Sylas had a rule: Never run toward a scream unless there was an audience and dramatic lighting.
Unfortunately, the scream that echoed across the eastern courtyard didn't give him that option.
"Help! Somebody—he's bleeding!"
The words sliced through the academy grounds like a whip, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel.
Sylas, standing by a statue of a particularly judgmental phoenix, froze mid-bite into a sweetroll.
He looked down at the pastry.
Then at the direction of the scream.
Then back at the pastry.
"…Damn it."
He tossed it into the bushes and sprinted toward the chaos, boots skidding across cobblestones.
When he arrived, he wasn't the only one.
A small crowd had gathered near the training yard. Two duelists stood in the center of the ring, one on the ground groaning in pain, the other gripping a sword and panting heavily.
"What happened?" Sylas asked, elbowing his way to the front.
Vivienne was already there, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "A sparring match turned into something... else."
"Define else."
"The kind of else that involves someone breaking Academy code by nearly gutting a peer," said a familiar voice.
Sylas turned. Professor Mira had arrived, robes fluttering like she personally commanded the wind. Her eyes locked onto the duelist still holding the sword.
"You," she said sharply. "Name."
"Cassian Alder, ma'am," the boy said, trying to lower the sword.
"Drop it."
It clattered onto the ground.
The injured student groaned again. Mira knelt beside him and touched his chest lightly; magic flickered from her fingers, stopping the bleeding.
"This isn't just a broken rule," she muttered. "This is intent to harm."
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder.
Sylas didn't know Cassian personally, but he recognized the type. Noble house. Entitled. Probably the kind of guy who insulted servants for fun and cried when his father raised taxes on peasants.
Mira stood. "This match is over. Mr. Alder, you'll report to the Discipline Committee immediately."
Cassian looked pale. "But—he insulted my house!"
"Did he?" Mira's voice was ice.
Cassian faltered.
Sylas cleared his throat. "If he did, I'm sure it wasn't worth a felony-level stab. But hey, I'm just a minor villain, what do I know?"
Cassian glared at him. "You think this is funny, Vermund?"
"No," Sylas replied cheerfully. "It's hilarious."
Professor Mira's gaze flicked between them. "Enough."
She turned to Vivienne. "Escort him to the Committee."
Vivienne didn't question it. She grabbed Cassian by the collar and dragged him away like someone hauling out the trash.
Sylas let out a slow breath as the tension began to dissolve.
He stepped back, only for a hand to grab his arm.
Mira.
"I need to speak with you. Privately."
Sylas blinked. "Is this about my sparkling personality again?"
Her stare could melt glass.
They walked into one of the side halls, empty and echoing. Mira didn't waste time.
"You're drawing too much attention."
He tried to act surprised. "Me? I'm a background character at best."
"You're a walking magnet for conflict. First the headmaster's warning, now this. What's next?"
"Hopefully tea," Sylas said. "Or a nap."
She didn't laugh.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Vermund," she said finally. "But this Academy doesn't have the luxury of another scandal."
"Noted."
Mira's eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she walked away.
Sylas leaned against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
He was surviving—but barely.
Every move was being watched. Every word weighed. One misstep, and he'd be out—or worse.
As he walked back toward the dorms, his thoughts tangled with possibilities.
Someone wanted him dead.
Someone wanted him gone.
And he had a very bad feeling that this latest duel wasn't an accident.