The bushes had lost whatever comfort they'd offered hours ago. Dead leaves crunched beneath him as he shifted, and he immediately froze. But no one was looking. The field lay empty except for the flattened grass where the rift had been, and the distant figures of soldiers on the wall had already returned to their normal routines.

He’d gone through every option twice already. Walking back through the gates would require explanation - why was an Academy student outside the walls at dawn? Climbing them was possible with Lunar Vigor, but scaling stone in full view of sentries seemed like an efficient way to get arrested. Waiting for a merchant caravan to provide cover would take hours he didn’t have, and classes would start soon.

So he waited.

The sun climbed higher. People began moving on the walls with increased frequency - shift changes, probably. The night watch heading to rest while fresh soldiers took their positions. He watched them through gaps in the foliage, tracking patterns without really thinking about it.

Had she forgotten him? The thought felt absurd even as it formed. Esrin didn’t forget things. But then why—

His chest tightened with sudden understanding.

This wasn’t a mistake.

This was intentional.

The realization settled cold and certain. She’d left him here deliberately. To make a point. To ensure he understood exactly how little he mattered.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Then longer.

The sun had fully cleared the horizon when wings appeared behind him.

No warning. No sound of approach. Just suddenly there - white feathers catching morning light, each one perfect and terrible.

Esrin stood with her wings spread, looking down at him with those ruby eyes.

“What took so long?” The question came out sharper than intended. Frustration bled through despite his attempt at neutrality.

“I had reports to file.” Her tone was utterly flat. “The Legion requires documentation when a Hallowed deploys her World. Particularly near civilian population centers.”

She stepped closer, and he realized she was still in her formal attire from the previous evening - pristine white with red gems, though somehow not a single grass stain or speck of dirt marred the fabric.

“Of course,” she continued, voice dropping lower, “I could have retrieved you earlier. Before the paperwork.”

Her gaze held his without wavering.

“But I thought you might benefit from some time to reflect.”

The words landed with deliberate weight.

Cel’s throat tightened. The message was clear now - crystal clear. This wasn’t punishment exactly. It was demonstration.

“I…understand.”

“Good.” Her wings folded slightly. “Then we can discuss your training.”

Cel raised an eyebrow. “My training?”

“You’ll report to the Reckoning’s manor starting two nights from now. Every evening after your Academy obligations conclude.” She paused. “I’ve tasked two members to work with you. Death’s Friendliest Face and Wrath’s Only Daughter.”

The codenames sent ice down his spine. Death's Friendliest Face had voted for him to join - he remembered that clearly - but someone who wore that name like a title was a different kind of unsettling than open hostility. And Wrath's Only Daughter had voted for his death without hesitation. That one he'd have to watch carefully.

Still. Experienced fighters willing to train him. Whatever their reasons, whatever their methods - he'd take that opportunity.

“Do you still know where the bar is? The one we emerged from when I brought you to the capital?”

“Yes.” He’d made a point of memorizing landmarks. “I’ve... explored the city some. I should be able to find it.”

Something that might have been approval flickered across her features. Brief and immediately suppressed.

“Then I’ll expect you there at sunset two days hence. Don’t be late.”

Her hand closed on his collar before he could respond.

The world lurched sideways. Wind screamed past his ears. His stomach tried to climb through his throat as they rose impossibly fast - the field dropping away, the city walls shrinking, dawn-lit streets spreading below like a map.

She set him down and his legs gave immediately - knees hitting the grass before he could stop them. The Academy grounds stretched around him, familiar buildings, familiar paths. Morning sun painted everything in soft gold.

He turned to ask Esrin something - didn’t even know what, just had the instinct to speak.

She was gone.

Not flying away. Not departing. Just... absent. As if she’d never been there at all.

Cel straightened slowly, brushing dirt from his clothes. Students were beginning to emerge from dormitories in small clusters, heading toward the training grounds. Normal morning routines reasserting themselves.

He needed to do the same.

Dawn conditioning proceeded as it always did - Instructor Calder's voice cutting across the yard, bodies moving through drills in the pale morning light.

Theoretical class came after. Lior dropped into the seat beside him, wheat-blond hair still damp from conditioning, sky-blue eyes wide.

"Did you hear?" His sky-blue eyes were wide. "There was a rift last night. Right outside the eastern wall."

“I heard.” Cel kept his voice carefully neutral.

“They say Lady Esrin closed it herself. Just... destroyed everything that came through.” Lior’s hands gestured wildly. “Can you imagine? Being that powerful?”

Several nearby students had similar conversations. Fear and awe mixed in equal measure.

The nobles’ reactions differed. They discussed the event with the detached interest of people reviewing weather patterns. Cordelia spoke quietly with Percival about deployment response times. Owen mentioned this was the first rift in the capital this year - hardly unprecedented.

For them, this was normal. Expected. Part of living in the Empire’s high society.

The commoners treated it like a near-apocalypse.

Cel listened with half his attention. Let the conversations wash over him without really absorbing the words.

Because none of that mattered.

What mattered sat directly behind him.

Hestia occupied her usual position, jet-black hair falling over pale shoulders, crimson eyes tracking across the classroom with methodical assessment. She looked exactly as she always did - composed, distant, utterly unreadable.

She’d tried to kill him last night. He’d tried to kill her.

And now she sat there taking notes like nothing had happened.

How did she know?

The question circled through his mind relentlessly. How had she identified him as noble? His transformation was complete - white hair instead of brown, pale skin instead of tanned, glacial blue eyes instead of amber. His body carried no scars from his first life. Nothing physical connected him to Celvian of House Aldric.

So how?

And what else did she know?

His jaw tightened as he stared at his desk. The vision surfaced again - himself lying broken in the ash, blood pooling beneath his torn body. His death in the Ashlands, seen through her eyes somehow.

What kind of ability showed someone’s death just from touching them?

His gaze cut sideways, finding her in his peripheral vision.

She was writing something. Her expression carried the same neutral composure it always did.

Classes continued. Lunch came and went. Combat training in the afternoon proceeded without incident - basic drills, nothing requiring real engagement.

Through it all, Hestia never looked at him. Never acknowledged him. Never gave any indication that anything had changed between them.

The normalcy was worse than confrontation. At least with active hostility he’d know where he stood.

But this? This was a blade hanging overhead. Waiting.

Evening arrived with the sun sinking toward the horizon in shades of orange and red. Students filtered back to dormitories in their usual clusters, conversations fading as exhaustion set in.

Cel climbed the stairs to his room and pushed the door open.

The space welcomed him with familiar emptiness. Narrow bed. Simple desk. Wardrobe. Nothing personal.

He closed the door and leaned against it, eyes shut.

The exhaustion hit him all at once.

Not physical - his body kept functioning at peak efficiency regardless of exertion. But mental. Emotional. The accumulated weight of constant vigilance finally catching up.

Last night he’d nearly died. Had felt Hestia’s blade at his throat, seen murder in her crimson eyes. Esrin’s World had crushed the air from his lungs. He’d watched a man walk into a rift to his death while a family sobbed. And this morning he’d been left in bushes for hours as a demonstration of his complete powerlessness.

His hands shook slightly.

Cel moved to the bed and sat on its edge. Just for a moment. Just to let the exhaustion settle somewhere other than his chest.

The mattress was thin but softer than ash-covered ground. Softer than stone floors in the cell. His body remembered comfort even if his mind had tried to forget it existed.

He lay back. Stared at the ceiling. Told himself he’d rest for a few minutes, then resume his usual routine.

But Eternal Witness had limits.

The trait eliminated his need for sleep - kept his mind sharp and alert indefinitely. But it couldn’t erase exhaustion entirely. Couldn’t stop his consciousness from recognizing when it needed to shut down and process everything that had accumulated.

His eyes drifted closed.

Just for a moment.

Sleep took him under like a tide.

When he surfaced, crimson eyes stared down at him with unblinking intensity. Then shapes resolved around them. Pale skin. Jet-black hair falling like curtains on either side of a face he knew too well.

Clarity hit like ice water.

Hestia sat on top of him. Her legs straddled his chest, pinning him to the mattress with her weight. The crimson longsword rested against his throat, its edge cold enough that he could feel exactly how little pressure it would take.

The blade’s edge kissed his skin. Cold. Sharp. Promising blood if he moved wrong.

“Talk.”