The wind in the academy's courtyard shifted, restless and full of whispers. The usual afternoon hum of student chatter and idle footsteps was now replaced with an electric tension, as though the air itself had been charged with something dark and dangerous.
Saelan Voltaire stood near one of the high windows of the East Wing, his sharp eyes watching the courtyard below. His fingers lightly tapped against the cool glass, a rhythmic pattern that mirrored the anticipation building inside him. He had heard the rumors. Seen the aftermath. Asari, the boy who had become infamous overnight. The fight had not been expected, but it had been inevitable.
The duel. The defeat of his expectations. But now, it was not just the fight that intrigued him—it was the aftermath, the reactions, and most importantly, how Asari would respond to his subtle provocations.
The morning after their encounter, the buzz in the academy was deafening. Word of Asari's victory had spread like wildfire, and every student had an opinion. Many were still whispering in awe, others in fear. But one thing was clear—the silent boy was now the center of attention. His reputation, once something obscure and easily ignored, had bloomed into something monstrous.
And Saelan? He wasn't impressed, at least not in the conventional sense.
The air around him seemed to press against his skin as he finally turned away from the window and stepped into the hallway. His footsteps were deliberate, measured, but there was something unsettling about the calm he exuded. He had to admit, he hadn't expected Asari to be that effective in battle. The boy was sharp—too sharp. Fast, like the shadows themselves.
But there was still much to learn.
Saelan had been watching Asari closely ever since his arrival at the academy. The boy was an enigma, a contradiction wrapped in silence. His reputation as a devil in the making had been confirmed in their fight—his fists were as brutal as the rumors claimed. But it wasn't just strength that drew Saelan's attention. No. There was something more.
Asari had that dangerous stillness. The calm before the storm. The power to destroy, and yet, a level of control that seemed almost unnatural.
"You survived," Saelan muttered to himself, leaning against the stone wall of the hallway, his gaze narrowing as he thought of the boy's victory. "But how long can you survive the storm I bring?"
His smile curled up at the edges. He had to see more. Much more. He would push Asari until there was nothing left for the boy to hide behind. And once he found it—whatever darkness lay inside—he would devour it.
Saelan's hand drifted to his side, brushing against the familiar shape of the fan resting in his pocket. He could still feel the remnants of their fight—the sudden flick of his wrist, the tension of the silk threads as they lashed toward Asari. But it had been too quick. Too simple.
Next time, he would make it more interesting. He would show Asari a challenge like no other. He would show him what true chaos felt like.
The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.
Later that day, the academy buzzed with the usual energy of classes, but there was a sharp undercurrent of tension—students whispering behind hands, casting nervous glances toward Asari whenever he passed. The once-quiet boy had now become the eye of the storm, and everyone wanted a piece of him.
Saelan moved through the hallways like a shadow. His presence was a quiet storm, something that hovered just on the edge of awareness, a constant reminder of power veiled beneath a silk mask.
He found Asari near the back of the academy's main hall, alone, as usual. The boy was sitting in a secluded corner, his posture as rigid as a statue. No one dared approach him. The silence surrounding Asari had always been unnerving, but now it felt like a kind of barrier—a wall no one dared cross.
Saelan smiled to himself. Asari was just as interesting as he had hoped. Perhaps more.
As Saelan approached, he didn't announce his arrival. He didn't need to. The slight shift in the air was enough. Asari's eyes, which had been distant and unfocused, flicked toward him with the sharpness of a predator sensing a challenge.
"So, the rumors were true," Saelan said, his voice smooth and mocking. He moved closer, his shoes clicking softly against the polished floor. "A boy who fights like a devil. A boy who barely speaks, yet somehow manages to leave a mark wherever he goes."
Asari didn't respond immediately, his gaze remaining fixed on Saelan. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
Saelan took a few steps closer, his smile widening. "I must admit, you surprised me. I thought you were just some silent, predictable brute. But you… you have more than just fists, don't you?"
Asari stood up slowly, his expression unreadable, his eyes never leaving Saelan's. A moment of silence passed—heavy, thick, like the calm before the storm.
Finally, Asari spoke, his voice low and steady. "What do you want?"
Saelan's eyes gleamed with delight. "Ah, that's the question, isn't it?" He took another step forward, circling Asari like a predator testing the waters. "What I want... is chaos. I want to see how far you'll go to survive. I want to see if you can truly handle the storm I bring."
Asari's eyes darkened. The challenge was clear, as was the intent behind it. Saelan wanted something. Something more than a simple fight. He wanted to push Asari until there was nothing left of the boy except his raw, unfiltered essence.
Asari's lips curled up, though there was no warmth in his smile. "Then come. Show me."
The days that followed were filled with subtle, yet unmistakable signs of Saelan's growing obsession. He began to appear in places where Asari frequented—always at a distance, always watching, never truly making his move. The anticipation built, thickening the air around them like a storm cloud waiting to break.
Asari, for his part, ignored him. He didn't rise to Saelan's provocations. He simply went about his day, focused, distant, and always alert. He could feel Saelan's presence, but it was nothing new. The boy was predictable in his pursuit of chaos. It was only a matter of time before Saelan would make his next move.
And when he did, Asari would be ready.
One evening, after classes had ended and the academy had quieted, Saelan appeared once again—this time, in a secluded courtyard where no one else dared go. The courtyard was dimly lit, the shadows stretching long and dark. Asari was there, alone, just as he always was when Saelan found him.
Saelan leaned casually against a stone pillar, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—sharp as ever, watching Asari closely.
"I've been waiting," Saelan said softly, his voice carrying through the silence. "For you to truly fight back. To show me what you've got."
Asari turned slowly, his gaze cold, unwavering.
"I don't need to show you anything," he replied, his voice low. "But I'll make you regret pushing me."
Saelan's smile widened, but there was something dark in his eyes—a flicker of genuine excitement.
"Let's see if you're right."
And with that, the game was on.