Katsu dried his hands with a quiet flick, flames rolling off his skin in a calm spiral before vanishing into steam. The effect wasn't loud, wasn't flashy—but every pair of eyes caught it.
"Alright, students. Your next class won't be long. You're free to stay and practice or move along. Today was light. Tomorrow won't be."
A single clap from the instructor scattered the tension. The ring of students broke into pairs again, some muttering, some smiling, relieved.
Katsu didn't move. He watched them—their laughter, the way they moved easily from one spell to the next. They weren't arrogant. Just… normal. At ease in their magic.
Not envy.
Something fouler.
"You wish you were them, don't you?"
The voice coiled behind his ear, low and velvet-smooth.
"…No," he murmured. "If I were them, I wouldn't be Katsu Nori."
The Leviathan's voice curved in satisfaction. "Good answer. Poor lie."
He clenched his jaw.
Across the water, a girl drew spirals in the air, water rising to match her thoughts. Another froze a bloom mid-basin, holding the shape of a rose in ice.
Katsu sat again, placing both hands near the edge of his basin. The surface rippled but only slightly. It no longer froze.
He let the thought go. Let the pressure sink low in his gut like a tide pulling back. One breath. Stillness.
Then movement gentle, fluid. The basin curved upward again, no resistance this time, the spiral forming sharper, smoother.
Sydney approached quietly, arms crossed. "You always practice alone?"
He glanced up. "Sometimes."
"Well… you'll get used to me, then." She sat beside him, close enough their knees brushed. "You promised to teach me."
"I remember."
She glanced at his basin. "That flow... you're not forcing it. You're listening."
"That's what she told me."
Sydney tilted her head. "Who?"
Katsu hesitated. "Nobody."
She stared at him a second longer, then looked away. "Velthra's weird," she said. "You know that, right?"
He smiled. "Yeah."
A moment passed.
"You scare people," she said.
"I know."
"Good."
He blinked.
Sydney reached down and touched his basin, her water dancing awkward and disjointed, sloshing in uneven loops before collapsing inward.
"Help me?" she asked, brows drawn, cheeks pink.
"Yeah, I'll—"
Katsu's body froze. The breath in his chest stalled like glass about to crack.
A boy was walking down from the Academy steps. Not hurried. Measured. Balanced. Intentional.
Hair white as fresh ash. Uniform trimmed in deep violet. No crest, no weapon. Just presence.
Someone near the front gasped. Another dropped their basin.
"You're late, Rei Dravantiir."
The teacher's voice, Master Uiscel—usually warm, even teasing—was taut. Measured like a taut string about to snap.
Rei didn't stop. He adjusted his cuffs as if he hadn't heard, then dipped his chin politely.
"Apologies, Master. Dravantiir matters take precedence. I came as soon as I was finished."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was reverent.
Someone whispered, "That's the heir... right?"
"No, he is Dravantiir."
Katsu didn't understand what that meant.
But he felt it.
Sydney leaned in, voice low, almost trembling. "Don't… don't stare. Just… don't."
Rei's eyes swept across the lakeside. Slowly.
A queen surveying pawns. His gaze passed over students, instructors then landed on Katsu.
And stopped.
Just for a moment.
Like recognition. Or suspicion. Or interest.
Then gone.
He took the basin nearest the teacher, sat gracefully on the stone, and said nothing.
The water in his basin froze over delicately.
Thin layers stacking in geometric spirals, untouched by his hands.
Katsu swallowed.
Sydney gripped his sleeve.
"I don't know what's more dangerous. Him… or the fact he looked at you like an equal."
The Leviathan stirred in the back of Katsu's thoughts.
Careful, she murmured.
That one doesn't need to kill you to break you.
Katsu didn't blink.
The lake was still.
Then she touched him.
Not softly. Not gently.
The Leviathan's hand closed over his, unseen by any but him. Commanding without warning, without permission.
Katsu's fingers plunged into the basin. Sydney's were still there.
The water didn't ripple. It convulsed.
Ice exploded outward in jagged veins, like lightning had struck beneath the surface. No symmetry. No pattern. Just raw, violent reaction.
Sydney yelped and yanked her hand back.
"Katsu!" she snapped, eyes wide. "My hand was in the basin—"
As soon as her fingers left the water, the temperature plummeted.
Frost shot up from the basin's edge in spikes, sudden and sharp, like teeth forming mid-breath.
No color. No shine. Just cold and edge.
The entire basin looked like it had been frozen mid-attack.
Not graceful. Not elegant.
Just… purposeful.
A statement, not a spell.
A few students turned. One boy dropped his basin, the splash echoing sharp.
Sydney held her hand close to her chest, not hurt but shaken.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Katsu didn't answer.
The Leviathan's voice slid into his spine.
You are not meant to impress them. You're meant to outlive them.
At the front, Rei Dravantiir looked over his shoulder. Brief. Calculated.
Their eyes met.
And for just a breath, Katsu wasn't sure which of them had truly lost control—him, or Rei.
The bell rang.
Sharp. Dismissive.
True to Master Uiscel's word, class was over.
Katsu started to leave. He had nothing to pack, no books to grab. He almost made it three steps before—
Sydney grabbed his wrist.
"H-Hey! What's gotten into you?"
He turned, slow. "...Sorry."
She didn't let go. Her brows drew in, lip trembling with the start of something fierce.
"Better be sorry! I thought we were friends." Her voice cracked at the edge. "But ever since Dravantiir showed up, you've been acting like a real piece of sh—… something."
Katsu blinked.
"You didn't even teach me like you said you would!"
The words hit harder than he expected.
More than anger. There was hurt, trembling at the corners of her mouth, shining at the edges of her lashes.
He stared. "I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to upset you like this. Wh… why are you so upset?"
That did it.
Her shoulders tensed; her eyes snapped shut. Magic flared at her fingertips, fire curling at the edges like a reflex she wanted to unleash—no, needed to.
But she didn't.
She breathed in.
And out.
Once.
"...Do you even know how to treat someone?" Her voice dropped, low and shaking. "How to treat a woman?"
Katsu opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first.
Then—quietly:
"...No. I don't. My mom—"
"Bye, Katsu."
She turned and walked away.
He didn't follow.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe right.
The silence left in her place hurt more than the words would have.
And he didn't know what to do with that pain.
Didn't know how to carry it.
Didn't know how to let it go.
The Leviathan appeared beside him, reaching for his hand but he snatched it away.
Not now.
Hopefully not ever again.