Neo adjusted his sleeve absently as Kael launched into another animated rant about their instructor's predictable pop quizzes.
"I'm telling you," Kael grinned, arms flailing dramatically, "the old man has to be reading my mind. The moment I skip revision—bam! A full quiz on heat-pressure principles. It's criminal."
Ayna chuckled softly, her posture as refined as her lineage. "Perhaps you should stop skipping revision, then."
Kael gave her a betrayed look. "Et tu, Ayna?"
Neo said little, but a faint curve of a smile ghosted across his lips. The warm interplay of banter and quiet understanding between the three felt oddly rare in a place where ambition often cast long shadows. Neo appreciated moments like these—brief, calm islands in the restless sea of the academy.
But peace was a fragile thing.
The afternoon sun painted SkyCloud's paved courtyards in gold, refracting off the polished stone like a blessing from the heavens. Yet it did little to dim the pressure that suddenly entered the air.
The sounds of idle chatter around them tapered off like a ripple folding into itself.
Boots. Polished. Purposeful. And far too loud for casual company.
Damian Sunblade strode into the courtyard with the self-assurance of someone who believed the world owed him reverence. His silver-threaded uniform fit too perfectly, his badge of family crest—a blazing twin-star and sword—glistening arrogantly under the sun.
Trailing behind him were three familiar figures: Boras, thick-necked and glowering, the kind who let his fists do most of the talking; Selin, sharp-eyed and sarcastic, never without a smirk; and Vyre, the quiet one, always observing from behind half-lowered lids like a snake coiled and waiting.
"Ah," Kael muttered under his breath, voice dropping a notch. "Here comes Lord Sunshine himself."
Ayna's lips pressed together. Neo's expression didn't change—but his fingers subtly clenched around the hem of his sleeve.
"Quite the gathering," Damian said, his voice smooth, confident, and dipped in disdain. "The orphan, the jester, and the jewel of SkyCloud. What a picture."
Kael took half a step forward, but Neo gently raised a hand, stopping him without a word.
Ayna tilted her chin up, eyes cool. "Damian."
He turned to her as if the rest didn't exist. "Ayna, always a pleasure. Still wasting your afternoons with the outer sect charity case?"
Neo didn't speak, didn't even flinch. But the light caught his eyes then, revealing not hurt—but a measured, eerie calm.
Kael, however, couldn't hold back. "You know, Damian, for someone who struts around like a king, you sure have a lot of time to loiter where you're not wanted."
Selin snorted, stepping forward. "Maybe we just enjoy the comedy show."
Neo finally looked up at Damian. "Was there something you needed, or are you simply auditioning for attention again?"
There was silence for a beat. Not tension—just a sharp, invisible thread pulled taut between them.
Damian smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Enjoy your little moment, Neo. You may not get many more. Not after the trials."
He let those words hang in the air, like smoke in a closed room. Then he turned and walked off, his entourage falling into step behind him.
Once they were out of earshot, Kael exhaled loudly. "Trials, huh? Think he's planning something?"
"He always is," Ayna said softly, brows creased.
Neo didn't reply. His eyes drifted upward, past the treetops, to the heavens where the three suns stood vigilant.
His fingers brushed against the jade pendant beneath his robe. The glow of the world around him felt slightly dimmer now.
Something was coming.
And deep down, he knew—Damian wasn't just posturing this time.
---
The echo of polished boots against the marble corridor was the only sound that followed them. Damian Sunblade didn't speak—not at first. The bait had been laid, and the look on Neo's face haunted him in all the wrong ways.
Not fear.
Not even irritation.
Just that same infuriating calm, like he was always five moves ahead. Like he didn't care what Damian thought.
That had to end.
He led his trio down a less-traveled path, a narrow walkway shaded by overgrown ivy and white-stoned arches. This part of the academy was old, rarely used, and far from prying eyes. Fitting, he thought, for what came next.
Only when he was sure they were alone did he speak.
"Neo," Damian said, the name curling like ash on his tongue. "That smug little stray is too clever for his own good."
Selin rolled his eyes. "You say that every week. And yet, he keeps showing up to class, intact and irritating."
"Because bruises heal," Damian snapped. "But records? Reputations? Those bleed forever."
Boras frowned. "You want to hit his record?"
"Precisely," Damian said, turning to face them. The light barely touched his face here, and that suited his smile just fine. "We don't need to outscore him in the trials. We just need him to not show up."
Selin arched a brow. "What are we talking here? A forged report? Cheating scandal? Maybe smuggling?"
Damian's smile sharpened. "Smuggling's too crude. But theft? Now that's poetic. A lowborn student, caught with restricted material from somewhere? That would stain anyone's name—especially someone the instructors are watching."
Vyre leaned against the wall, his voice low. "And if it's the right item, the kind that triggers an investigation…"
"They won't question it," Damian said. "They'll call it unfortunate. Tragic, even. But he'll be done. No trials. No advancement. No more whispers about how far the orphan genius will rise."
Boras scratched his chin. "He doesn't exactly sneak into vaults for fun, though. How do we make it stick?"
Damian opened his palm, revealing a rectangular glass where a display pops out. "Already taken care of."
Selin's eyes widened. "That's.... that's genius boss!."
Damian smirked. "With my background, doing something like this trivial and easy."
"And when will it be discovered?" Vyre asked.
"It won't be discovered," Damian said coldly. "It'll be leaked. Right before the trials begin. Let the scandal break when the academy is at its most public. Right when the Grand Examiner arrives."
Selin gave a low whistle. "You're going to bury him with the one thing no student here can survive—dishonor."
"Exactly," Damian said, eyes narrowing. "Let them see the brilliant nobody for what he is. Let the whispers turn into silence. And Ayna…"
He trailed off, jaw tightening.
Selin gave him a knowing look. "Still chasing shadows?"
Damian didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Because deep down, he knew this wasn't just about the trials. Or even about Neo.
It was about the way she looked at him. Not with admiration. Not with awe.
But with respect.
The kind she never once gave Damian Sunblade.
"I'll clip his wings," Damian whispered, more to himself than to the others. "Before they ever learn how high he could fly."
And this time—there would be no recovery.
Not from a brand like this.
---