Chapter 17: The Hollow Silence Before The Storm
A quiet unease hung over the academy like a dense fog refusing to lift. The once vibrant courtyards, usually alive with laughter and chatter, now echoed with an eerie stillness. Even the birds seemed to know something was wrong, their songs replaced by the low murmurs of speculation and growing fear.
Within the first hall, the dim glow of morning sun spilled across the cold stone floors. Naomi Rivers sat alone on one of the high-backed benches beneath the glass-stained windows. Her hands were clasped on her lap, unmoving. She'd been that way for nearly twenty minutes.
Prisca and Deborah stood some distance away, sharing quiet whispers. Cain leaned against a pillar, watching Naomi with a furrowed brow. The others—Paul, Joseph, Lola, and Felix—remained scattered around the hall, subdued.
"She hasn't said a word since last night," Deborah whispered, glancing toward Naomi.
Prisca nodded. "Something about that fight—about what Timothy did—it broke something in her."
The silence stretched on until finally, Felix, whose arms were still in a sling, stepped forward. "We should give her space," he said softly, "but we can't stay idle either. Something isn't right with the way all this unfolded."
Cain's voice, quiet but heavy, joined in. "The school is watching. Prefects are moving. This isn't over—it hasn't even started."
---
In another corner of the academy, in a candlelit chamber behind the Prefects' Library, Lucia Raventhorn stood facing an ornate mirror. She wasn't looking at her reflection. She was staring through it—watching the shadows that moved behind her eyes.
"They've begun suspecting," came a voice behind her. Low. Male. Older.
Lucia did not flinch. "Let them. Suspicion is the seed. Fear is the fruit."
Kain Drogas stepped into the light, his expression unreadable. "You said the festival would go as planned. But now Leon's involved, and Dante is… watching."
"Dante always watches," Lucia replied coolly, her fingers tracing the edge of her silver pendant. "And Leon… that boy is more dangerous than he knows."
Kain frowned. "We need control, not chaos."
Lucia finally turned to him. Her pale eyes were unwavering. "Chaos is control, Kain. You just have to know where to stand when the storm breaks."
---
Back in the students' dorms, Lola pressed a cold cloth to Naomi's forehead. She'd finally gotten her friend to lie down, though her eyes still stared blankly toward the ceiling.
"Naomi," Lola said gently, "you need to rest. What happened wasn't your fault."
Naomi blinked. Just once.
Then she whispered, "I saw him."
Lola stiffened. "Who?"
"The boy in the fire. The one from the vision."
Prisca, who had entered quietly, froze. "You mean the one you spoke of before the tournament began?"
Naomi sat up slowly. Her voice was low. Haunted. "He was standing behind Timothy. Watching. He smiled when Felix was thrown. When blood spilled."
---
Deep in the second tower, Leon Varcus stood beneath the statue of Saint Olivaria, the Academy's founder. He was not praying. His eyes were closed, hands in his pockets.
He remembered the taste of the air the moment he stepped into the arena. Thick. Charged. Not with magic—but with something older. Deeper. A power that did not belong in the hands of students.
Someone was feeding the fire.
---
That evening, Rosa Flameheart summoned the group again. She wore her usual battle leathers, sword strapped to her back, though she had no intention to fight.
"Timothy has been detained," she began, without preamble. "And not just for the fight. We found something in his quarters. Blood sigils. Forbidden glyphs."
Deborah gasped. Paul clenched his fists.
"But there's more," Rosa continued. "Another name showed up in the scrolls he kept."
She looked at Naomi.
"Yours."