Rai's laughter cut through the air, shrill and unhinged, each note scraping against Blazar's nerves until she wanted to claw at her own ears. "I knew you were weak!" he crowed, his voice dripping with triumph that tasted bitter on the wind.
The sound of it made her skin crawl—not fear, exactly, but that particular brand of disgust reserved for playground bullies who never grew up.
His hands rose slowly, fingers splayed wide like a conductor preparing for his grand finale, and the wind itself seemed to bend to his will, coiling around his palms like a living thing made of whispers and razor edges.
Blazar's mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other like stones in an avalanche.
Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs, not from fear—she'd stopped being afraid of pretty boys with temper tantrums years ago—but from the pure, crystalline focus that came when violence hung in the air like morning mist.
Option One: Turn around, grab his stupid, pretty-boy face—all sharp cheekbones and practiced smirks—and knee him so hard his descendants would feel it echoing through their DNA.
The mental image was delicious, almost cinematically satisfying. She could picture the shock blooming across his features, the way his perfectly styled hair would fall into his eyes as he crumpled.
Hilarious. Deadly. Deeply, deeply satisfying. Also, very stupid—he'd probably blast her into the next century before she got within arm's reach.
Option Two: Use the chaos brewing around them like a storm. His wind attacks were wild, unfocused, the kind of flashy magic that looked impressive but had all the precision of a toddler with a paintbrush.
If she could bait him into destroying something important—maybe the courtyard's ancient statue of the First Supreme Alpha, that pompous marble monument that had been judging students for centuries—she could slip away in the aftermath like smoke dissipating.
Calculated. Reasonable. Strategic, even. If she didn't get crushed by two tons of sanctimonious marble first.
But before she could choose between reckless violence and calculated retreat, Rai suddenly went rigid.
His body seized up like he'd been struck by lightning, every muscle locking into place with an almost audible snap.
Then he jerked upward, limbs flailing like a puppet yanked by invisible strings, his carefully crafted composure dissolving into pure, animal panic.
The sight would have been comical if it weren't so utterly terrifying. He hovered fifty meters in the air, spinning helplessly like a leaf caught in a hurricane, arms and legs windmilling uselessly as gravity forgot he existed.
For a moment, he hung there suspended against the pale morning sky, and Blazar could see the exact second when his arrogance transformed into raw, primal fear.
Then gravity remembered him with a vengeance.
THUD.
The sound of impact echoed across the courtyard like a gunshot, wet and final.
Blazar winced despite herself—she might despise the little weasel, but even she wasn't heartless enough to enjoy watching someone's bones snap like kindling.
A scream tore from Rai's throat, raw and animal and utterly without dignity.
It was the kind of sound that bypassed the brain entirely and went straight to the gut, primal and wrong in the way that made her want to run.
His legs bent at angles that made her stomach lurch, twisted into shapes that legs definitely weren't meant to make. "Fuck you, Xeari!" he shrieked, pointing past Blazar with a trembling hand.
She turned, her heart doing something complicated behind her ribs.
And there he was.
Xeari.
Even from across the courtyard, he commanded attention like gravity commanded planets.
Platinum blonde hair caught the morning light, meticulously braided in a style that somehow managed to be both practical and elegant.
Cornrows along the sides that traced the shape of his skull, thicker braids woven through the middle like golden rivers, all gathered into a short, elegant ponytail that barely brushed the nape of his neck.
Every strand was perfect, as if he'd stepped out of a painting rather than a morning walk.
But it was his face that made her breath catch in her throat. Unlike Vesper, whose smiles were twisted and wicked, carved from cruelty and sharp edges, Xeari's was real. Warm.
The kind of smile that made you want to believe in good things again, even when experience had taught you better.
And yet, his grey eyes—sharp as flint and twice as dangerous—never blinked as they locked onto Rai with the focused intensity of a predator watching wounded prey.
The contrast was jarring.
"Is that how you address your King?" he asked, his voice a perfect blend of stern authority and charm.
Rai whimpered, all his earlier bravado crumbling like sand castles at high tide. "We're family," he managed, the words coming out cracked and small.
Xeari sighed, a sound so genuinely disappointed it made Blazar's chest ache in sympathy.
It was the kind of sigh a parent might give a child who'd just broken something precious—not angry, exactly, but profoundly let down.
"What does that have to do with me?" He tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost curious. "A werecat's honor is in his traits and behavior. You're acting like an outcast."
The words hit harder than any physical blow could have. Blazar could see them land, could watch Rai flinch as if he'd been slapped.
There was weight behind them, centuries of tradition and expectation that made her suddenly grateful she'd never had to carry the burden of family honor.
Then his gaze shifted to Blazar, and the world tilted on its axis.
For a single, breathless second, their eyes met. Time seemed to slow, the way it did in dreams or just before accidents.
Hers, hidden behind dark opaque wrap around glasses secured tightly around her head—because accidents happened when you were around people, stared back at his through the protective barrier she'd built between herself and the world.
His eyes were grey like storm clouds, the kind that promised either gentle rain or devastating hurricanes.
They were framed by a face that shouldn't exist outside of fairy tales—sharp enough to cut glass, all clean lines and perfect angles, yet softened by a boyish charm that made her pulse stutter like a broken engine.
But it was his aura that nearly brought her to her knees.
It wrapped around her like sunlight after years in the dark, warm and golden and impossibly gentle. Calm. Steady. Safe.
The feeling was so foreign she almost didn't recognize it.
No one had ever made her feel safe. Not her parents, not her teachers, not the handful of people she'd dared to call friends before life taught her better. Safety was a luxury she couldn't afford, a weakness that got you killed.
And that terrified her more than anything ever could.
The realization hit her like ice water—not just that she felt safe, but that she wanted to.
Wanted to step closer, wanted to lower her guard, wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was someone in this world who wouldn't hurt her.
The desire was so strong it made her hands shake, and she had to clench her fists to stop the trembling.
Rai's groans snapped her back to reality like a rubber band to the face.
His limbs were a mess of dislocated joints and unnatural angles, his so-called friends long gone—probably scattered to the winds the moment real authority showed up. Fair-weather allies, the lot of them.
"Apologize to Orion," Xeari commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a request or a suggestion—it was a fundamental law of the universe, as inevitable as sunrise.
Rai hesitated—just for a second, pride warring with self-preservation—before his body lifted a few centimeters off the ground. The levitation was gentle, almost tender, but the threat was unmistakable.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY!" he wailed, tears streaming down his face in ugly, desperate tracks. All his earlier arrogance had evaporated, leaving behind nothing but a scared boy who'd bitten off more than he could chew.
"Sorry for what? And to who?" Xeari prompted, ever patient. His voice held the same tone a teacher might use with a particularly slow student—not cruel, but firm enough to cut through excuses and self-pity.
"I'm sorry, Orion, for bullying you!" Rai gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush of genuine terror.
A nod. Xeari flicked his wrist with casual grace, and a guard materialized from the behind. "Take him to the infirmary," he said, and there was something almost gentle in the command—not kindness, exactly, but the practical compassion of someone who understood that broken things needed fixing.
And just like that, he turned and walked away, his white trench coat billowing behind him like the wings of some celestial being.
The fabric moved with a life of its own, catching the morning light and throwing it back in brilliant flashes.
The emblem of his circle glinting under the sun, the metal work so fine it seemed to shift and breathe with each step.
Blazar sat frozen on the cobblestones, watching him go with the helpless fascination of a moth drawn to flame.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, loud enough that she was sure everyone in the courtyard could hear it. The stones beneath her were cold and unforgiving, but she barely noticed the discomfort.
He looked like something out of a storybook, the kind of man poets wasted ink on and artists spent lifetimes trying to capture.
The kind of figure who belonged in epic tales of heroism and noble sacrifice, not in the grimy reality of academy politics and petty power struggles.
The kind women dreamed of—noble, powerful, beautiful in the way that made you believe in impossible things.
"Wouldn't fall for him if I were you." Vyne's voice shattered the moment like a rock through glass, dragging her back to earth with jarring suddenness.