Velara deposited them at the foot of the staircase leading to the Acropolis of Dawn, then vanished without a word.

  Lucanis, in a neutral tone, remarked:

  “She could’ve at least given us time to get dressed…”

  Althéa, embarrassed and furious, growled:

  “I hope there aren’t any students in the Bearers’ Hall or the corridors. There is no way I’m being seen in my underwear. She’s going to hear about this when she comes back.”

  The sun was slowly sinking. Twilight bathed the Acropolis in a warm, soothing light.

  Lucanis went on, looking thoughtful:

  “I actually liked that lesson. I learned a lot about Elan and the way you perceive it. I’d never really paid attention to it before… It’s fascinating.”

  Althéa, still on edge, replied sharply:

  “Yes—right up until she stripped us against our will and kidnapped Kael without a proper explanation. Except for…”

  She adopted a mocking tone, imitating Velara’s authoritative voice:

  “‘And you—I’m going to teach you how to properly wield a weapon.’”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Seriously, who does she think she is? She keeps him with her like he’s some kind of toy!”

  Lucanis didn’t understand Althéa’s reaction. He answered calmly:

  “I don’t really see the problem. She’s going to teach him how to use weapons—that’s a good thing for Kael. He’ll be able to defend himself. Even if, honestly, I have no idea how she plans to do that in less than a day…”

  Althéa relaxed a little and replied more evenly:

  “Yes, it is positive—you’re right. But still. I could’ve done it myself. I’d already started, actually. She’s stealing my work, and in the end she’ll get all the credit for it.”

  Lucanis chuckled softly and said with a smile:

  “Well, let’s not stay here any longer. We might draw attention.”

  They returned to their respective rooms.

  The task had been difficult, but they’d managed to get back without attracting too much notice—except from the receptionist, whom they’d asked for clothes.

  Althéa had practically skewered her with a glare.

  Poor Vernia had frozen on the spot, unable to utter a single word.

  Lucanis, for his part, didn’t quite understand Althéa’s attitude… but he didn’t try to dig any deeper.

  They returned to their rooms, and silence settled in once more.

  Althéa took a well-deserved bath in her apartments.

  When she stepped out of the bathing room, a cloud of steam spilled out behind her. She hadn’t put on a robe—only a towel wrapped around her body. Her immaculate hair, still damp, dripped onto her warm skin, which glistened with moisture.

  She sat down on her bed, lost in thought.

  The wind slipped in from the terrace, making the pale linen curtains billow.

  Suddenly, she sprang to her feet and began pacing.

  Her fingers twitched nervously.

  “But seriously… what is she doing to him? I couldn’t stay with them? I don’t know… just to make sure Kael wasn’t slacking off…”

  She dropped heavily onto a chair near the table, slumping forward.

  Elbows on her knees, head buried in her hands as her fingers clenched into her short-cut hair.

  Her leg resumed its anxious tic.

  “The Trial is tomorrow…” she sighed.

  “It’s already been three months since I got here. I know I’ll survive—I don’t have a choice.

  But him… how is he supposed to manage?”

  Her leg shook faster.

  “He only had one week. Not a single theoretical lesson on Trames… not even on what he might encounter out there…”

  She closed her eyes, memories flooding back.

  All those moments spent with him—in so little time.

  The slap.

  The one that had changed everything.

  A bitter smile slipped onto her lips, then vanished just as quickly.

  The cliff climb.

  The hunt for the Class-S Overdrawn.

  His twisted plan.

  And the way he’d saved them—more than once.

  His questionable jokes.

  His blatant laziness.

  And that night… the one when they’d fought.

  When she’d ended up falling asleep on his shoulder.

  “We really need to talk about that night,” she murmured, her voice heavy with regret.

  “We never cleared things up. About what he knows…”

  A sincere, almost shy smile curved her lips.

  Then her body began to tremble.

  A hitching sob shook her.

  Warm tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her thighs.

  “I don’t want him to die…” she whispered, her breath breaking.

  Lucanis entered his room.

  The twilight light made shadows dance along the walls.

  He let out a long sigh, then went to wash.

  Once clean, he didn’t dress. He remained completely naked, sat down on the floor, legs crossed, arms relaxed at his sides.

  His hands rested on his knees, palms turned toward the sky.

  He inhaled deeply… several times… slowly.

  His mind drifted.

  He thought back to that week of madness…

  Their arrival. Those improbable encounters.

  With two strangers from two very different worlds.

  He remembered the constant bickering between Althéa and Kael.

  And the way they both looked at him—like a mentor, a guide, a symbol of experience.

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  A discreet smile curved his lips.

  A shiver ran across his shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes.

  Another shiver climbed up his spine.

  Then a gentle warmth slid across his abdomen.

  “Incredible,” he said calmly.

  “It’s everywhere…”

  He extended a hand in front of him, his eyes now wide open.

  Faint tingles rolled along his arm, all the way to his fingertips.

  He raised his other arm.

  A tickling sensation bloomed along his ribs.

  He chuckled softly, almost entranced.

  “Incredible… why didn’t I realize it sooner?”

  He burst out laughing, alone in the room.

  He—usually so stoic, so composed—was now laughing like a child.

  “I can’t wait to be able to wield it!”

  He stayed there for a long time, seated in that silent ecstasy.

  And eventually fell asleep right there, a peaceful smile on his lips.

  Althéa woke at dawn.

  The sun hadn’t fully risen yet.

  Her eyes, still reddened from crying, stung slightly.

  She went to wash once more, dressed quickly, and the bell rang: the call for breakfast.

  The last meal at the Institute.

  As she went downstairs, she passed many Trame Bearers.

  All of them greeted her politely.

  This morning, none tried to approach her — as if they understood she wanted to be left alone.

  She sat at a table in the Bearers’ Hall.

  A servant brought her breakfast. She ate slowly, in silence.

  Lucanis entered shortly after.

  He spotted her, then walked over and sat beside her.

  "Good morning, Princess," he said politely.

  Althéa sighed and replied:

  "Let’s forget that kind of formality between us, Lucanis.

  After what we’ve been through, I think we can speak normally to each other."

  He nodded with a faint smile.

  "Alright. But I’ll have a hard time dropping the formal address…

  I’m not Kael."

  He seemed strangely calm for someone who was supposed to face the Trial in less than an hour.

  Around them, the other students wore grave expressions.

  Some were quietly crying, others looked on the verge of breaking down.

  Althéa watched him, intrigued.

  "You’re not stressed?" she asked.

  Lucanis, already eating, answered simply:

  "No, not really. And you?"

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "You’re not stressed? Why?"

  Lucanis set his utensils down.

  His tone shifted slightly — into one she had never heard from him before.

  "Last night, I spent hours feeling the Elan," he said.

  "It was… fascinating.

  I perceived sensations that were both subtle and powerful.

  Much stronger than in the depths of the cavern.

  And now, I want more.

  So no, I’m not stressed.

  I’m actually looking forward to it."

  Althéa’s eyes widened, visibly shocked.

  Lucanis?

  He, who usually swore only by logic, who always remained calm, almost cold…

  He was eager to risk his life just to feel more?

  Before she could react, a sharp clap echoed through the Bearers’ Hall.

  Dean Ford had just stepped onto the dais.

  Once all eyes were turned toward him, he declared in a strong, clear voice:

  "Dear Trame Bearers, good morning.

  It has already been three months since you arrived here — building your future, forging bonds that will, without a doubt, prove unbreakable."

  He paused.

  "But all things must come to an end.

  Today is the time to grow.

  To take your destiny into your own hands.

  The Trial is here."

  He let silence settle, then continued, even more solemnly:

  "It will try to break you.

  But you, dear students of the Institute…

  You are made of steel.

  You will not yield.

  Not today.

  Not tomorrow."

  He extended his hand, palm facing upward:

  "You will emerge stronger.

  Renewed.

  And bearers of a power with infinite potential."

  Applause burst out across the hall.

  Lucanis continued eating as if nothing had happened.

  Althéa, on the other hand, had listened to every word of the speech.

  The Dean went on, his voice lower now:

  "The bells will ring in one hour.

  You will then depart to face your destiny in the Colosseum.

  Your loved ones and friends — those who were not fortunate enough to be chosen by the Immaterial — will be there to support you."

  Another wave of applause followed.

  The Dean bowed respectfully, then left the dais.

  Vernia was waiting for him at the foot of the steps, standing straight as a rod.

  The hour passed faster than they would have thought.

  Then… the bells rang.

  Althéa and Lucanis set off toward the Colosseum.

  Outside, the air was pleasant.

  The sun’s touch was gentle.

  The wind, a true blessing.

  Althéa savored every moment, as if it were the last.

  The other students, however, did not react the same way.

  Some were trembling.

  Others were vomiting from the stress.

  A few even tried to run away… but they were quickly caught by the guards and the Veilwards.

  There were many guards today.

  A lot of people, in general.

  Althéa felt her stomach twist.

  But she showed nothing.

  Lucanis, for his part, remained as he always was — neutral.

  But she noticed faint tremors in his hands.

  From what he had said earlier, she knew it wasn’t fear…

  but most likely excitement.

  On the way to the Colosseum, delegations from noble Houses stood beneath tents.

  Some students ran to their families, embraced them, broke down in tears.

  Althéa clenched her jaw.

  Did they come? she wondered.

  Lucanis stopped for a moment and said:

  "That’s the delegation of House Velcrann.

  This is where I leave you, Althéa.

  We’ll meet again in the Colosseum."

  She simply nodded.

  Lucanis approached the delegation.

  An elderly man stood there, far taller than him.

  He grabbed Lucanis by the shoulders, wearing a sincere, warm smile.

  He was an elegant man, dressed in a refined butler’s suit.

  A thin pair of metal-framed glasses rested on his nose, beneath which a full white mustache framed his face.

  He radiated a rare blend of gentleness and authority.

  Althéa looked away.

  And turned her gaze to the left of the Colosseum’s entrance.

  There, beneath an open tent, stood the delegation of the royal House Soléandre.

  A knot formed in her stomach.

  Her throat went dry.

  Her breathing grew uneven.

  She moved forward.

  Like one approaches a guillotine.

  And she arrived.

  Her father sat on a chair of solid wood, simple yet refined.

  His mother was seated beside him.

  Around them, a whole array of guards.

  The tent, though luxurious, was wide open — anyone could see them.

  Some passersby stopped to kneel.

  Others watched from a distance, fascinated.

  Some, perhaps, were already plotting to go ask them for favors.

  But none dared approach.

  Althéa entered the tent and simply said:

  "Good morning, Father. Mother."

  Then she knelt.

  Her father made a gesture with his hand, inviting her to stand.

  She raised her eyes.

  He was the same as ever.

  A man of strong stature, handsome, imposing.

  His medium-length gray hair, carefully combed back, accentuated his austere appearance.

  A thick, neatly trimmed beard of the same color framed his face.

  His amethyst eyes shone with a hard, almost chilling light.

  He wore gray armor, over which fell a white cape embroidered with the sigil of House Soléandre: a nine-branched sun.

  He said nothing.

  He looked at her with the eyes of a judge… and an executioner.

  He was measuring her.

  Her mother, meanwhile, rose at once and hurried forward to embrace her daughter.

  "My daughter! What happened to your hair?" she exclaimed.

  Her mother was a slender woman, with the build of a dancer.

  Her white hair — magnificent, voluminous, and wavy — seemed almost unreal, much like Althéa’s.

  She had delicate features, porcelain skin, almond-shaped eyes of a deep green.

  She wore an elegant, understated dress, leaving her arms bare — tasteful, without extravagance.

  Althéa returned her mother’s embrace with restraint.

  "It’s nothing, Mother. A small inconvenience during a survival course.

  I had to cut it myself…"

  Her mother, still holding her, replied in a tone where barely concealed venom could be heard:

  "Oh yes… that infamous survival course.

  The Dean deserves punishment for allowing such a thing to happen.

  But it seems a certain young lady decided otherwise…"

  She stepped back, studied her daughter’s short hair, then added:

  “That cut suits you wonderfully, all the same.”

  She paused.

  Her gaze searched the tent, then the surroundings.

  “Where is Velara?”

  Althéa hesitated slightly.

  “She’s with a… friend.

  She shouldn’t be long now.”

  Her mother bristled.

  “She left? And she left you alone? Without protection?”

  Althéa lowered her head, saying nothing.

  Her father, silent until now, suddenly spoke.

  His deep, hoarse voice cut the conversation short.

  “A friend… is that what you say?”

  An imperceptible shiver ran through Althéa.

  As if her father’s voice resonated deep into her bones.

  She lifted her head slightly and replied in a tone she forced to remain neutral:

  “Yes, Father.

  A boy. He’s the one I was stuck with during the survival course.

  And with the Velcrann heir as well.”

  At the mention of that name, her mother turned her head sharply, visibly intrigued.

  “The Velcrann heir?

  You don’t do things halfway, my daughter…

  Do you get along well with him?”

  Althéa knew perfectly well where her mother was going with this. She replied, still guarded:

  “Yes.

  We have a good relationship. He’s a friend as well.”

  The king showed no reaction at the mention of Lucanis.

  He fixed his gaze on his daughter.

  “And this boy… who is Velara with?” he asked.

  Silence fell.

  It took Althéa a few seconds to answer.

  Her voice grew more hesitant.

  But she held her father’s hard stare.

  “His name is Kael, Father.”

  He frowned.

  Her mother, ever attentive, asked:

  “And from which House?”

  Althéa looked away slightly.

  “None.

  He has no name.”

  The king, still implacable:

  “He has no name?”

  She lowered her eyes.

  Then said, almost under her breath, but loud enough to be heard:

  “He’s an Ombrevu…”