a knife. “Again.”

And just like that, I was back in the dungeon hall—this time without Jeanne, Lyra, Evelyn, or Taiga.

Meanwhile, in the girls’ dorm room:

Lyra’s voice cracked as she whispered, “How can you think that way?”

Evelyn’s mask of arrogance faltered, just for a breath. She drew in a sharp inhale, fists trembling at her sides. Then she hissed:

“You want to know why? Why do I despise the Silver Claws? Why don’t I trust Beastfolk? They declared war on my family. Actual war. Ever since I was a child, I’ve watched board members vanish. Friends disappear. Relatives executed. Every week, another report came in, another coffin sent home. My grandfather’s company has had a target painted across its back for as long as I’ve been alive.”

Her voice rose, trembling with fury and grief. “Every day, my father would come home livid. That rage hung in our house like smoke. Do you know what it’s like, Avalon? To grow up in a house where every knock at the door could be a death sentence? To live knowing your name alone makes you a target?”

She slammed her fist against the nearest table. “I hate the Silver Claws because they made me live in fear! I hate the Beastfolk because I never knew which one was a thief, a liar, or a murderer!”

Lyra’s breath caught. “…Maybe we were just tired of being pushed around.”

The words hung in the air.

Evelyn froze. Her eyes widened as though Lyra had just confessed a crime.

Lyra’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

She bolted.

“Lyra—wait!” Jeanne called, but she was already gone, sprinting out of the dining hall.

They sat in stunned silence.