Cale

  It had been a few days since the courtyard incident.

  The Academy still hummed with whispers, even if no one dared name it outright. The official story was a training accident. Seniors limped around the school with bandages and excuses, and everyone pretended not to notice. Pretending was easier than admitting something had happened that shouldn’t have.

  I thought I would be punished by the school. I should have been punished. I was violent. I broke the rules.

  But nothing happened—to them or to me.

  It was strange.

  The rumor remained. So did the stares. Everywhere I went, eyes tracked me. Some openly, some from behind raised hands. Nobles glanced sideways, careful not to look too long. Scholarship kids muttered more quietly now, but the curiosity still carried.

  The girls were the worst.

  More than once, several girls from the senior class cornered me between lectures, slipped folded notes under Crystal Interface, or stopped me in the quad to blurt out compliments they couldn’t finish. I gave them nothing—short answers with polite nods and silence. I wasn’t rude or anthing just still.

  They came anyway.

  By the time I walked into Halden’s lecture hall on the morning of the third day, I’d already tuned most of it out.

  The room seemed chalky with runes glowing across the board as Halden’s last notes lingered from the previous section. Rows of tiered benches filled quickly with students. Nobles up front, eager to be seen. Merchant kids fanning out in the middle. Scholarship strivers in the back, hugging their Interfaces like shields.

  I made my way to my seat in the back corner near the window. At this point, I wasn’t even sure if seats were assigned or if people simply gravitated out of habit.

  There was a boy I had noticed from my first day who seemed interested in talking to me but also seemed fearful. He hunched over his Interface. His brown hair stuck up in stubborn spikes, his green eyes magnified by round lenses. His uniform sagged a little at the collar.

  He didn’t look up until I sat behind him.

  Then he blinked fast, like he’d just realized the sun had chosen to sit there.

  “Uh,” he said, fumbling to straighten his glasses. “Hi. You’re… you’re Cale, right?”

  I glanced at him. “Yes. Arcanus.”

  “Right. Cale Arcanus.” His voice cracked, then steadied. “I’m Rade. Radric Casten, technically, but nobody calls me that. Just Rade.”

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  I inclined my head.

  He shifted the tablet from one hand to the other, nerves plain—but not the same kind I’d seen in everyone else. Not fear so much more like awkwardness.

  “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you,” Rade said, trying for casual.

  I let that pass without comment.

  Rade winced at his own words. “Sorry. That came out weird. It’s just… you had the whole glamour thing, and I thought maybe you wanted to be left alone.”

  There was truth to that. In the Wastes, I’d walked in my true form only when necessary—using glamour or a mask to hide my identity. It had served me well.

  I probably had to confess I was more nervous about being here than I wanted to admit, even to myself. One reason for the glamour if not the most esstential reason.

  Before I could respond, Halden strode in, long coat snapping, and the room dropped into silence. He began a lecture about responsibility and safety, about how fighting and bullying would not be tolerated.

  Which I found to be a load of bullshit. Tell that to my sister.

  He ended the announcement and said we would be going into self-study for the rest of the hour before backing up and leaving.

  Which was weird.

  He left.

  Rade’s hands still twitched against his tablet. I could tell he wanted to say something, so I let him work up the nerve. He held out for maybe ten minutes before whispering sideways.

  “My parents both work in the Bureau of Arcane Economy,” he said quickly, as if the words might vanish if he didn’t get them out. “Not nobles. Just officers. They push permits, balance ledgers, make sure Technica doesn’t collapse the currency. Boring stuff. But, uh… it pays the bills.”

  I tilted my head slightly, acknowledging without looking away from the board.

  Rade took that as encouragement.

  “I’m not like Darren or Mikel. They are my friends but we are different. You probably noticed that. They like to fight and spar. Mikel is pretty good at it. Not that you care. I don’t… fight much. I mean, I can, but I’m better with theory. Systems. I like Illusia/Technica-based games.” He tapped the tablet. “Dungeon raids, battle sims. Strategy stuff. I know it’s not real, but sometimes the way fights play out in games teaches you how to think. Who covers who. Who breaks formation. Weaknesses.”

  “Does it work?” I murmured.

  He blinked, surprised I’d asked. Then grinned. “Not at all. I’d probably die in a real dungeon. But I can spot who would die, and that’s something.”

  A short breath left me—almost a laugh.

  Rade’s grin widened. “See? You do have a sense of humor.”

  We studied focusing mostly on flow capacity and core limitations. Rade whispered again during a pause.

  “You really do look like the protagonist from Stormbound Trials. Except… less fake. The devs gave him hair like yours in the last update, but on you it actually works.” He winced. “Sorry. Talking too much.”

  “You’re fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Rade blinked. “Thanks.”

  Silence stretched, not uncomfortable.

  Then Rade added softly, “I think we should be friends.”

  I studied him.

  Friends.

  I didn’t have many. In the Wastes, I hadn’t been entirely alone—but friends who remained loyal and alive were rare.

  Rade was just a boy with messy hair, glasses sliding down his nose, and a hobby he didn’t try to hide.

  Friends.

  What the hell. Why not.

  I gave a small nod.

  Rade beamed. “Good. We’re friends now.”

  Halden barked at a pair of nobles for whispering, which was strange because I didn’t remember him reentering the room. Rade ducked his head, but the grin never left his face.

  When the bell rang, he fell into step beside me without hesitation. Whispers followed us out.

  “Who’s that with Arcanus?”

  “The Technia-game nerd. Forgot his name.”

  “He’s trying to be friends with the Transfer? Is he insane?”

  Rade didn’t flinch. He just held his tablet tighter, filling the silence with small observations about the murals and the rune-etched fountains.