Finster POV:
A willow wisp slid along the tattoo at my neck, sending a sharp prickle down my spine.
"He is hiding something." Helle scowled, "That much was obvious."
Helle drifted back into view and settled lightly on my shoulder, her glow faint and subdued.
"I still cannot believe he actually fed you his own flesh," she said quietly. "And no matter how many angles I check from, I cannot read him at all."
I clenched my fingers. "Same here. I cannot sense his emotions. Not even a trace of it. It is like staring into a void."
Helle noticed the change immediately. Her glow dimmed further. "What is wrong. Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I replied after a moment. "I am fine."
That was a lie.
I hesitated, then spoke again. "I do not know why, and this might sound insane, but he feels familiar. Like, I met him somewhere before? Somewhere important. I just cannot remember where."
Helle floated in a slow circle. "I have only been with you for three months now," she said carefully, "and I am certain I have never met him. If you did meet him, it must have been before you met me."
"Do you really not remember anything after he fed you?" Helle asked.
"Nothing. The deeper I try to trace it, the more my head hurts. It feels like something is blocking me from remembering."
"…Me too."
"After he tried to cover your eyes, the last thing I remember is hearing him talk to you. Then our link was cut."
Helle sighed. " When we reconnected, you had already fainted. The only one awake was that grumpy rank-one student. She was staring at you like she had seen a ghost."
I exhaled slowly.
A light tap touched my back.
I turned to see Maku standing there, expression unreadable as always. "You know him?"
I looked past him, my eyes lingering on the classroom door Matt had fled through earlier.
I did not answer.
Maku followed my gaze for a moment, then sighed softly. "We should start packing up for the next class."
Waffel leaned in excitedly. "Hey, Finster. I heard they let you borrow a Loom for practice. If you graduate with top grades, you can actually keep it."
Azalea folded her arms, her tone firm. "Do not let your guard down. Excelia already proved this is not an ordinary school."
I nodded absently, my thoughts elsewhere.
We moved together toward the duel grounds.
When we arrived, I immediately spotted them. Matthew and Tasora were already there, seated off to the side. My instinct urged me to approach him again, to demand answers I was not even sure existed.
Given how he fled last time, he would probably evade me again.
So I stayed where I was.
Once all of Class 1-A had gathered, the instructors announced we could choose our Looms. As others stepped forward, I approached the energetic instructor Zmey.
"I already have a personal Loom," I told her.
She raised a brow. "That may be an issue if your weapon is Mythical or Legendary grade. Kindly bring it out so I can inspect it."
I nudged Helle gently.
"It is fine," She said calmly. "Although my Loom is a Mythical class, it is tied to my current state. What you see will be a lower-grade manifestation."
Zmey crossed her arms, intrigued. "Alright. Show me."
I reached into my hair, fingers closing around the hairpin buried within my hair. I lowered my voice and murmured a single name.
"Orcus."
A massive scythe materialized in a burst of shadow and light, its sheer size drawing gasps from nearby students. The curved blade gleamed ominously, and whispers rippled through the duel grounds.
Then the transformation began.
The wooden handle shortened, condensing inward. The elongated curved blade straightened, its form compressing and refining. In moments, the giant scythe collapsed into a gemlike longsword.
Helle let out a long sigh. "My pride and joy reduced to such a state. How miserable."
I smiled faintly. "Do not worry. This is my preferred form anyway. It is more than enough. Thank you for lending it to me."
Zmey whistled, clearly impressed. "A transforming Loom. Not bad. Let me see."
She examined it closely, her excitement slowly fading. "elite gade," she muttered. "I expected at least a unique grade."
She shrugged. "Still fine. Anything above Unique is prohibited anyway. Looms above those gives too much of an advantage."
She handed it back to me. "You are free to use this Loom as is."
As I accepted it, my gaze drifted once more toward Matthew.
Zmey noticed immediately and followed my line of sight. A wide grin spread across her face as she clapped her hands together, the sharp sound echoing across the duel grounds.
"Alright, class, gather up."
The murmurs died down as everyone turned toward her.
"Today's lesson was supposed to be familiarizing yourselves with Looms," she said, pacing in front of us. "How they function. How do they assist you in combat. How they act as extensions of your bodies and conduits for thrum."
She stopped and looked around.
"Normally, I would explain how Looms stabilize output, reduce backlash, amplify intent, and allow even beginners to bypass their own limitations."
"I would also need to talk about channel efficiency, feedback loops, reinforcement, and how to handle emergencies."
"But that's very tedious." She waved a hand dismissively. "Seeing how even on the second day in class, you guys already have your own conflicts, let's resolve that by hitting a flock of birds with a giant stone."
A few students straightened nervously.
Her hands ignited, and an audible crack in her knuckles could be heard. "From now on, we duel."
A ripple of shock ran through the class.
"Real combat pressure forces Looms to respond honestly. You learn flow control, reaction timing, positioning, and restraint all at once.
You learn faster when mistakes hurt," she said with a sharp smile. "A live match teaches everything theory pretends to."
She raised a finger. "One exception."
Her gaze snapped toward Tasora. "Miss rank one will sit this one out."
Tasora blinked. "Huh."
"There is no point," Zmey continued casually. "That girl does not understand restraint. Fighting her teaches nothing except how to get sent to the infirmary."
Tasora tilted her head. "I think that is unfair."
"I still need to do my job regardless of whether both of us like it or not."
A few students laughed nervously.
Someone raised a hand. "Instructor, would that not leave one student without a partner?"
Zmey's grin widened.
"Oh, do not worry."
At the edge of the seating area, Kenth, who had been minding his own business with admirable dedication, suddenly stiffened.
"No," he muttered. "No no no."
"That lucky student will face me," Zmey announced proudly, already turning toward him.
Kenth shot to his feet. "Goddammit, please no."
Zmey cracked her knuckles. "It has been a long time since we had a proper training session."
She leaned closer, her smile sharp. "And I heard you are barely hanging onto the top ten rankings. I would not know how to face your mother if you fell any further."
Kenth dropped back into his seat. "Please spare me."
The rest of us were quickly paired up.
When my name was called alongside Matthew Pier Salinin, my grip tightened on Orcus.
So this was intentional.
Matt stood across from me, calm on the surface, though his posture was guarded. His Loom shimmered faintly around his hand, restrained and compact. He met my gaze for a brief moment, unreadable as ever.
Zmey raised her voice. "Rules are simple. First clean hit wins. No lethal intent. Loom assisted output only. If I sense any thrum misuse, I intervene."
She glanced sideways at Azalea. "Try not to break your partner."
"I will try," Azalea replied, already lifting her staff into position.
Zmey turned her head toward Kenth next. "Try not to lose your head."
"HIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEKKK," Kenth shrieked.
"Be mindful," Zmey continued, unfazed, "this is a graded activity. Any action that disobeys my rules will earn demerits."
The duel grounds hummed to life as translucent barriers rose around each arena.
Across the field, Kenth screamed again as Zmey stepped forward, completely relaxed.
I drew a steady breath and lifted Orcus.
"First round, Start!"
Matthew moved immediately.
Chains unfolded from his Loom and shot forward, snapping through the air as they spread wide, occupying space rather than targeting a single line. His approach was obvious.
Overwhelming pressure through quantity.
I stepped forward instead of retreating.
The first chain struck my blade and rang out as metal met metal. I turned my wrist and guided the impact away, letting the force slide rather than collide. A second chain followed from the side. I adjusted my footing and deflected it cleanly, keeping my center stable.
Matthew pressed harder.
More chains surged forward in overlapping arcs, filling the space between us. His control was rough, his timing inconsistent, yet the raw output behind each strike was undeniable. He was compensating for a lack of control with power.
I advanced through the barrage, blade moving in short, efficient motions. Each deflection shaved momentum from his assault. Each step forward forced him to react sooner than he wanted.
Distance closed.
I pivoted and swung.
Matt reacted late. The chains snapped inward on instinct, wrapping around Orcus mid-arc and locking the blade in place. The sudden resistance jolted my arm, yet I held firm.
At the same moment, he stepped in.
He crossed his arms and braced, catching the flat of my blade against the back of his hands. The impact echoed sharply through the arena as his feet slid back across the ground, chains tightening further around the sword.
We stopped there.
My blade was bound by his chains.
His hands were straining under the pressure.
Neither one of us is yielding.
Our eyes were forcefully locked.
I searched his face, trying to read his emotion again, but all I could clarify was the unease gnawing at me.
Then I finally voiced the question I had been holding back since the day we met.
"…Who are you?"