Loïd Skydream's room had nothing in common with Hakime's Spartan dormitory. It was a spacious suite, furnished with a discreet but undeniable luxury: a wide bed, a dark wooden desk, a breathtaking view of the residential areas of Nova-Aeterna. But tonight, the walls seemed to be tightening on him, and the air was heavy with the weight of a name - Skydream.
Sitting at his desk, Loïd stared at the data of his Etheric Watch without seeing them. His statistics were excellent, his progress remarkable. Any normal student would have been proud of this. But he wasn't a normal student. He was a Skydream. And for his family, "remarkable" was never good enough. Only "the best" was acceptable.
His father, the Patriarch, had visited him earlier in the day. The conversation, brief and scathing, still echoed in his skull.
"Loid. Your brother Titus has consolidated his place in the Council. He became a pillar, a face of authority. You're always here, playing schoolboy."
"I'm not playing, father. I'm training. I'm getting stronger."
"Stronger than who?" his father retorted, his look piercing like lightning. "Stronger than this nameless orphan? Because for now, rumors say that he held you in check during the exercises. That he turned down the White's offer, preferring the company of commoners. And yet, he prospers."
Loïd had felt the warmth of shame rise in his face. "It was just an exercise. In real combat..."
"In real combat, you have to be ruthless," his father had cut off. "The Skydreams didn't get where they are by kindness. We seized the opportunities and removed the obstacles. This boy, Hakime, is either our generation's greatest opportunity or its greatest obstacle."
He had approached, putting a heavy hand on his son's shoulder.
"You have to recruit him. Make him understand the benefits of an alliance with us. Protection, resources, influence. Give him everything he wants. If he refuses... "The pressure on his shoulder had increased." then the expedition is a perfect backdrop. Accidents, alas, happen. He must not become a threat to the preeminence of our family. You must prove that Skydream blood is superior to a whim of fate."
With these words, he was gone, leaving Loïd alone with his demons.
He got up and walked around the room, his power sizzling under his skin, impatient, angry. Ignir. Fire. A legendary S-ranking power that thousands would envy him. And yet, he felt so... ordinary in the shadow of the SSS grade. It wasn't just jealousy. It was a fundamental injustice. He had been trained since childhood, forged to lead, to dominate. Hakime had simply emerged from the mud, stealing a power that was not meant for him.
He stopped outside the window, looking at the city lights. He relived Hakime's calm face during the exercise in pairs, his increasing mastery, the way the others - Lyra Melthorn, that noisy Arthur, the solid Conor - naturally gathered around him. They formed a core, a close-knit team. Loïd, for his part, was surrounded by sycophants and distant relatives who flattered him for his name. No friendship.
Part of him, weak and stifled, admired Hakime. For his courage to refuse the Whites. For his silent determination. For the loyalty he inspired. This part whispered to him that a genuine alliance, based on respect, would be far more powerful than manipulation or elimination.
But that voice was covered by the roar of his pride and the overwhelming weight of family expectations. Prove that you are a Skydream. Prove that blood is stronger than chance.
The expedition... That would be the battlefield. Loïd felt his inner fire burning harder, consuming his doubts. He didn't know yet what he would do. Trying to recruit Hakime one last time? Or take advantage of the chaos to make sure he never comes back?
He clenched his fist, and a flame danced to his joint, casting moving shadows on the walls of his room. Shadows that seemed to dance like ghosts, reminding him that no matter what he chose, he would not fight only for his place in the academy or for his survival. He would fight for the very soul of the Skydream family. And he felt, with icy certainty, that one of them - he or Hakime - would not emerge unscathed from this ordeal.