Chapter 9 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Aurelia

I stood motionless as the crowd thinned, enchanted sunlight catching in the silver strands of my hair. Voices buzzed nearby, reverent, stunned, giddy, but none of it touched me.

My gaze was locked on the space where he’d stood.

The way he moved. That particular stance. The subtle tension in his off-hand as a counterbalance to his blade. I recognized it. I’d felt that brutal elegance before, haunting me ever since he’d bested me.

SwordWannabe.

It couldn’t be. Yet, it was.

This wasn’t the Crucible. This wasn’t the Ashglass Arena.

This was real life. And he was here.

I slipped my communicator from my coat pocket—an obsidian slab with a vein of spellsteel tracing its edge. It shimmered at my touch, syncing to my mana instantly.

“Lacey,” I said.

“Yes, Lady Aurelia?” came the reply, immediate as always.

“There was an incident in the eastern courtyard,” I stated, my voice cold and clear. “A student fought Korrin Drestal. He beat him like the idiot he is. I want his name.”

“His name?”

“Everything,” I snapped. “Enrollment file. Dorm location. Combat class, casting aptitude, realm access logs. Everything.”

Lacey paused. “Understood. I’ll escalate and pull public data first. Estimated delivery?”

“One hour.”

I ended the call.

Then I turned.

A knot of underclassmen still lingered nearby, caught between gossip and awkward reenactments. One boy with emerald-dyed hair and a glowpulse sash swung an imaginary blade, mimicking the fight in clumsy lunges. He was ridiculous, but he'd witnessed it all.

I stepped forward.

They noticed me instantly. The energy around them collapsed. Laughter cut off abruptly. The green-haired one straightened like he’d been struck.

Good.

“Did anyone record it?” I asked.

Silence. Then—

“I—uh—yeah! I did!” the green-haired one blurted, scrambling in his coat. He fumbled out a memory crystal and activated it.

The projection flickered to life—shaky, imperfect, but undeniably clear.

I watched.

Not just the strikes or the form. I watched him.

The calm. The restraint. The sheer clarity of intent. There was no posturing. No arrogance.

He didn’t fight for show.

He dismantled.

And when Korrin went down, he didn’t gloat. He simply checked on the boy Korrin had been harassing, then walked away. Like it was nothing. Like it was routine.

“Send it to me,” I commanded.

The boy synced the file to my communicator with trembling hands. “He tanked a shock spell and just cracked Korrin’s wand. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Transfer student?” someone muttered.

“His sword didn’t even have a core mod,” another observed. “It looked like a practice blade.”

I tuned them out. Their observations were superficial; I needed the deeper truth.

My communicator buzzed—file received.

I opened it again. Slower. Frame by frame.

I paused on the moment he disarmed Korrin. I rewound, watching the way he shifted his weight to absorb the spell instead of dodging. It wasn’t a mistake.

It was intentional. A tactical, personal choice.

He grounded the spell. Through his body. And it worked. My own mana hummed, a thrill of recognition.

I tagged the file and sent it to Liora:

“This is the one.”

Then followed it with a second message:

“I want everything on him. Not just his system file. I want his social record, financial standing, parents—living or dead. Who he sleeps near. What he eats. Favorite colors. Realm access history. Romantic attachments. Anything and everything. If he’s even looked at a realm gate, I want to know which one and when.”

Liora responded instantly.

“Understood. This may require private sources.”

“Then use them,” I said, my voice unwavering.

I lowered the device, heart pounding harder than I wanted to admit.

I hadn’t been like this in years. I hadn't cared this intensely in years.

It wasn’t just that he beat one of the highbloods. That was satisfying, yes. But that wasn’t the point.

It was the way he made me feel again.

The way he had made me feel.

SwordWannabe.

He made me forget I was Aurelia Vael Taranis.

And that? That was...unacceptable.