As the initiates began to disperse, a slow, deliberate clap broke through the murmurs. Soren turned to see a tall figure leaning against one of the weapon racks, silver hair catching the afternoon light.
The young man's uniform was immaculate, without a single crease or speck of dust, as though he'd stepped straight from a tailor's shop rather than the training yard.
Cassian Dorelle, the tournament champion. His face held the sharp, defined features of aristocratic breeding, his posture radiating the effortless confidence of someone who had never questioned his place in the world.
"Interesting," Cassian drawled, pushing himself away from the rack with fluid grace. "Didn't know Lady Kareth was recruiting her guards from gutter duels."
The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Several initiates exchanged glances, their eyes darting between Cassian and Soren, gauging reactions and recalculating alliances.
