BAITED STRINGS

Deus sat at the west garden terrace of the Pavilion, sipping tea he didn't like and pretending to enjoy silence.

He didn't drink for pleasure. He drank to observe.

The Pavilion was shifting. He felt it in the way people glanced too long and spoke too little. Everyone moved around him now — not through him. He was no longer a student.

He was a symbol.

A threat.

A possible ally.

A loaded blade, sheathed only for the moment.

So it was no surprise when Alden Ferendril returned.

"You sit like a prince," Alden said, pulling up the chair across from him. "Yet you don't wear your house colors."

"They don't suit me."

"Neither does modesty."

Deus sipped once more.

"I prefer effectiveness."

Alden leaned forward, smile sharp. "Then let's talk about being effective — together."

The proposal came masked in flattery. Alden spoke of alliances, legacy, and noble duty. How House Ferendril's reach into the capital's magical academies could pair beautifully with Zars' military strength.

"You're sharp," he said. "And you scare people. That's power."

Deus tilted his head. "And you want that power standing behind you?"

"No," Alden said, lowering his voice. "I want it beside me."

Deus offered a small, unreadable smile.

"Same thing."

They walked through the garden after.

Alden outlined his plan — influence a vote at the High Council using a puppet noble, bypass direct authority through arcane loopholes, and secure "strategic dominance" over two key merchant cities.

In exchange, Deus would gain unrestricted access to the Pavilion's sealed libraries — ancient combat texts, forbidden soulcraft, and historical records on Antrar.

To anyone else, it would sound tempting.

To Deus?

It sounded like bait.

Wrapped in silk.

He said nothing that night.

Not yes.

Not no.

Just, "I'll think about it."

And that was enough to make Alden smile.

Too wide.

Too confidently.

Elsewhere – Private Observation Chamber

Instructor Talen watched the mirrored viewing orb, her fingers tapping the wooden rim.

"He's weaving threads," she said.

Gairos stood beside her.

"Deus?"

"No. Alden."

She paused. "But Deus is letting him."

Gairos frowned. "Letting… or setting?"

Later – Deus's Tower

The candles were low.

The blades silent.

Deus scribbled notes.

Alden Ferendril – Type: Political Predator. Offers flattery in exchange for proximity. Goal: Expand influence through aligned assets. Weakness: Ego. Underestimates strategic introverts.

He paused.

Then wrote beneath it:

Strategy: Pretend to accept. Offer selective compliance. Extract maximum access. Collapse trust at key moment. Optional: Public humiliation.

He turned the page.

Blank.

For now.

A soft knock came at his door.

He opened it.

Kairen stood there.

Not smiling.

"Playing chess with nobles now?"

Deus didn't reply.

Kairen stepped in without permission.

"I saw the way you nodded at him. The way you didn't speak in front of others. You're baiting him."

Deus closed the door behind him.

"Maybe I'm learning."

"Or maybe you're becoming the thing you hate."

A long silence followed.

Then Deus asked:

"Would you rather I be outsmarted?"

"No," Kairen said. "I'd rather you remember why you wanted freedom in the first place."

He walked out.

And for the first time in days… Deus didn't have a response.