Chapter 34 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Feedback on this chapter would appreciated it- I feel like its off. I don't know

(Kael, best friend of Zane Myles—yeah, still true, somehow.)

The South Tower common room at Corvalis Arx had turned into a festival ground crossed with a minor natural disaster. Mana lights pulsed low; the air smelled like conjured kettle-sugar and stress. Someone had spelled floating pennants to orbit the ceiling beams: GO ARX, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL DEMIGOD, and—because this school has no shame—MARRY ME, ZANE in glitter script.

On the wall, a projection cycled campus notices so fast the glyphs blurred:

TRANSFER COHORT ARRIVALS: VIRELLIAN ACADEMIES (EAST LEGION, WHITE ICE, TWIN STANDARD)…
EXCHANGE STUDENTS: RHEST MAGI-COLLEGIUM, LANE ARCANUM, NORTH HARBOR
DUELING CONSERVATORY…
TEMP HOUSING OVERSUBSCRIBED. PLEASE SHARE A COUCH WITH DIGNITY.

I stood with a mana-sparkling drink I didn’t want and watched Corvalis become the center of the observable universe. Last week, the biggest drama on this floor was whose salamander ate whose alchemy homework. Today, the registrar had a triage line guarded by a stone golem and a very patient clerk casting calming spells every forty-five seconds.

“Transfers are up to three hundred and twelve,” Theo said, squinting at the feed like that would make the numbers kinder. “And that’s just processed. There’s a queue at the Skyrail—six caravans in transit. Two from the Virellian Confederacy, two from the Coligah States, one from the Ka’sari Principalities, and even one from the Crimson Dominion of Servonne.”

I blanched. “The Crimson Dominion of Servonne? They sent people here? Isn’t it, like, illegal to be a man there or something?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “You cannot have a country without both sexes, Kael. They just don’t think very highly of the masculine sex. Their top Adventurers are women. Equal rights… not really their thing. There’s an all-girls college in the capital—I forget the name—but the fact they’re sending transfers here…”

Mira perched on the couch arm, knees tucked up, bright-eyed and a little alarmed.

“Crazy,” I said.

The others nodded.

“They aren’t the only ones going nuts. The students I saw from White Ice Academy are calling it a ‘targeted immersion term,’” Elaine added, scrolling her slate. “Translation: go learn what that boy did and bring it home.”

Auri cannonballed onto the cushions, all sunlight hair and kinetic joy. “Did you see the new club sign-ups? There’s a Zane Appreciation Society now. Subcommittees: ‘Stoic Zane,’ ‘Hair Zane,’ ‘Zane vs. Death Knight: Frame-by-Frame.’ There’s even a knitting circle making tiny Willborn plushies.”

I took a sip I didn’t need. “Genius. Why didn’t I think of that.”

Auri wiggled her fingers with solemn pride. “I joined—had to get my hands on those plushies.”

Elaine raised a hand. We stared. “I got into an argument with a group of girls about True Edge vs. Sword Intent. I invited them to our study group. I’m… regretting it.”

“We are not discussing Zane’s technique today,” I said, before Theo could launch a treatise and Elaine could counter-cite three Tower papers. “We did the Pure-Edge-versus-True-Edge talk yesterday. The professors are doing it again right now in three auditoriums and a panic room. Today is campus triage.”

Theo deflated. “But I color-coded the resonance model.”

“I love you,” I said, “and I will look at your model when the building stops vibrating.”

Because it was. The whole complex carried an under-note of stomping boots and excited voices. Hallway traffic moved like a parade: new uniforms, new crests, new accents. Virellian officer-cadets marched in tidy pairs past two Skyward Accord kids arguing about cafeteria spices. A trio from the Independent City of North Harbor walked by in duelist blacks, gazes sharp, tracking sightlines like the room was a target.

Mira leaned toward the window, watching them file across the quad in perfect formation. “I feel underdressed and over-caffeinated.”

“The joys of being famous-adjacent,” I said.

A chime sounded from the door. Someone had spelled the entry rune to play a chorus of gasps. Extremely helpful. The door slid open to reveal first-years in matching shirts: ZANE MYLES DEFENSE LEAGUE, a heart, crossed sabers.

They stopped dead when they saw us.

“Hi,” their leader said faintly. “We’re… petitioning Housing for balcony rights during his walks.”

“No balcony rights,” Elaine said without looking up. “Privacy policy. Section Seven of your handbook. You can gather on the sidewalk.”

The girl giggled, breathless. “Yes. Great idea. I’ll get a permit.”

They squeaked away. The gasps chime reset.

“Fan clubs,” Auri declared, delighted. “Plural. Zane is going to love this.”

Theo tapped another notice. “Also anti-fan clubs. Plural. The main one: the League for the Preservation of Average Men.”

“That’s not real,” I said.

He angled his slate so I could read the slogan:

ZANE MYLES: ENEMY OF ALL AVERAGE MEN
Stop raising expectations. We like our girlfriends alive.

Auri wheezed. Mira clapped a hand over her mouth. Elaine’s mouth twitched—the expression that means she’s amused and refusing to be.

“They held a ‘return the bar to the ground’ rally behind the greenhouse,” Theo added, scholarly, which made it funnier. “Banner painted on a bedsheet.”

“Brotherhood of the Bedsheet,” Auri said thoughtfully. “Iconic.”

The projection above us flipped to the Campus Dueling Board. The list scrolled like a waterfall. It tried to paginate. Failed. Added a second column.

MYLES, ZANE — OPEN CHALLENGES: 147

They had come from everywhere: all years at Corvalis, Virellian transfers, private conservatories, public guild schools, even a dojo with a name that sounded like a threat—they didn’t even go here. Some requests had notes:

For the honor of my House.
For research collaboration after.
For a date?
For a second date?
To have your babies!

“Okay,” I said, rubbing my face. “We need a gate. He’ll get lost in this nonsense.”

“We’re not his handlers,” Elaine said—the kind of protest you make while you mentally draft the form. “He won’t let us help him.”

“We’re not asking,” I said.

Everyone nodded.

“The duel challenges are first,” I continued. “We create a bottleneck. Intake questionnaire: ‘Explain in 300 words why you seek humiliation.’ ‘Attach proof of medical coverage.’ ‘Initial here acknowledging you may become a compilation video.’”

“Limit one challenge per person per day,” Mira added. “Per ego.”

“Minimum credentials,” Theo said. “No first-years. Minimum Class-C track. Foreign exchange: submit sparring footage.”

“Application fee,” Auri said. “One plushie.”

“Absolutely not,” Elaine said, smiling anyway. “Make it five thousand. That’ll deter half.”

The door chimed again; a group peered in, nervous. Austere gray uniforms with frost-thread piping: Tian. Their leader—a fourth-year from Coligah, former sword-spear prodigy, raid team ‘White Ice’—held a parchment like a peace treaty.

“We bring respectful greetings from White Ice,” she said formally. “We request audience with Zane Myles.”

“Schedule with the Dueling Office,” Elaine replied, equally formal. “Room B-17.”

The girl hesitated. “Also… we’ve formed an anti-‘Enemy of All Men’ chapter to combat certain… misconceptions. We seek dialogue.”

“Down the hall, second door,” Auri said, pointing helpfully. “Past the shrine.”

The Tian nodded and left, marching like the carpet was a battlefield they intended to respectfully conquer.

Mira exhaled. “Didn’t think I’d ever see Tian form a dialogue club.”

“War changes people,” I said.

“Don’t joke,” Elaine murmured, eyes on a different feed. “It’s not just fandom. Two intelligence flags on campus today. Imperial scout team at the Rift site yesterday. Sponsors circling. And—”

She flicked a private link into our shared channel. We all read it at once.

Breaking: Battle for the Edgewalker. Who will gain the favor of the Kingdom’s latest obsession—SEREPHINA VALETTE DU LYS or AURELIA VAEL TARANIS? (Also: rumors he’ll marry the Princess.)

I sighed. Already out of hand.

Auri clapped both hands over her mouth and screamed into them silently, like a kettle with manners. Theo put his head on the table. Mira looked at me like I might have an adult in my pocket.

“Okay,” I said, because apparently this is my job. “We knew about Serephina.”

“Apparently she went to his apartment,” Auri said reverently.

“Her offer was… thorough,” Elaine said diplomatically.

“And Aurelia?” Mira whispered.

“Nothing since she offered a crest and engagement in public,” Theo mumbled into the wood. “Poll has forty-two percent wanting them married by sundown.”

Auri checked another board. “Serephina’s at thirty-eight. Princess Persephone at fifteen. The rest are feral.”

“Imperial interest is not a rumor,” Elaine added. “The Court uses curiosity like a crowbar.”

We sat with that.

Outside, the quad kept streaming arrivals. A boy in Lane-blue scholars’ robes tripped over his dignity trying to selfie a statue. A North Harbor pair practiced feints at a bench, polite as vultures. Someone wheeled a cart of “officially unofficial” merch—pins in Zane’s silhouette, hoodies that said BOWED FOR HIM, a cursed scarf declaring ENEMY OF ALL MEN front and back so you could be bipartisan depending on the wind.

“Security’s tightening,” Mira said. “Is that a second ward ring around the dueling greens?”

“Third,” Elaine said. “Two faculty, one Tower adjunct. The infirmary hung a sign: NO, WE ARE NOT ACCEPTING LOVE NOTES FOR MR. MYLES.”

Auri beamed. “We live in a golden age.”

I dragged a spare chair into the center of the room and climbed onto it. If a situation calls for authority, fake it from higher ground.

“Okay, Team Don’t-Let-Our-Friend-Become-a-State-Religion,” I said. Heads turned; conversation tapered. “New ground rules until this calms down.”

I pointed at Theo. “You’re Dueling Board triage. We’ll pull it from central admin—they’ll thank us later. Alphabetize, credential-check, assign polite rejections.”

Theo, already halfway in love with the spreadsheet in his mind, saluted. “I will be feared.”

“Mira, Crowd Mitigation and Corridor Flow. Mark safe routes. Redirect ‘chance encounters’ that aren’t chance. Make signs.”

“I love signs,” she said, radiant.

“Auri, Public Mood. If the fan club builds a shrine and wants acknowledgment, keep it tasteful. If the anti-fan club waves bedsheets, encourage friendly fonts. If a flash mob tries to serenade under the window, redirect them to the amphitheater and call it a charity concert.”

Auri put a hand over her heart. “I was born for this.”

“Elaine,” I said, softer, meeting her eyes. “Security Sense. If something stops being silly and starts being dangerous, you call it first.”

She nodded once. “Already called three.”

“And me?” I hopped down. “I’m the blunt instrument. When nobles knock, I answer first.”

Auri’s eyes widened. “You’re going to body-block a House crest?”

“With courtesy,” I said. “And a sign-up sheet.”

Elaine’s slate chimed. She glanced, then arched a brow. “Speaking of nobles: the Princess’s office just sent an ‘art appreciation inquiry’—modern heroism and decisive action.”

“Translation: they want a meeting,” I said.

“That’s as subtle as a brick to the face,” Theo muttered.

“Aggressively not subtle,” Mira agreed.

A small stampede thundered down the hall. The door slid open—no chime; someone had mercy—and five first-years spilled in, breathless.

“Kael!” the leader panted. “He’s got one hundred and forty-seven challenges. The Dueling Office wants to know if you’re serious about running interference—they can’t field requests for Zane all—”

“Tell them to push the changes in the System,” I said, before she fainted. I turned back to the others. “Cap in effect: one duel per person, on his schedule. Pre-screened. Faculty oversight. Medical waiver. Ten-thousand-coin fee. And no ‘duel for a date.’ Anyone who writes that goes to the bottom of every queue forever.”

Relief washed across five faces. “Thank you,” the girl whispered. “We thought we’d have to wrestle a Virellian.”

“You still might,” Auri said cheerfully. “Bring snacks.”

They fled. Quiet returned—the kind that makes you realize how loud it’s been.

Mira looked at me over her knees. “Have you… talked to him?”

“Zane?” I said, as if there were another him. “He’s hiding in his apartment pretending he isn’t reading every message and then feeling bad about ignoring them.”

Elaine’s mouth softened. “He won’t ask for help. You know that, right?”

“He’ll take it if it feels like infrastructure, not pity,” I said. “Broom, not bandage—we handle the mess so he can keep walking.”

Auri blinked. “I can build a broom schedule.”

“Of course you can,” I said.

Elaine’s rune buzzed, a warning tone too soft for anyone else to hear. She tilted her head, listening—then relaxed. “False spike. Not hostile. Just… intense.”

“Everything’s intense,” I said. “We’re living in a blender.”

The door opened one more time—no chime, thank the gods—and the volume outside dipped, like the building took a breath.

He stepped in, shoulders hunched against the weather of attention, coat rumpled, boots leaving faint mana-prints that winked in and out with each step. Bandages showed beneath his shirt. The face was the same.

Half the room froze. The other half pretended very hard to be normal.

“Hey,” Zane said, like he’d misplaced his words and found them in the doorway.

“Hey,” I said, because sometimes friendship is just answering levelly when everyone else is vibrating.

Auri sprang up, then forced herself to sit like a puppy learning stay. Mira gave a tiny, brave wave. Theo opened and closed his mouth twice; no treatise emerged. Elaine lifted her slate in greeting, then set it aside.

“You have a fan club—several, actually,” I told him, because there’s no good way to ease into that sentence.

He stared at me. “Yeah, the giant banners outside gave it away.”

“And anti-fan clubs,” Auri added. “Enemy of All Men.”

He stared harder. “Ah. That explains the hostility from the two gentlemen downstairs.”

“And one hundred and forty-seven duel challenges,” Theo said faintly. “We’re implementing a cap.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “Thank you?”

Elaine gestured to the couch someone had cleared with the desperation of a person offering a seat to a collapsing sun. “Sit. Breathe. We’ll make a wall you can hide behind.”

He didn’t sit. Not right away. He took in the pennants, the chaos, the ridiculous knitted plushie on the table, and his mouth tugged at one corner like the idea of a smile was thinking about him.

“Don’t watch the clip,” he said to no one in particular, eyes still on the window. “Just… don’t.” His voice wasn’t tired so much as rubbed thin.

“We won’t,” Mira said instantly. “Not today.”

Auri hugged the plushie. Theo set his slate down, slowly, like surrendering a weapon. Elaine’s steady gaze said, you’re covered.

I nodded. “Today is logistics. We’ll sweep. You walk.”

He finally sat. The room exhaled.

Outside, the quad erupted as two crowds tried to out-chant each other around a fountain and a warder loudly recited the statute on “excessive adoration without a permit.” Inside, someone switched the projection from Mana Burn to a loop of quiet ocean. The lights softened. The tower stopped feeling like it might vibrate apart.

The Kingdom was watching Zane Myles. Courts and sponsors and princes and ice academies were moving their pieces.

But in the South Tower common room, we stack-ranked the chaos, color-coded the madness, and made a list.

He hadn’t changed.