Clayton collapsed into his seat in the mess hall, body aching in places he didn't know existed. The tray of food in front of him looked more like a puzzle than a meal—some kind of mushy rice, a suspiciously shiny sausage, and a cube of blue jelly that wobbled every time the table moved.
"Delightful," he muttered, poking the jelly. It jiggled back like it was ready to duel.
The morning's electives had drained him. Stimulus card drills, arcane pattern exercises, tactical scenarios… his brain felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry in the sun.
He'd barely managed to pull off a narrow win in the Tactical Adaptation simulation by baiting an opponent's heavy-hitter with Glassbind Chains—a 3 AP stimulus card that shackled the enemy's movement if they declared a second attack in one turn. Not a permanent card, just one of the training cards they issued for drills, but still useful.
His favorite moment had been using Dust Veil—2 AP, obscures visual and magical targeting for one round—right before slipping in Arcblade Step for a surprise strike. Not as flashy as a finishing combo, but effective.
And through it all, Monocle of Insight sat quietly in his deck, unused. He didn't need it today. No one was hiding anything worth unveiling.
But that didn't mean secrets weren't hovering.
He stirred his tea and glanced across the hall. Asher sat three tables away, laughing softly with a group of other Pioneer Tower students. His golden curls caught the light like they always did—flawless, effortless.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Asher gave him a small, polite smile.
No words. Just that.
And somehow, that tiny gesture said more than it should've. It wasn't just warmth. It was acknowledgment—like Asher knew Clayton was circling something important and was curious to see where he'd land.
For someone so "naive," Asher watched like a monarch surveying his court.
Because he was. Clayton hadn't forgotten. Under all that charm and sunshine, Asher Augustus was the third prince of the Lunar Kingdom. The precision. The poise. The subtle manipulation masked as kindness; he was hiding and biding his time.
Clayton looked away before his thoughts could spiral.
And right on cue…
"Wow," came Lily's voice as she slid into the seat across from him, "you've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The 'I just unlocked another conspiracy and need to dramatically stare into the middle distance' look."
Clayton gave her a flat look. "Is this your hobby now? Psychoanalyzing me during lunch?"
"No," she said, snatching one of his fries. "My hobby is watching you slowly unravel from afar. But this seat has better lighting."
He smirked, shaking his head. "Glad to be your entertainment."
"Oh, you're more than that," she said, grinning. "You're a walking mystery novel. Chapter one: boy arrives at academy. Chapter two: wins an impossible duel. Chapter three…"
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully.
"…starts getting awfully cozy with Cynthia Gold Fang."
Clayton choked on his tea.
Lily laughed. "There it is. The guilty cough."
"It's not—cozy," he muttered.
"Oh? So the private training sessions, the secret meetings in empty courtyards—just coincidence?"
"What's next, matching cloaks? "
He rubbed the back of his neck. "She offered to help. That's it."
"She offers to help a lot of people?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow.
"…No."
"Exactly," she said, smug. "So, is this a 'train me, mentor me, maybe duel me' kind of thing, or is it becoming a 'let's stare at each other between fireball exchanges' situation?"
Clayton groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Because someone has to make you squirm," she said, stealing another fry.
"So… is it serious? Should I be worried?"
He snorted. "You're not my type."
"Please, I'm everyone's type."
He didn't argue with that.
"And besides, I approve."
"You approve?"
"She's smart, confident, scary in a good way, and can probably knock you out with one spell. What's not to like?"
"I'm not looking for—anything like that."
Lily leaned back. "You don't have to look. Sometimes, these things just… find you."
That last part sounded suspiciously genuine.
Clayton squinted. "You're being weirdly nice."
"Shut up and eat your jelly," she shot back instantly.
He laughed. It felt good—light, even.
They ate in a mostly comfortable silence after that, though Lily kept giving him the occasional side-eye smirk. Typical.
As he stood to leave, she added, "Hey, just—be careful, okay?"
He paused. "With Cynthia?"
"With all of it. Her. Your deck. Your… instincts."
Clayton nodded, suddenly serious. "I know."
He did. He could feel something shifting. The academy, the factions, his own place within it—it was all growing heavier. Like he'd stepped onto a path that couldn't be backtracked.
Later that evening, back in the quiet of his room, he laid his cards out one by one. The soft hum of arcane energy flowed between them—some familiar, some still slightly wild from practice.
And then he placed down Monocle of Insight.
His unique card.
It wasn't aggressive. It didn't blast through armor or summon spectral beasts.
But it did something subtler. More dangerous.
It exposed the truth.
And sometimes, that was deadlier than any fire spell.
Clayton sat back, staring at the card's shifting glyphs. The lens gleamed faintly, as if reflecting a future he couldn't see yet.
He thought about Cynthia. About Asher's silent smile. About Lily's teasing and her sudden flashes of honesty. About how close he was to something that didn't yet have a name.
The storm was coming.
And this time, he wouldn't be at the edge.
He'd be in the center of it.