The Second Chain

"Gratitude is a burden upon our imperfect nature."

— Honoré de Balzac

———

The main courtyard buzzed with the usual lunch hour chaos the next day. Students from all four Houses clustered around the central fountain, their conversations creating a symphony of privilege and politics. Aurum students held court near the ornate benches, their golden pins catching the afternoon sunlight. Argent clusters debated theoretical applications of mana theory while picking at delicate pastries. Vermillion members sat in contemplative silence, observing everything while revealing nothing. And scattered throughout the edges, House Onyx students hunched over their meager meals, trying to remain invisible.

Perfect.

I spotted Rhys immediately. He sat alone on a weathered stone ledge near the eastern wall, methodically eating what looked like yesterday's bread and a small apple. His father's spear leaned against the wall beside him, never far from reach. The Iron-Root herbs had vanished from his pack—likely sold to fund his sister's medicine. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

Time for Act Two.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and let my face transform into a mask of overwhelming gratitude mixed with pathetic desperation. The kind of expression that made people want to look away but couldn't quite manage it.

"RHYS BLACKWOOD!"

My voice carried across the courtyard like a bell, pitched perfectly to cut through every conversation and draw every eye. Students turned, forks pausing halfway to their mouths, as I began my performance.

I rushed toward him with the graceless enthusiasm of a puppy, my academy robes billowing dramatically behind me. My arms spread wide as if I intended to embrace him right there in front of everyone.

"My savior! My hero! My dearest, most noble friend!"

Rhys went rigid. The apple in his hand dropped to the cobblestones and rolled away. His face, already lean from rationed meals, seemed to hollow out further as every drop of blood drained from his cheeks.

"No," he whispered, but I was already upon him.

I reached for his hands, trying to clasp them in mine like some sort of religious supplicant. He jerked backward, nearly toppling over the ledge.

"Get away from me."

"But I must thank you!" I declared, loud enough that even the Aurum students near the fountain could hear every word. "Yesterday, in the western woods, you saved my very life! Without your intervention, those ruffians would have—"

"Stop talking." Rhys's voice cracked like a whip, but his face betrayed his desperation. His green eyes darted around the courtyard, taking in the growing crowd of spectators. Some pointed and whispered. Others openly laughed.

I could see him calculating the damage, watching his carefully maintained anonymity crumble in real time. The commoner boy who'd been invisible suddenly found himself the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.

"I cannot stop!" I pressed on, letting my voice climb higher. "Honor demands recognition! Courage deserves reward!"

From my robes, I produced a leather pouch heavy enough to make an audible clink when it moved. The sound of gold was unmistakable, and several nearby conversations died as students strained to listen.

"Please," Rhys said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do this."

But I was already pressing the pouch toward him, making sure the weight of it was obvious to everyone watching. "A life-debt must be repaid! My father, Lord Aldric Leone, would have my head mounted on the family gates if I didn't show proper gratitude to the brave soul who saved his heir!"

Rhys stared at the pouch like it contained poison. His hands remained firmly at his sides.

"I don't want your money."

"Want?" I laughed, the sound carrying just the right note of aristocratic bewilderment. "My dear fellow, this isn't about want! This is about honor! About tradition! About the sacred bonds between noble houses!"

I could practically feel the courtyard holding its breath. Even the fountain seemed to babble more quietly, as if the academy itself was leaning in to witness this spectacle.

"The Code of Noble Conduct clearly states," I continued, my voice taking on the pompous tone of someone quoting dusty legal texts, "that a life-debt incurred by a member of the nobility must be acknowledged through appropriate compensation to the savior, regardless of their station. To refuse such compensation is to question the honor of the debtor's house."

Rhys's jaw worked silently. His eyes swept the crowd again, and I could see him recognizing faces—Vance Thorne smirking from behind a cluster of Aurum students, Marcus and Garrett flanking him like loyal hounds. Professor Blackthorne watched from the corridor entrance, his scarred face unreadable. Even some faculty had emerged from the administrative wing to observe the drama.

"Furthermore," I pressed, stepping closer and forcing the pouch toward him again, "to reject such an offering implies that the savior's actions were somehow insufficient to warrant recognition. Surely you don't believe your heroic intervention was worthless?"

The trap was perfect. Accept the money and be branded as someone who could be bought. Refuse it and insult House Leone's honor while simultaneously declaring his own actions meaningless. Either choice would mark him as different, as someone who couldn't navigate noble politics properly.

But there was a third option, and I could see him reaching for it in the way his shoulders tensed. He could simply walk away, leave the pouch on the ground, and let social pressure sort itself out.

That's when I played my ace.

"Of course," I said, letting my voice carry a note of wounded confusion, "if you truly believe your actions were unworthy of recognition, I suppose I could inform my father that House Leone owes no debt to House Blackwood. I'm sure he'll understand when the other lords ask why we failed to honor our obligations to a borderland family."

House Blackwood. I'd deliberately elevated his family's status, making this about more than just Rhys. Now any rejection would reflect not just on him, but on his father's reputation, his village's standing, and by extension, every person who depended on the Blackwood name for protection in those dangerous borderlands.

Rhys's hands clenched into fists. For a moment, I thought he might actually swing at me. The violence from yesterday's encounter flickered behind his green eyes, and I felt a genuine thrill of danger.

But then his gaze fell on the pouch again. Heavy leather, bulging with more gold than a scholarship student would see in a year. Enough to buy medicine for his sister. Enough to ease the constant fear that gnawed at him every night.

His hand moved slowly, reluctantly, toward the offering.

"There we are!" I exclaimed, pressing the pouch into his palm before he could change his mind. "Honor satisfied! Debt acknowledged! House Leone stands proud in the knowledge that we have properly recognized true courage!"

The gold seemed to burn his fingers. Rhys held the pouch like it might explode, his face cycling through shame, anger, and desperate relief in rapid succession.

"Now then," I continued, clasping my hands together like a delighted child, "we simply must arrange a proper ceremony! Perhaps a formal announcement during the evening meal? I could have the academy herald compose a song about your heroism! 'The Ballad of Rhys the Bold' has such a lovely ring to it, don't you think?"

"No." The word came out strangled. "No ceremony. No songs. No... no anything."

"But surely your housemates would want to celebrate—"

"No."

Rhys clutched the pouch against his chest and fled. He moved like a wounded animal, shoulders hunched, head down, pushing through the crowd without meeting anyone's eyes. The watching students parted before him, some snickering, others whispering behind their hands about the "charity case" who'd finally shown his true colors.

I watched him disappear into the shadows of the West Bastion, my expression carefully maintained in its mask of confused disappointment.

"Well," I said to no one in particular, loud enough for the lingering spectators to hear, "I suppose not everyone appreciates proper gratitude. Father always did say the lower classes have difficulty understanding noble customs."

The crowd began to disperse, students returning to their meals and conversations. But the damage was done. By evening, everyone in the academy would know that Rhys Blackwood had been bought. That the proud commoner who'd stood alone against three nobles had a price after all.

Only when the courtyard had largely emptied did I allow my mask to slip.

The fawning gratitude melted away like snow in spring. My shoulders straightened, my posture shifted from awkward desperation to calculated control. The nervous energy that had animated my gestures vanished, replaced by the stillness of a predator who had just secured his prey.

The first chain was forged in pity, I thought, watching the entrance to the West Bastion where Rhys had vanished. When I helped him against Vance, I created debt. Obligation. The beginning of connection.

The second chain is forged in gold. Now he carries my coin, bought with public humiliation. Every time he spends that money on his sister's medicine, he'll remember this moment. Remember that his pride has a price.

I turned toward my own dormitory, already planning the next phase. The third chain would be the most delicate, requiring perfect timing and absolute trust in human nature.

The third chain will be forged in blood. And then, Rhys Blackwood, you will be mine.

Behind me, a few scattered coins glinted on the cobblestones where I'd 'accidentally' let some gold spill during our exchange. Students were already scrambling to collect them, unaware that even this small detail served my larger purpose.

After all, what was the point of buying someone if you didn't make sure everyone knew the price?