Azael lingered near the refreshment table, the crimson wine in his glass barely touched.
The hall buzzed with the low hum of noble chatters. Polite laughter, clinking crystal, and the occasional sharp glance disguised as a smile.
He scanned the crowd, noting how Aeliana commanded a circle of ladies with a single tilt of her head, how Liana flitted between groups like a spark looking for kindling, how Arista stood by the balcony, her presence pulling eyes like gravity.
This is their world, he thought, swirling the wine. Pretty cages and sharper teeth.
His gaze drifted back to the table, and he set the glass down. The faint ache in his muscles from this morning's training lingered. A reminder of the body he now inhabited. Weak, but not broken. Not yet.
'The real pain will start tomorrow.'
Footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried. Someone was approaching Azael.
A young man, roughly Azael's age, stopped beside him. He was lean, with slicked-back auburn hair and emerald eyes that glinted with something too sharp to be friendly. He was clearly from a high-ranking noble family.
His navy coat was tailored to perfection, a silver falcon pin gleaming on his lapel. House Crevaris, if Azael recalled the crests from some other books about current noble families that he had read in the library. The boy's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Azael Ignivar," he said, his voice smooth but laced with a faint sneer.
"Didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be tucked away in your room, fainting into a pillow."
Azael turned slowly, meeting the boy's gaze. The face was unfamiliar, but the tone wasn't. Another noble looking for a weak link. He kept his expression neutral, fingers brushing the stem of his wine glass. "And you are?"
The boy's smile faltered for a split second, then widened. "Charming. Playing forgetful now? It's Cedric. Cedric Crevaris. We met at last year's winter banquet, though I suppose you were too busy collapsing to remember."
A few nearby nobles glanced over, their conversations dipping just enough to listen. Azael felt the weight of their attention, like vultures circling a dying beast.
"Cedric," Azael repeated, nodding as if the name meant something. "Right. My apologies. Memory's been… hazy lately."
Cedric leaned closer, lowering his voice but ensuring it carried. "Hazy, or just weak? Word is, you're still Ignivar's little tragedy. Weak mana, weaker constitution. Tell me, do you even try to keep up with the rest of us?"
'Damn! Why does he even know about it? Isn't the Duke family supposed to keep it more secret… maybe not. Hah.' Azael thought dejectedly. He couldn't find a reason. It seemed his illness was known by others. Well, Azael couldn't do anything about that.
The jab was precise, meant to sting. Azael's jaw tightened, but he forced a faint smirk. "I'm here, aren't I? That's more than some can say."
Cedric chuckled, the sound sharp and hollow. "Here, sure. But for how long? The Eternum Academy will start in three months. Every noble heir and others worth their crest will be there; Liana, Morgan, even me." He straightened, adjusting his cufflinks with a flourish.
"But you… will you even attend it? Or will you send another excuse, like always?"
'Academy? And who's Morgan now?'
The Academy. Azael's mind raced, piecing together fragments from the library books. A prestigious institution in Olyria's capital city, where young nobles trained in mana, combat, and politics. It was a very nice institute for young people. Even commoners could enter, but they needed to pass the entrance exam, which was very hard.
A proving ground. A battlefield for reputations. The original Azael had likely avoided it entirely, too frail to compete.
"I haven't decided," Azael said carefully, his tone even. "Depends on whether I feel like embarrassing myself."
Cedric's eyes narrowed, catching the subtle defiance. "Embarrassing yourself? That's a given. The Academy doesn't coddle invalids, Azael. You'd be laughed out of it before you even drew a blade. Why bother? Being a noble, you can enter it without any problem, but remaining there—you can't."
A few snickers rippled through the nearby crowd. Azael felt the heat of their stares, the weight of House Ignivar's name resting on his shoulders. He could walk away, let the insult slide. That's what the old Azael would've done.
But he wasn't that boy anymore. He was already annoyed by acting like a good noble young man. Now another young master came to him, insulting him.
He stepped forward, closing the distance until he was inches from Cedric. His voice dropped, low and cold, carrying the edge of a man who'd once buried a hatchet in a skull. "You talk a lot for someone who's never seen me fight. Also, it's not good to be overconfident."
The hall seemed to quiet for a moment. Cedric's smirk wavered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. He hadn't expected pushback. Not from Ignivar's frail heir.
Before Cedric could respond, a shadow fell over them. Arista stood there, her crimson gown like a flame in the chandelier light. Her red hair was beautiful. Her violet eyes flicked between the two, sharp and unreadable.
"Cedric," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. "Are you boring my dear brother with your usual drivel?"
Cedric straightened, his arrogance snapping back into place. "Lady Arista. Just catching up. Wondering if Azael plans to grace the Academy with his… presence."
Arista's lips curvd into a smile that wasn't kind. "He'll be there. And when he is, you'd do well to watch your tongue. Do you get it?"
Cedric opened his mouth, then thought better of it. With a curt nod, he stepped back. "We'll see, then. Enjoy the evening, Ignivars." He turned and melted into the crowd, his falcon pin glinting as he went.
He was pretty annoying, but it wasn't like Azael could do anything about that. At least for now.
He understood again that being a noble is not an easy thing.
Azael exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Arista turned to him, one brow raised.