Cel turned slowly, already knowing what he'd find.
Kyros stood at the far end of the hallway, silhouetted against a window. No followers this time. Just him, fire-red hair catching the last rays of sunset, amber eyes fixed with an intensity that promised nothing good.
"What is a noble of your standing doing in the commoner dormitory wing?" Cel kept his tone carefully neutral. "Surely the facilities in your own quarters are more suited to someone of House Solgrand's stature."
Kyros's lips curved into something that might have been a smile if smiles could draw blood. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance with deliberate leisure. "Someone has to maintain proper hierarchy in this Academy."
Another step. His boots echoed against wood.
That's part of a noble's duty, you know? Maintaining order. Punishing those who step out of line."
Cel forced himself to remain still. "I haven't stepped out of line."
"Haven't you?" Kyros smiled - cold and sharp. "That little performance in the dining hall. The false agreement. The mockery disguised as deference." He stopped perhaps five steps away. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Before Cel could respond, Kyros's fist lashed out.
The punch came fast, meant to connect with Cel's face with enough force to break something.
Cel leaned backward. The fist passed inches from his face, disturbing the air without connecting.
He didn't even think about it. His body just moved, instincts and divine enhancement working in harmony to avoid the threat.
Kyros's eyes widened. He stumbled forward slightly from the missed impact, caught himself, spun back around with confusion already hardening into fury.
"You—" His voice came strangled. "How did you—"
Then the anger transformed. His expression shifted, rage giving way to something calculating. Something that recognized an opportunity.
His smile returned, wider this time.
"I see." The words came soft, almost gentle. "The Moon Chosen is afraid to even take a punch. Of course. Why am I surprised?"
Cel said nothing. Just watched Kyros with the same flat assessment he'd give a coiled snake.
"You'd probably cry if I actually hit you, wouldn't you?" Kyros's tone gained a mocking lilt. "Run to your little priestess and sob in her arms while she tells you everything will be okay."
The words landed with unexpected weight.
Because… that had actually happened. After the first blessing. He had cried in Selina's robes, breaking down and letting her see the damage his father inflicted, the weight he carried, the exhaustion of constant survival.
The memory was private. Sacred in its vulnerability.
And Kyros had just weaponized it without even knowing he'd struck true.
"Nothing to say? Or are you too busy thinking about running to her right now?"
Cel's hands clenched at his sides. The anger that had been cold and controlled was starting to heat. Starting to push against the walls he'd constructed to contain it.
"Tell me," Kyros pressed forward, sensing blood in the water. "What's it like having a priestess as your guide? Does she comfort you when you have nightmares? Pat your head and tell you that you're special?"
"Stop." The word came out quiet. Dangerous.
Kyros didn't stop.
"Actually, now that I think about it..." He tilted his head, expression turning contemplative in a way that made it worse. "A priestess spending that much time with her Chosen. Alone. Comforting him." A pause. "I wonder what that comfort looks like."
Heat flooded his veins. The hallway's edges blurred, leaving only Kyros's smile in focus.
"I bet she's good at it."
Cel moved.
His hand shot out faster than Kyros could process, fingers tangling in fire-red hair. Kyros's eyes widened with sudden understanding - but understanding came too late.
Cel yanked downward with the full force of his divinely forged body, slamming Kyros face-first into the wooden floor with a sound like thunder. The impact was immediate and catastrophic - planks splintered under the force, cracks spreading outward in a spider web pattern.
Then the floor gave way entirely.
Wood shattered. Kyros's body dropped through the sudden opening, disappearing from view with a cry of shock and pain that cut off as he hit the floor below.
Silence rushed in to fill the space.
Cel stood at the edge of the hole, breathing hard, looking down at the damage. Kyros lay sprawled on the floor below, blood spreading from somewhere - his nose, probably, or his mouth. Maybe both.
Doors opened.
The sound came from multiple directions - hinges creaking, confused voices calling out, footsteps approaching from both ends of the corridor.
"What was that?"
"Did something break?"
The commotion built rapidly, students emerging from rooms to investigate the noise.
Cel looked down at his hand. At Kyros's motionless form. At the shattered floor.
At the absolute certainty that he'd just created a problem that couldn't be talked away or ignored.
A Sun Clan noble. Assaulted by a commoner Moon Chosen. In front of witnesses who were already gathering, staring at the hole in the floor with expressions ranging from shock to horror.
The weight of it settled over him like a shroud.
He'd finally done it.
After months of control. Months of enduring. Months of carefully maintaining his false identity and suppressing every violent impulse.
He'd broken.
And now there would be consequences.
Reality crashed back in as someone screamed.
He needed to move.
Needed to—
His feet carried him to his room without conscious decision. The door flew open under his hand. He stumbled inside, then turned and threw his weight against the door. It slammed shut hard enough that the frame shook.
The lock engaged with a click that sounded impossibly loud.
Cel pressed his back against the door, sliding down until he sat on the floor. His chest heaved. His vision kept trying to narrow into tunnel focus and he had to force it back out, force himself to see the whole room instead of just the small circle directly ahead.
'What did I do?'
The thought repeated itself with the mechanical efficiency of something his mind couldn't quite process.
Execution. That was the penalty for commoners who attacked nobles. Immediate and absolute. No trial. No appeal.
His breath hitched. The room kept trying to tilt sideways and he had to press harder against the door to feel something solid.
Maybe not execution. Maybe just imprisonment. Life in a cell, which was arguably worse. Trapped in stone and darkness once more - with nothing but time to remember every mistake that had led him there.
Could he run?
The thought arrived with desperate clarity. Just leave. Disappear into the night before they came for him.
But where would he go?
The Stellarion Empire was all that was left of humanity. There were no other kingdoms. No neighboring territories that might grant asylum.
He could flee to the wilderness. Try to survive outside civilization's borders.
The idea dissolved as fast as it formed. The wilderness was full of rift-creatures. Things that poured through tears in reality and hunted anything that moved. Survival alone out there was suicide.
Maybe the Reckoning would help.
His mind seized on the thought like a drowning man grabbing debris.
They'd recruited him. Vouched for him. Surely they wouldn't just abandon him to execution. Surely Esrin or Veyron would—
The thought died again.
He knew way too much. About the Reckoning's existence. About their hideout. About members' identities. If he was captured, interrogated…
They might kill him even before he reached a cell.
Trusting the Reckoning felt like trusting a blade balanced over his throat.
His hands pressed against his face. The trembling hadn't stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse.
It couldn't end like this. Not before he took his revenge. Not before his father paid, for the life he'd destroyed.
Moonlight filtered through his window, painting a pale rectangle across the floor.
Cel's head turned slowly, tracking the light's source. The crescent moon hung visible through the glass, serene and indifferent to everything happening below it.
How long had he been sitting here?
He couldn't say how much. Minutes or hours, the distinction felt meaningless. He just sat with his back against the door, breathing through the panic, waiting for footsteps in the hallway that would signal the end.
But nothing came.
No pounding on his door. No shouted commands. No sound at all except the ambient noise of the dormitory - distant conversations, footsteps on other floors, the creaks and groans of old wood settling.
Maybe…
Maybe Kyros had hit his head so hard he didn't remember.
The hope felt fragile. Unlikely. But possible.
Cel's breathing had finally steadied. The shaking in his hands had reduced to occasional tremors rather than constant vibration.
He could hope. Could believe that maybe, somehow, this wouldn't end with his death.
Footsteps approached in the hallway.
His entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked, breath stopping halfway through his lungs.
The footsteps were measured. Deliberate. Not running. Not urgent. Just someone walking with purpose, their pace suggesting they knew exactly where they were going.
They stopped outside his door.
Silence stretched for three full heartbeats.
Then a knock. Three precise raps against wood.
"Celvian." Instructor Saren's voice carried through the door with perfect clarity. "Open the door. Now."