Chapter 18—Gathering Banners

The Academy breathed uneasily.

Where once mornings had been filled with laughter echoing across the courtyards, now instructors walked patrols with sharper eyes, duels were ended by faculty after only a few exchanges, and sparring partners were rotated so often it felt less like training and more like surveillance. Even the air in the dining hall carried tension, quiet conversations cut short whenever certain names passed by.

Raiden felt it most in the pauses. Students whispered too close, glanced too often, laughed too loudly at nothing. It wasn’t just him—everyone walked as though the cobbles beneath their feet might give way at any moment.

“They’re squeezing us,” Tadari muttered one morning as the three crossed the outer training fields. “Rules piling up, watches doubled. What’s next? Shackles on our ankles?”

Randall gave a grim smile. “This is what happens when Houses start circling like wolves. No one strikes, but everyone shows teeth.”

Raiden said nothing. He felt it too—that pull of threads tightening, weaving a web around him.

They didn’t make it far before a group of Barowen students cut across their path. Not openly hostile, not yet, but the sneers said enough.

“Well, if it isn’t the stable boy turned miracle,” one jeered, eyes flicking to Raiden. “Still breathing after crossing Barowen, I see.”

Another snorted. “And the bowman. Careful with that thing, else you might scratch someone’s boot again.”

Tadari’s hand tightened on his hilt, his stance shifting. “Say that again.”

Randall’s hand shot out, steady on his friend’s arm. “Not here. Not now.”

The lackeys chuckled and moved on, their words like hooks dragging across Raiden’s skin. He forced his shoulders square, though inside, his chest burned. He was being hunted—not by blades, not yet, but by whispers.

That afternoon, as he cut through the Academy’s eastern gate, Raiden’s steps faltered.

A small procession entered from the city. Not a spectacle—no horns, no banners flaring—but disciplined, deliberate. A few dozen guards and attendants in Olwen’s black-and-gold livery, their formation tight as a blade.

At their center walked Yuka Olwen.

Her stride was measured, her bearing serene, her presence somehow filling the space without demanding it. She glanced up once—and their eyes met.

Raiden’s breath stilled. It was only a heartbeat, her gaze unreadable, steady as iron, before she turned away. But it stayed with him long after she passed, like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading across his chest.

Two days later, the Trimester Assembly filled the Audience Hall.

Students filed in under banners of the Great Houses, magistone lanterns casting steady light across vaulted runes carved into the ceiling. Faculty lined the dais, instructors arrayed in ceremonial robes, and at the center stood Archmagister Furgalion Lynthor, his staff resting against the stone floor.

The assembly began in usual form—announcements, minor decrees, schedules read aloud. But tension sharpened when the Archmagister raised his hand.

“Today we recognize the enrollment of distinguished heirs, whose presence will shape both their peers and this institution,” his voice carried with a weight that silenced the murmurs.

First, the name that made the hall shift like a tide:

“Yuka Olwen. Heir to House Olwen, entering the Exemplar Course”

The air erupted in whispers, heads turning, students rising slightly in their seats for a glimpse. She stepped forward, bowing with poise, and returned to her place without flourish.

Then came the second:

“Ledios Arkantez. Heir to House Arkantez, entering the Exemplar Course.”

Murmurs again, quieter but no less sharp. Everyone knew Arkantez already stood at the center of whispers—and now their heir was formally present.

Raiden sat near the back, shoulders tight, Randall and Tadari at his sides. He felt eyes slide toward him, measuring him not as Raiden, but as the boy entangled with these names.

It wasn’t long before someone approached.

Grenald Tarin cut a confident figure as he crossed the hall—tall, sharp-eyed, the kind of student whispered about for excelling in both blade and spell. He stopped before Raiden, smiling as though greeting an old friend.

“So this is the man of the hour,” he said easily. “Raiden, isn’t it? You’re quite the celebrity these days.”

Tadari’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve come to mock—”

Grenald lifted a hand. “Nothing of the sort. I simply wanted to meet the one who stood against Barowen unarmed. Rumors are… colorful, but never precise. I prefer to hear things at the source.”

Raiden shifted uncomfortably. “Rumors always make things bigger than they are.”

“Perhaps.” Grenald’s smile widened. “But surviving at all makes you worth noticing.”

He inclined his head politely and withdrew, leaving Tadari tense and Raiden thoughtful.

Later, as the hall emptied, Raiden caught sight of Lynda across the crowd. Their eyes met. She made her way over, her voice soft but warm.

“Raiden. It’s good to see you.”

She was introduced to Tadari, who gave a polite nod. She turned back to Raiden, her tone shifting. “How are you handling all of this?”

Randall, quick to reassure, answered for him: “He’s not alone anymore. He has allies.”

Still, Lynda pressed. “If you ever need help—call me. I mean it.”

Raiden blinked at her intensity, nodding slowly. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

She smiled faintly and departed. Tadari’s eyes lingered on her retreating figure. “Her hands—cuts. And the hem of her robes, burned. She’s been training. Or worse.”

Raiden thought of her offer, unease stirring. She wouldn’t put herself through all that just for me… would she? He shook it off, though the thought refused to leave.

When the assembly ended, Raiden lingered as he always did, waiting for the crowd to thin. Randall and Tadari stayed beside him, their silence companionable.

The hall grew empty, footsteps echoing away. Raiden finally moved to leave—when a voice stopped him.

“Raiden.”

He froze. The voice was calm, commanding, familiar already from the moment at the gate.

Slowly, he turned.

Yuka Olwen stood a few paces behind, her gaze fixed on him.

And the hall seemed suddenly too quiet.