They all froze. An Astania student took Harry by his wrist and dragged him to a private spot. "What are you doing, man?" he whispered, breath sharp, eyes darting back toward the others. "I know you've been exceptional throughout the week, but challenging a Westlake is madness."
Harry let himself be pulled, but only for a few steps. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers lingering there as if soothing an ache that had been building for days. "It is cowardice not to at least try."
He turned to walk away.
The boy yanked him back harder this time. "You think this is about your stupid pride? Any failure you attract in this place brings Astania's glory down." His voice cracked on the last word.
Harry paused. The sounds of the yard pressed in again. Boots scraping dirt. Low laughter. The creak of wood and leather. He nodded once, slow. "But cowardice," he said, almost to himself, "is more an insult to my bloodline."
He stepped out of the shadow and walked straight toward Collins. Every step felt loud. Too loud. He raised his arm and pointed. "Bring it on."
The students closed in, some folding their arms, others gripping their sleeves or clasping their hands like they were bracing for impact. No one spoke. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Collins' grin spread slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring the moment. "Set it up."
A bow was passed forward. Another boy jogged off and returned with a target, planting it at the far end of the training field. Farther than usual. Much farther. Someone laughed under their breath.
The boys squinted toward it. "I can barely see the center point," Cole muttered. "Harry does not stand a chance."
More heads turned. Whispers rolled outward like ripples in water. Students from other groups drifted closer, curiosity tugging them in. "What's going on?" "An archery contest." "Between who?" "Westlake and Astania."
By the time Collins stepped forward, nearly everyone had gathered at the arena's edge.
He selected his bow without hesitation. Ran his fingers down the string. Chose an arrow. The motion was practiced, careless in the way only confidence could be. He lifted the bow, feet planted, shoulders relaxed. The dusk clung to the air now, blurring edges, softening lines.
He didn't squint. Didn't hesitate. The arrow leapt from the string. It cut through the air cleanly and buried itself dead center in the target.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then the crowd erupted. Gasps. Shouts. Someone swore under their breath. Cole's mouth hung open. "I expected excellence," he said quietly. "But not this perfection. How did he even see the center? It's almost dark."
Collins lowered the bow and turned slightly, just enough to look back at Harry. His smile sharpened. Harry's heart hammered so hard it felt like it might split his ribs. The target looked impossibly small now. A pale circle swallowed by shadow. His palms were damp. His throat tight.
"How can I beat that?" The thought flickered, quick and dangerous. Pride surged up to smother it. "It is better I try and fail than to run away."
He stepped forward and took the bow. It felt heavier than before. The arrow's shaft was cold against his fingers. He lifted his gaze toward the target and tried to breathe.
Master Fen's voice rose in his memory, calm and steady. You must believe you can hit the target. You must imagine it before you release the arrow.
Harry raised the bow. The darkness pressed in. The center ring blurred until it might as well have been a rumor. His hands trembled, just slightly.
Collins noticed. "How are bastards sired?" he asked loudly, trying to mock him.
A ripple of laughter followed.
Gaius leaned forward, grinning. "Mostly in brothels." The words struck like a slap. "They mainly products one of a one night stand," Harry added.
Something snapped inside Harry. Heat surged up his arm, sharp and sudden. His left hand pulsed. His vision shifted. The world seemed to pull inward, narrowing, tightening. The target lurched closer. Larger. Clearer. The grain of the wood stood out. Cracks. Old marks from previous arrows.
Harry released his arrow.
The arrow vanished. For a moment, there was nothing. No sound. No movement.
Then the students broke into a run. They skidded to a stop near the target. "Whoa!" Hands flew to heads. Someone stumbled back.
"He didn't just hit the target," a boy breathed. "He broke it."
The wooden face had split. The arrow had punched clean through, snapping the board and burying itself deep into the frame behind.
Silence spread again, heavier this time.
Collins didn't smile. His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked from the shattered target back to Harry, searching.
Harry stood where he was, chest rising and falling, the bow still in his hand. He hadn't meant to step forward, but he did. One step. Then another.
No one laughed now. No one spoke. Somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered his name.
Harry.
Collin's eyebrows furrowed. "That is not possible, only a Master archer can do that." He walked closer in disbelief then saw it. "Holy God!" He exclaimed. He paused and stared at Harry. "Maybe I underestimated you," he said to himself. "This time I will go harder."
The torchlight flickered across Collins' face as he studied the target again, as if hoping the arrow would shift on its own and prove his eyes wrong. His lips pressed into a thin line. Pride recoiled, then stiffened, refusing to bend. A murmur moved through the students like wind through tall grass. Some leaned forward. Others crossed their arms, suddenly unsure of where to place their loyalty.
He turned to the crowd, and clapped. The sound cut through the whispers. "Yes, he hits the target. And even pierced the stake behind it. But that does not mean he won." He touched his own chest. "I also hit the target. We are at level."
A few boys nodded quickly, relieved to cling to the familiar certainty of Collins' dominance. Others exchanged looks, brows knit, eyes drifting back to Harry as if seeing him clearly for the first time.
Cole exhaled sharply once again. His shoulders sagged as though the air had been knocked from him. "This means we are back to exactly whether we started."
Collins nodded. His smile returned, slow and deliberate. "Yes, but let's try one more time." He lifted a finger. "This time, our eyes should be tied."