A Game of Masks

Ren was exactly where he expected her to be—inside her private gym, attacking a training dummy with sharp, precise strikes.

The air hummed with the faint vibrations of the simulation field, a holographic interface flickering in sync as it traced her every movement, logging the power, speed, and precision behind each strike. Data streams scrolled along the periphery, analyzing her performance in real time, but Ren wasn't paying attention to the numbers.

The space was vast, lined with reinforced walls designed to absorb impact, yet it seemed to shrink under her fury, the sheer intensity of her movements making even the large room feel confining.

Orion leaned against the doorway, watching in silence. Her footwork was sharp. Her technique flawless. The sheer ferocity behind each strike made it clear she wasn't just practicing—she was venting every ounce of pent-up anger.

After a few more hits, he smirked. "You know, if that thing had feelings, it would be crying by now."

Ren didn't pause. She pivoted, driving a final knee into the dummy's midsection before stepping back, exhaling sharply. "Go away."

Orion tsked, tilting his head with a wry smile. "I'm here to make amends. Though, if you ask me, I think I'm not the only one who should be apologizing." His tone was teasing but careful, testing the waters.

Ren narrowed her eyes, squeezing the towel in her hands. "Oh? And what exactly do you think I should be apologizing for?"

He spread his fingers to count. "Well, let's see—setting my practice droid to its highest difficulty while I was sleeping, and let's not forget nearly dislocating my shoulder last week. Also..."

Ren scoffed. "That was your fault. You should've dodged."

Orion chuckled. "You are completely ruthless. But lucky for you, I'm a forgiving person."

She shot him a glare, grabbing a towel from the rack. "You're only here because Mother sent you."

"Not true," Orion replied. "Mother merely suggested it. I came because I wanted to."

Ren huffed, rubbing the towel over her damp forehead. "You really thought that was funny?"

"I thought it was important," he corrected, stepping into the room. "You're already one of the best in our age group, Ren. You could afford to breathe a little."

She muttered, "Do you really think I push myself too hard?"

After a moment, she scoffed. "Says the one training with two masters before the First Trial."

"That's different," he said, though he wasn't sure if it truly was. "I have ground to cover. You're way ahead, and not just by a little—you're leagues beyond all of us. If you push yourself any harder, you might start making the rest of us look even worse."

Ren pursed her lips, looking away. Orion nudged her arm lightly. "Ren, you're incredible. No one else our age comes close to what you can do." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Honestly, it's kind of exasperating how perfect you are."

She blinked, her ears tinging red. "Shut up."

He grinned. "I'm serious. You should take a break once in a while—maybe let me catch up a bit."

Ren rolled her eyes, but she shifted slightly, trying to hide the fact that she was pleased. Then, without warning, she shoved his shoulder—hard enough to nearly knock him off balance.

Orion staggered back, nearly tripping over a bench he hadn't noticed before. "What was that for?"

"You still owe me for the exam," she said. "And I fully intend to get even."

Orion groaned dramatically. "That sounds ominous."

Ren grinned, her earlier frustration finally fading. "It should."

She turned toward the exit, tossing a final remark over her shoulder. "Oh, and don't forget about tonight's sparring. You only won last time because I matched your power. If I go all out, you won't last two seconds."

Orion smirked. "We'll see."

The door slid shut behind her, leaving the gym in silence. Orion exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. He'd done what he came here to do.

Ren wasn't one to hold grudges—not for long, anyway—but he knew better than to think he was off the hook entirely.

For now, there were more pressing matters.

After leaving the gym, Orion made his way through the estate, passing the grand halls and towering glass windows that overlooked the gardens. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air filtering through the open corridors before heading toward the east wing—where Rylan's study was located.

The room, lined with towering bookshelves and antique furnishings, carried an air of quiet authority.

Rylan glanced up as Orion entered, his gaze sharp with quiet scrutiny. He set aside the tablet he had been reviewing. "The gala is in one week. Have you memorized the names?"

"Yup," Orion replied, meeting Rylan's gaze with steady confidence.

"Good. Now tell me," Rylan leaned forward, elbows on the table, "who among them is worth remembering?"

Orion met his gaze. "Depends on what you're looking for."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Rylan's expression. "Then let's narrow it down." He picked up a tablet and swiped it, pulling up a rotating list of names and family crests. "We'll start with allies."

Orion didn't need to think long. "The Erastes family. They're aligned with us through commerce—Father secured key trade routes with them last year, and their eldest son is looking to establish himself among the martial nobles. They have no direct ambition beyond solidifying their position."

Rylan nodded. "Who else?"

"The Navarro twins. While their family is politically neutral, they admire strength. They'll follow whoever proves dominant among the next generation. It would be useful to keep them close, if only to prevent them from siding against us."

"And the ones to be wary of?"

"The Voren family." Orion's tone was measured. "They present themselves as traditionalists, but their son, Elias, is particularly ambitious. He resents the Reyes name because of past losses his family suffered at our hands. He'll look for opportunities to undermine us."

"Correct." Rylan studied him carefully. "And what about the ones who will pretend to be neutral?"

Orion's lips curved. "The Tanaka cousins. They act as though they are above petty conflicts, but they are opportunists. They won't make moves themselves—but they will profit from whoever does."

"Very good." Rylan set down the tablet and regarded him seriously. "And what is your stance on the martial nobles?"

Orion hesitated. The martial nobles—the children of those who earned their status through military service—were a complicated group. Unlike the noble-born, who inherited their influence, these families were built on merit. In theory, that meant they should be easier to manipulate. In practice, it made them unpredictable.

"I haven't decided yet," Orion admitted. "They are useful, but they are also volatile."

Rylan hummed in agreement. "They do not play the same political games as the noble houses, but make no mistake, they have their own hierarchy. If you dismiss them entirely, they will resent you. If you show them too much favor, the other nobles will see it as a weakness."

Orion thought for a moment. "Then it's a matter of balance. Acknowledging their strength without tying myself to them."

Rylan smiled slightly. "The martial nobles are loyal when given purpose, dangerous when ignored."

Rylan leaned back in his chair, considering him. "And what about the lower nobles? The ones clinging to relevance?"

Orion shook his head. "Not worth my time. They will align with whoever proves strongest."