THE FALSE CALM
The gates of the Noble Combat Pavilion creaked open under torchlight as Deus stepped through them alone.
He expected silence.
Instead, he was met with applause.
A dozen noble heirs stood in formation at the courtyard's edge, clapping stiffly — awkward, uncertain, rehearsed.
The Pavilion had never welcomed anyone home this way.
But then again, no one had returned with bloodied boots and a reputation forged in rumor and steel.
Instructor Gairos stood watching from the second-level balcony, arms crossed.
Kairen leaned against a pillar nearby, unreadable.
Corva Merien offered a single nod and nothing else.
And Deus?
He said nothing.
He didn't bow.
He didn't smile.
He simply walked through the applause like it wasn't meant for him.
Because it wasn't.
Later – Pavilion Dormitories
Deus sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the wall.
The blades of Antrar were wrapped and stored once again. Dormant. Obedient.
But the whispers outside his door weren't.
"He killed five of them—alone."
"I heard he didn't use magic. Just… will."
"They're calling him the Bladeborn."
Kairen entered without knocking.
"You've become a legend," he said.
Deus didn't look up. "Legends are exaggerated corpses."
Kairen chuckled. "And yet you're breathing."
A pause.
Then: "You're changing again. And not in a good way."
Deus turned to him.
"Would you prefer I bled and begged for approval?"
Kairen's jaw tightened.
"No. But I'd prefer you still saw people as people."
"I see them as variables."
"That's the problem."
The door shut hard as Kairen left.
Deus didn't flinch.
But inside, something stirred.
Dining Hall – The Next Day
Everyone moved aside when Deus entered.
Some bowed. Others pretended not to see him. A few tried to offer praise disguised as small talk.
He ignored all of them.
Until he reached the food table and found someone standing in his way.
A boy with golden hair. Noble crest of House Ferendril on his cloak.
"You're the Zars heir?" he asked, voice too casual.
"Yes."
"You don't look like a killer."
"And you don't look like a thinker. Yet here we are."
The boy smirked. "I'm Alden Ferendril. My father funds the Pavilion's summoning wing."
"I'm not impressed."
"You should be. I can make people disappear."
Deus blinked once. "Then you should be more afraid of those who don't need to."
The moment passed without further conflict.
But it left a mark.
Deus could tell — Alden wasn't here to fight.
He was here to study.
Elsewhere – Instructor Chambers
Gairos read the day's report.
"Deus is being watched," Talen said, crossing her arms.
"By who?"
"By everyone. Nobles want him as a symbol. The royals want him as a tool. And some heirs want him gone."
Gairos exhaled. "The blades made him visible. But visibility invites vultures."
That Night – Deus's Tower
He sat cross-legged before the blades.
He hadn't touched them since the ambush.
Not because he feared them.
But because they didn't fear him either.
He lit a candle. Opened his notebook.
Wrote:
They celebrate what they don't understand. They follow what they can't control. I wonder — is admiration just a form of weakness? Or is it strategy in disguise?
Then added:
I think I'll try admiring someone. Just to see how much they give me for free.
He closed the book.
The candle flickered once.
The blades pulsed.