"They should be somewhere around here, no?" Jayden's voice echoed through the quiet evening air, the kind of hush that only came when the training fields were finally empty.
The trio walked side by side, boots crunching faintly against gravel as they headed toward the designated meeting spot.
"Like we'd trust you with directions," Riko cut in, tone dry enough to dehydrate a cactus.
Jayden shot him a glare. "Bro, that was one time. One wrong turn and suddenly I'm banned from navigating for life?"
Riko shrugged. "You got us lost inside the Academy. Inside. How do you even do that?"
Tarrin tuned them out, his eyes distant. The dull throb in his side hadn't stopped, a slow pulse of pain that reminded him with every step just how close that blade had come.
The wound across his chest was at least closed, though the scar it left looked like someone had tried to carve a canyon into him.
The healer hadn't held back either—said if he'd shown up any later, she would've declared him medically stupid.
Apparently, he was slower than her grandma, and her grandma was dead.
But none of that was what really gnawed at him.
His thoughts kept circling back to the fight. To the missteps. The hesitation. The opening he'd given that Felix didn't waste.
A two-on-one against more experienced cadets. Everyone said he held his own. That he should be proud.
So why did it still feel like failure? If he couldn't win against Felix, how would he fight a Scarbane?
"Tarrin," Jayden called again, voice more serious this time.
He blinked and looked over. Jayden's brows were drawn tight. Worried. Real worried.
"I'm fine," Tarrin said with a faint smile. "Just thinking."
Riko, of course, pounced on the opportunity. "Thinking about the Ice Princess? Or how Felix turned you into the Shatterer of Mirrors?"
Tarrin blinked. "What?"
Riko grinned. "It's a reference, man. This painting got sliced in some museum—doubled it's price. It's called Shatterer of Mirrors. "
Tarrin gave him a flat look. "Since when are you into art?"
"Since I saw you become modern performance art by getting body slammed into a sword." Riko snorted. "Ten outta ten. Very avant-garde."
Tarrin just shook his head, but a small smirk tugged at his lips despite the ache in his ribs.
A sudden shout broke the quiet.
"Over here!"
No mistaking that voice—it was Lena. No one else they knew could weaponize volume quite like she did. Certainly not Celith, who still hadn't been caught speaking above a whisper.
They spotted the two girls near the bar entrance. Lena waved both arms like she was signaling a rescue team from a sinking ship, face lit up with excitement.
Celith stood beside her, expression carved from marble, silently radiating: Please, someone erase me from this gathering.
As the guys approached, a chorus of half-hearted greetings followed. Even Tarrin kept quiet, which was rare enough to be noticed.
"Let's head in," Riko said, already moving toward the bar doors. "Maybe the manager won't glare at us if we show up with actual social people."
Tarrin glanced toward Celith. To his surprise, her golden eyes were already on him.
'Why is she staring at me like that?'
He fell into step beside her anyway, catching a sharp eyebrow raise from Lena in the process. Classic.
Honestly, he hadn't expected Celith to show up.
He figured the invite would be shut down colder than her usual stare—but maybe a liter of blood loss and his half-conscious puppy eyes had earned him a sympathy point. Or two.
The bar greeted them with its usual chaos—low conversation humming across tables, the clatter of glassware, and music that somehow managed to be both bland and obnoxious.
At least it wasn't loud enough to kill brain cells.
They grabbed a round table near the back. As they settled in, Tarrin caught Lena not-so-subtly nudging Jayden to the opposite side—leaving the seat beside Celith wide open.
'Seriously? What is this? Middle school lunch politics?'
He took the seat anyway.
"Still can't believe Lucas ditched us," Riko muttered as he leaned back, hands behind his head. "Said we were a bad influence. Like we're the problem."
Jayden nodded in solemn agreement.
Tarrin raised a brow. "Why are you nodding? It took us a whole week to convince you to show up."
Jayden just sighed. "Yeah, and I regret it already."
Lena grinned. "Too late. You're trapped now."
"I'll go order," Tarrin said, pushing his chair back. "What should I get you guys? No, wait—let me guess."
He leaned forward, eyes locking on the duo across from him. "You two seem like fruity types. I'm thinking… strawberry blitz."
Lena snorted beside him.
Jayden and Riko, on the other hand, looked like he'd just insulted their ancestors.
"Get outta here," Riko shot back, grinning. "Beer. Make it cold."
Jayden glanced around the bar like someone might be eavesdropping. Then, in a hushed voice, he muttered, "Yeah… get me that. It sounds nice."
Tarrin reached across the table and patted his shoulder solemnly. "Must've been hard, man."
Jayden blinked. "What?"
"No need to pretend. It's out now. We support you."
Even Riko cracked up at that, shaking his head. "You're a menace."
Tarrin's grin widened as he noted their reactions—Jayden's embarrassment, Riko's defiance. Small tells, but useful. People were easier to handle when you knew what they liked.
Tarrin then turned to the girls. "Apple juice for you?" he asked Celith, who gave the faintest of nods.
Her expression didn't change, but her eyes met his like she was trying to figure something out.
"You should try an actual drink," Tarrin added, a small smile playing at his lips. "I've got this great one. Not too strong."
She hesitated, then nodded again. That was all the answer he needed.
"And for you," he turned dramatically to Lena, "our radiant ray of spire-shine… a glass of wine, perhaps?"
But Lena only grinned. "Beer."
Tarrin paused, blinking. "Seriously?"
"What? A girl can't like beer?" she fired back.
He held up both hands in surrender, then pivoted smoothly toward the bar.
As he walked away, the table quieted for a beat. Lena glanced after him, then leaned in. "Is he okay? He seems… off."
Celith didn't say anything, but her posture shifted, just slightly—subtle, almost unnoticeable. Riko caught it anyway.
"He's still stewing over the Felix fight," he said with a knowing look. "That loss messed with him more than he's letting on."
"Maybe you're overreacting," Jayden offered from the side, tone light but hopeful. "I mean, if something was really wrong, he would've told us, right?"
Riko didn't even look at him. "We've known the guy two weeks. Why would he tell us anything?"
Jayden opened his mouth to protest. "But he—"
Riko cut him off with a scoff. "And let's be real, man. Tarrin strikes me as the type who'd rather drop dead than admit he's hurting. He's just thugging it out, as they say."
Before Jayden could reply, Tarrin returned with the drinks in hand. He handed them out with the usual grin, but this time it was thinner—more habit than feeling. The smile touched his lips, not his eyes.
"Alright," Tarrin said, sliding into his seat. "Let's kick things off with something fun. Not every day we actually hang out like this. Any suggestions?"
Jayden perked up. "Drinking game?"
Tarrin tilted his head, considering. "I'm listening. Haven't played one in a while."
Riko leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've got a good one. Scarbane Stakes."
Lena raised a brow. "Sounds violent."
He grinned. "It's not—well, unless you count internal damage. Here's how it works: we put a 'pig pot' in the center. Every round, one of us plays Scarbane—asks someone a question.
If they tell the truth, we all raise a toast. But if they lie—or we think they're lying—we call 'Stake.'"
He made a dramatic stabbing motion with his finger. "That person has to pour a bit of their drink into the pot. Once it's full…" he paused for effect, "the last liar has to down it."
He leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. "So? What'cha think?"
Tarrin caught the subtle shift in Celith's expression—a slight frown tugging at her lips. Maybe it was the thought of having to answer personal questions in front of a crowd.
He nudged her lightly under the table with the tip of his boot. She turned, just a bit, and met his eyes. He didn't speak, just gave her a look.
She nodded. Barely. But the message was clear.
When Riko returned, triumphantly holding a chipped clay bowl like it was some sacred artifact, Tarrin blinked. The bartender actually gave him one? He'd half expected Riko to get laughed out the door, given how often they stirred up trouble in here.
"Alright, I'm kicking it off," Riko announced, flashing that grin—the one that usually came right before something dumb or chaotic.
Tarrin already knew what was coming. The second Riko's eyes locked on him, a sense of dread settled in his gut.
"Okay, Tarrin."
There it was.
"Were you ever body-slammed into a sword?"
The grin on Riko's face could've been seen from across the bar. It drew a few chuckles from nearby tables—nosy bastards pretending not to eavesdrop.
Tarrin didn't say anything. Just nodded once, slow and deliberate.
His expression stayed flat, but inside, a storm was brewing.
Just wait, you smug bastard.