Chapter 35 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Zane

The next 24 hours were insane—as in, I literally had to question the sanity of the people around me. I knew things were going to be crazy after surviving the Death Knight—how could they not? It was a fight I shouldn’t have won. I knew I would be a person of interest.

But this shit was crazy.

Classmates stopped me for “just one question,” “a quick photo,” “a fifteen-second clip for SpellFeed.” Duelists bowed and asked for a friendly spar “whenever you’re free—today works.” Two club presidents wanted me at their fundraisers. A committee chair wanted me to “say a few words” at an assembly I’d never heard of. Three different study groups offered me their notes if I’d sit with them for ten minutes and “explain the footwork.”

Faculty were kinder but no less direct: “Office hours?” “Debrief after lecture?” “Please submit a written reflection.” A Tower adjunct asked if he could shadow my training “for research integrity.” A Watch Corps recruiter left a card with a stamped time; a War College aide asked if I’d consider a breakfast meeting “purely informational.” A sponsor sent a polite glyph that translated to numbers with too many zeros.

Then there were the quiet ones. A groundskeeper tipped his cap and said, “Good work,” like I’d fixed a fence. The cafeteria lady slid me extra soup and didn’t make eye contact. A first-year handed me a notebook and asked me to sign it for her little brother who was “scared of the dark but getting better.” I said yes to that one.

I set rules fast: no cameras in class, no unscheduled duels, no interviews, route everything through the Dueling Office. “Not today” became a complete sentence. Kael and the others built a buffer and people mostly respected it. Mostly.

By evening, the noise had sorted itself into lines and lists, but the feeling stayed the same: I was still a student with homework and sore ribs—just a student everyone suddenly walked toward. I kept my head down, answered what I could, and saved my voice for the people who needed to hear “yes.”

Suffice it to say that by the time I got to the practice yard for some sword training, I was thankful.

The south practice yard at Corvalis Arx rang with its usual chaos—boots scraping stone, wooden blades clacking, instructors barking over the low hum of ambient mana threads. This was Swordsmanship Practicum, a mandatory foundational course for all first-year students, regardless of their declared Path. It was a world of no enchantments, no glyphs, and no flashy combat scripts—just form, timing, and raw mana discipline. Honestly? I liked it. Not that I’d tell Kael, who stood beside me looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so dumb,” he muttered, flipping his practice sword onto his shoulder like a guitar. “Not everyone here uses cold weapons. For some people, this is a complete waste of time.”

I smiled faintly. The Nine Pillars—Blade, Spell, Mind, Aether, World, Law, Craft, Inscription, Origin—each had a basic class. Blade came first. It annoyed most people. I didn’t mind. Across the yard, Mira watched two scholar girls swinging like they were stirring soup. “Because when your mana’s gone and your glyphs are fried, clean footwork is the only thing keeping your head on,” she said, her tone serious but not without a hint of mischief.

I stayed quiet, my eyes on Master Rynhart as he paced the central ring with a look that promised blood—and not his. He was a veteran Blade master, his movements precise and his voice a low rumble that carried across the entire yard.

Kael elbowed me. “You showing off today, or just brooding?”

“I don’t brood,” I said flatly.

Mira grinned. “You’re a celebrity; people expect you to talk. RealmNet’s trying to guess what your laugh sounds like.”

“It sounds like ‘don’t ask me dumb questions,’” I said.

A brown-haired girl crept up, clutching her training sword. “Um… Zane? Could you check my stance?”

I turned to see a girl with mousy brown hair and orange eyes. She gave me a shy smile. I almost said no—then saw how hopeful she looked. I nodded. “Show me.”

She lit up, ran back to her partner, and adjusted her grip like I’d just blessed her weapon.

Kael groaned into his hands. “It continues.”

“What are you on about?” Mira asked.

“The worship phase,” Kael said. “Pretty soon they are going to be asking for your gospel.”

[Yes, they should worship you, but they need to know their place too.]

I ignored Kael and Eva as I watched the girl move through her forms. She blushed furiously. I was just about to comment when a voice cut through the noise. “Look at him. Thinks he’s already a sword saint.”

I sighed. Predictable.

Vane Trellian swaggered into the ring like arrogance had a uniform. His practice saber gleamed, eyes locked on me. He was a fourth-year student, known for his flashy style and a confidence that far outstripped his actual skill. His House was wealthy, a minor noble line that had bought its way into the Academy’s higher echelons.

“Friendly match?” he asked, spinning his weapon in a lazy arc. “You’ve been ducking real opponents all week, Myles.”

Master Rynhart looked over at us. He was a no-nonsense sort of guy. I thought he would shut this down—I was getting too much attention and it would detract from the class. He didn’t. “This was bound to happen. Myles, Trellian. Center ring. No mana. Contact rules. Begin on the whistle.”

Kael leaned over. “I’ll get the med kit ready.”

I sighed and stepped in. My stance was flat, my gaze steady. I wasn’t here to prove anything, but I wasn’t going to back down either.

“Try to keep up,” Vane said with a smirk.

The opening stance of my Stonewake style came without thought. The whistle blew.

Vane lunged—too fast, too wide, too sloppy. Our blades kissed once. I sidestepped, clipped his shoulder, tapped his ribs, swept his legs.

He hit the floor with a grunt. Snickers rippled through the yard.

“You’re dead, Trellian. Reset,” Rynhart said, bored.

Vane shot up, his face red, his pride gone. He charged again—wild, unrefined. I blocked. Redirected. Struck. Again. Then again. Each hit was clean and controlled.

I hit him harder than I probably needed to.

The fifth strike knocked his weapon across the ring.

Silence.

“Match—” Rynhart began.

Vane’s hand lit with raw mana. His sword snapped back to his grip in a return spell. Red arcs crawled up his arm, distorting the air. Gasps broke out. The blade flared with fire mana, a blatant violation of the rules.

“That’s a full violation,” Mira hissed.

“He’s going to snap something—his arm or Zane’s,” Kael said.

Vane roared and charged, his blade sparking with uncontrolled speed. I stepped in. I caught the swing at the instep, barely touching his mana-infused blade, letting it slide past, and then drove an elbow into his jaw. He staggered. I swept his legs out from under him, and he hit the ground. Again.

He scrambled back up, but before he could flare his mana a second time, I drove a clean palm strike into his solar plexus—enough to knock the wind out of him. Next, a pommel to the shoulder, a strike to the thigh, and a punch to the ribs.

Three sharp impacts; three brutal hits. His mana guttered out.

The yard went dead silent.

Rynhart’s voice cut through. “Trellian. Mana breach confirmed. Medical team inbound. You’re dismissed from this course—permanently.” His gaze flicked to me—sharp, but with the faintest approval. “Well done, Myles.”

I nodded, breathing steady.

The crowd parted as I left the ring.

Up on the observation terrace, behind a silverleaf railing, she was there.

Aurelia Vael Taranis.

She stood still, a stark contrast to the chaos below. Her silver hair was pinned back, her posture impeccable, and her silver eyes were locked on me. There was no applause. No smile. Just that unwavering gaze that seemed to see right through me.

I met her eyes. Her expression was a complex mixture of intensity and something else—something unreadable. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat, gave a soft stutter. She tilted her head, a silent question in her posture.

Oddly enough, it looked like she had a maid with her, who leaned in to whisper something to her, but Aurelia didn’t blink, her focus remaining entirely on me.

I gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile.

She just shook her head, a soft, amused dismissal. It wasn’t disdain; it was something warmer, more human than the ice-queen persona she wore in public. A challenge, perhaps.

I walked past the throng of students, my mind already replaying the last few moments of the fight. The feeling was still there—the sense of her eyes on me, the quiet intensity of her presence. I reached the edge of the courtyard, where the crowd thinned and the noise faded into a dull roar.

I was about to turn the corner when a voice stopped me cold. “Zane Myles.”

I turned, my hand instinctively brushing my hip where the phantom weight of my blade should have been.

Aurelia stood there, only a few steps away, somehow having bypassed the dispersing crowd without anyone so much as slowing her down. Her silver hair caught the light, her eyes bright with something I hadn’t seen before—genuine concern.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” she said, her voice even but softer than usual.

My brows rose. “What, no public proposal this time?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. For a moment, she froze. Then color bloomed across her cheeks, climbing until the flush stood out vivid against her porcelain composure.

“I wasn’t—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together. “I’m not here for that.”

“Really?” I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Because I could’ve sworn you were making a habit of it.”

Her flush deepened, and she exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve been told.” I let the silence hang for a beat, then I gave her a warm smile and asked, “So if it’s not another proposal… what do you actually want, Aurelia?”

Her gaze steadied, the embarrassment retreating behind that cool Taranis poise. Though she looked surprised at my use of her name. “I do have something to discuss with you. But I’d prefer it not be overheard.”

She glanced meaningfully toward the nearby students who were blatantly eavesdropping.

I considered her for a moment. She looked composed again, but there was still the faintest trace of crimson at her ears. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it mattered to her—and that made me curious.

“Alright,” I said finally. “Name the place.”

We made eye contract for a moment neither saying anything. Aurelia was a beauty symbol in the Kingdom for a reason. Her face and eyes were incredible. It was really the type of face that took one's breath away.

Luckily I was immune to that nonense.

Okay mostly immune.

We sat in the silence for a moment then her expression changed and her eyes searched mine for a heartbeat, then she gave the smallest nod. “I’ll find you.”

Then she turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in her hair like spun glass. I watched her go, wondering which part of me she actually wanted—answers about my style, or something else entirely.

Either way, I had a feeling the conversation, when it came, wouldn’t be boring.