The courtyard was too quiet.

  Arclight’s warded trees hummed faintly in the wind, their glowing leaves filtering the noon sun into fractured green-gold light across the stones. Rune-etched benches circled the fountain at the center, where younger students usually gathered between lectures, chattering and casting practice glyphs for sport. But now? No laughter. Just the slow, gathering silence of a stage being set.

  Lucien Veylan was waiting for me. Leira was off to the side, sitting on a bench with her own friends.

  He stood in the center like it belonged to him, jacket unbuttoned, family crest glittering on his chest. A pair of seniors flanked him on the bench, lounging as though they were in on a private joke. More of them fanned out in a wide arc, their casting aids already primed, faint glyph-light crawling up wrists and throats.

  One of them raised his palm as I stepped closer. A thin shimmer spread out from the fountain—an Arcanum ward, neat and practiced. The sound of the campus dulled in an instant, like someone had pressed glass over the courtyard. No one was getting in or out without smashing the spell, and nobody was foolish enough to smash a senior’s spell on purpose.

  I kept walking.

  Lucien’s smile widened as though this were all part of his theater. His voice carried, lazy and cruel.

  “I told you what would happen, Arcanus. I warned you the first time. But I guess you didn’t listen.” He spread his arms, boots scraping against the stone like he wanted everyone to hear. “That means you’ve earned yourself a lesson in consequences.”

  The crowd tightened. Nobles with embroidered sleeves shifted uneasily, but no one left. Scholarship kids hugged the wall. Even teachers didn’t come running.

  That was the weight of the Veylan name. Lucien wasn’t just a senior; he was the son of a Dominion Minister. The kind of man who dined with generals and whispered laws into existence. Not quite the level of Upper Nobility, but someone with clout, money, and influence—and the willingness to use it. Nobody wanted to be the one to say they saw Lucien Veylan do something wrong.

  I stopped a few paces from him, set my satchel down carefully, and adjusted the bracer at my wrist. The casting aid hummed to life, threads of glyph-light tracing up my arm.

  He sneered. “Oh, good. The glamour considers himself a User. What you got, Arcanus? You finally figure out how to put together your Aura Core?”

  Laughter rippled from the ring of seniors.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

  Lucien’s smile sharpened. “Let me be clear. My sister can do whatever she wants to you. Your family. Your sister.” His voice lowered, almost intimate. “If she wanted your sister dead, you’d hold the shovel. That’s how far above you we are.”

  He flared his cores to prove the point.

  “Don’t misunderstand—I won’t kill. I wouldn’t want people to say I am without mercy. But I am going to beat you half to death just to make my point. You will not resist when we are around. This example is for you and every other scholarship student who might think or act above their station.”

  Twin bursts of Expression boiled into the air around him—Elementa Arcanum fire, one that focused on the heat portion of the discipline, and dense Aura.

  It was a popular martial discipline I had seen before, and it appeared that Lucien had developed it to a decent degree.

  The nearest warded trees hissed as the heat licked across their bark, wards sparking to hold it back. The air grew heavier, metallic, stinking of ozone and burning copper.

  A few juniors in the crowd gasped. I understood their surprise. A second core wasn’t totally uncommon, but the amount of power Lucien was displaying showed that both his cores were well developed—well outside the black stage and into at least red. This was an indication of how purified the core was and how well it translated mana into Expression. It was rather impressive.

  For a spoiled bully who had never faced anyone who could fight back.

  Still, most around were impressed.

  I wasn’t.

  “Lucien,” I said quietly, my words carrying despite the power he was releasing. “I want you to know that you brought this on yourself.”

  His eyes narrowed. I breathed in and out, slow. The casting aid at my wrist buzzed in warning as I let mana flow. I started cycling my power.

  Aura slid into place first—body steadying, air thickening, presence sharpening until the world narrowed to intent and movement. Everything about me was reinforced with power and presence. A few students shifted back, feeling the Expression in the air as if their own lungs forgot how to pull breath.

  I cycled more power and continued my breathing.

  Then I layered Elementa Arcanum over my Aura; the jumble of Lucien’s own style was more connected, something that combined the two seamlessly. I added my go-to element.

  Lightning.

  Elementa Arcanum flickered along my veins, crawling to my fingertips, humming across my arms and legs. My hair lifted in the charge. My vision, my focus, my reactions all sharpened until the courtyard became edges and angles, every gap a path, every choice branching out into a thousand different possibilities.

  Gasps rippled louder. A seamless layering of two Expressions at once. Just like Lucien—actually better than Lucien, cleaner, more integrated, with Elementa Lightning the most difficult foundational Arcanum element to control.

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  Everyone saw what I was doing. They gawked at the events unfolding before them.

  What they saw wasn’t supposed to be possible. Not for someone my age or social background. This should not be possible without more than one fully formed core. I was technically old enough to have more than one, but not with the type of power and control I was letting off.

  If they only knew the truth, their eyes would probably fall out of their heads.

  I let the moment hang. But apparently, Lucien had different thoughts.

  “So you’ve learned some tricks,” Lucien called, twisting to make sure the crowd was listening. “No wonder you’re so arrogant.”

  His grin widened. “It’s time for you to learn your place.”

  He lunged, crossing the space between us.

  Flame wrapped his fist, Aura making the stone crack beneath his boots as he drove forward. His strike was clean, practiced—a noble’s technique meant to overwhelm, not maim. If it landed, it would break bone and burn me.

  I moved faster.

  Lightning surged, carrying me sideways in a blur. His fist boiled the air. Before he could recover, my blade was already in my hand—not steel, but shaped Aura and Arcanum, a short blade of white-blue light that hissed and crackled with a sound that most would never forget.

  I didn’t strike. I held it an inch from his ribs.

  The courtyard held its breath because it was obvious that had I wanted it, Lucien would have been very, very dead.

  Lucien froze, then laughed, sharp and angry. “Parlor tricks.”

  “You were dead in two moves,” I said quietly.

  He flared again, both cores at once. Flame roared higher; steel Aura pulsed like a hammer blow. The heat forced students back, casting aids buzzing warnings.

  I narrowed my eyes. My vision burned hotter, and I released my combined Expressions with all their weight and presence. The pressure in the courtyard doubled. Nobles staggered. Alessa and Brin, watching from the far side, actually crouched as though the air itself pressed them down.

  Lucien’s smirk faltered. He saw it.

  He still stepped forward.

  “You don’t scare me, Arcanus.”

  “Then you’re as stupid as you look,” I said quietly.

  He came at me again, reckless now, flame coiling into his palm.

  The courtyard erupted.

  Lucien swung wildly, the Arcanum fire twisting up his arm like a banner. Reinforced Aura roared in front of him, his boots gouging cracks into the stones. His casting aid flared gold, and my own casting aid caught the push.

  [Warning: Danger. Rank: Greater → Pushing Exalted]

  He raised the output of his spell and still kept it stable. It was actually pretty impressive. He was still foolish; he thought numbers would win the fight for him.

  He was wrong.

  I slid aside, lightning singing through my veins, pushing at the Aura reinforcement. My body snapped into motion faster than his eyes could follow. Once again, his fist carved through air where my head had been. I pivoted, let the storm carry me, and slammed my lightning-covered fist against his ribs, having dispelled my Aura lightning blade.

  I really should kill this fool. He deserved it. But then Gran would have to deal with paperwork… and yeah. So I didn’t.

  I still hit him really hard. The impact lifted him a step off the ground. He grunted, Aura shuddering, flame scattering like sparks from wet wood.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  He staggered but did not fall. Pride wouldn’t let him. He wiped blood from his lip and snarled, “Not bad… for a mistake.”

  He roared, both cores flaring white-hot. Heat boiled the air. Students nearest the circle stumbled back, coughing. His fire blossomed, wrapping him in a living inferno, and his Aura reinforced the blaze until it howled like a forge.

  The warded trees hissed and cracked. The fountain’s water steamed.

  He lunged again—straight for me in brutal, avalanche-like motion.

  I exhaled and cycled my mana, doubling down on my own Expressions. Aura flared while lightning wrapped me whole—flame and lightning filled the space.

  I didn’t take the next step, but kept the Aura and Arcanum separate.

  We collided.

  For a moment, the courtyard was nothing but white light and thunder. When it cleared, Lucien was on one knee, coughing smoke, his casting aid shrieking:

  [Stability: Critical — Rupture Likely]

  [Rank: Exalted → Collapse Imminent]

  I stood untouched, lightning licking my hands and heels. The pressure in the courtyard pressed down until every onlooker felt it in their bones.

  Lucien’s eyes flicked up to mine. He stared at me in horror, clearly not liking what he saw in my eyes. His pride kept him silent, but his fear leaked through the tightness of his jaw.

  I lowered the blade to his chest. “Tell your sister to leave mine alone. As a matter of fact, tell everyone that if anything happens to my sister—if she even gets scared in the hall—I will hold you personally responsible. And next time…”

  I reshaped my Aura lightning blade, this time making it long and thin, giving it enough power to take on a more substantial form.

  I jammed that blade into his hand.

  Lucien screamed, sobbing like a child. I waited until he was present enough to look me in the eye.

  I leaned down.

  “If anything happens to Ellara. Anything at all. Next time, I won’t stop at your hand.”

  I twisted the blade before pulling it out. The wound would be painful, but not permanent—not if he reached a good healer who knew enough to counter my combined Aura and Arcanum.

  I dismissed the blade and turned to walk away.

  That should have been the end.

  It wasn’t.

  “Now!” one of the other seniors barked.

  The ring of people collapsed inward—half a dozen first, then more. Spells crackled as Arcanum flared: firebolts, shards of ice, ghoulish illusions manifested at the edges. Aura bolts crashed like a wave, making the cobbles groan.

  Elementa spells struck my Arcanum shield, but not cleanly, as I was already moving. Lightning surged, carrying me through the first swing at my two closest attackers. My fist snapped up into a noble’s jaw; his Aura folded, and he crumpled. I pivoted, blade singing into life, and carved through an Aegis Lattice Force Field like paper. Its Arcanum spellcaster screamed and hit the ground.

  I altered my Aura lightning blades, forming needles, and hurled them into a row of seniors, adjusting the Arcanum parameters and increasing the impact to less penetration and more discharge. Most of the needles found their marks. I electrocuted the shit out of them, sending their targets to the ground.

  More seniors came like a tide. I broke them like sticks.

  Each motion was clean and ruthless. A hammer blow to the chest—collapse. A kick to the knee—snap. A blade at the throat, pulled short by an inch—fear enough to end the fight. Aura-lightning-covered fists dropped one after another.

  Casting aids shrieked warnings as the seniors, not understanding the force before them, attacked with reckless abandon.

  My own casting aid buzzed too, glyphs red and frantic. I ignored it. Breath carried me steady as I cycled mana. Lightning and Aura blended sharp, cutting through their panic.

  One tried to cast a containment field—his aid glowed green, chanting stability. I shattered it with a single strike, the shockwave knocking three more sprawling.

  Another charged with a conjured blade of stone. I caught his wrist, twisted it, and slammed him to the ground. He let out a scream as the weapon dissolved.

  They kept coming. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

  The foundation cracked. Trees shuddered. The courtyard rang with the sound of flesh and stone breaking. Students watched from beyond the Arcanum ward barrier. No one intervened. No one dared.

  When the last one fell, the air was scorched and thick with smoke and the groans of the injured.

  Thirty seniors lay groaning on the cobbles, sprawled across benches, slumped against trees. Spells guttered out into ash. The ward shimmer collapsed with a hiss, finally breaking.

  I stood in the center, chest steady, lightning fading from my veins.

  Lucien lay on the ground, nothing left of the pride he had propped up moments before. His eyes locked on me, rage and fear in equal measure.

  I bent, just enough for only him to hear. “This is your last warning. Make me visit you again and I will kill you.”

  Then I turned and walked away, leaving silence heavy in my wake.

  Nobody followed.

  Nobody spoke.

  Only the sound of Lucien’s casting aid whining:

  [Flow Collapse Detected]