The sun hung low over Eyrendyl, its golden rays stretching over the city's rooftops, casting long shadows. The streets were unusually crowded as students, once housed within the academy's grand walls, now found themselves thrust into the outside world.
Carriages rolled through the cobbled roads, some gilded with the marks of noble houses, others more modest but sturdy. Some students left under the direct supervision of academy-appointed faculty, while others—those with powerful families or personal wealth—secured their own arrangements.
For many, this was an inconvenience. For some, an opportunity.
And for a select few, a test of survival.
The tavern's upper room was dimly lit, the scent of wood polish and old parchment filling the air. A small lantern flickered on the table where Kalem sat, meticulously adjusting the straps of his new armor. The flexible steel plates molded beneath his fingers, the product of his own hands, his own work.
Across from him, Lyra stared, arms crossed, expression torn between concern and frustration.
"Wait. You refused?"
Kalem nodded, not looking up from his work.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them before Lyra spoke again, slower this time.
"…Why?"
He finished fastening the last strap before finally looking up, his amber eyes steady.
"I don't need them."
Lyra's expression twisted.
"Kalem." Her voice held an edge, her fingers drumming against the table. "This isn't some academy prank. You were just in the middle of a coordinated assassination attempt. The dorms exploded. And you—" she gestured sharply at him, "—decide to walk away from the one thing that guarantees protection?"
Kalem shrugged. "Protection is relative."
Lyra exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're unbelievable."
The students had split into three groups after the relocation was announced.
Those under academic supervision – These students followed the academy's faculty, housed in buildings under direct warded protection.Those with wealth or powerful families – Nobles and merchants used their money to hire personal security, private mercenaries, or estate guards.The Independents – A small handful who chose to rely only on themselves.
Kalem was among the third group.
He didn't have noble wealth.
He didn't have an academy-assigned protector.
He had himself.
And that was enough.
Lyra wasn't convinced.
"So, what—" she gestured at him again, "—you're just going to wander around the city alone?"
Kalem raised an eyebrow. "I have Onyx."
Her expression twisted in disbelief. "Your bull doesn't count."
Kalem smirked. "Tell that to anyone who tries to mug me."
Lyra threw up her hands.
Kalem leaned forward slightly. "I've prepared for this, Lyra. I know how to survive." He tapped his chest, where his new armor lay beneath his coat. "I made my own defense. I have my own money. And I know how to move unnoticed."
Lyra sighed, rubbing her temples. "And what happens if another assassination attempt happens? What if they send better assassins this time?"
Kalem's fingers drummed against the table. "Then they'll learn that I'm not easy to kill."
Eyrendyl was no longer just the city of scholars and commerce.
It had changed.
Since the attack, the streets were filled with a new kind of energy. Extra patrols lined the main roads, their armor polished but their gazes wary. Bounty hunters lingered at taverns, waiting for contracts. Mercenary groups had tripled in demand, many accepting offers to guard academy students for high pay.
Rumors spread faster than wildfire.
"Did you hear? The academy massacred the assassins in broad daylight." "But some escaped. No way they'll give up after this." "They say the attack was just the beginning." "And did you see how many nobles hired entire squads? They know something we don't."
The city was turning into a powder keg.
And Kalem was walking through it alone.
Lyra exhaled sharply, finally shaking her head. "Fine."
Kalem blinked. That was faster than expected.
Lyra gave him a flat look. "You were going to do this anyway, weren't you?"
Kalem smiled slightly. "Probably."
She leaned back, arms still crossed, gaze sharp. "Then at least answer me one thing."
Kalem tilted his head. "What?"
She exhaled. "What's your plan?"
Kalem considered this for a moment. "Stay mobile. Stay unpredictable. Keep my ear to the ground." He tapped the table. "And prepare for the next move."
Lyra watched him for a long moment, then sighed. "Just don't die, okay?"
Kalem smirked. "I'll try."
The conversation ended, but the war hadn't.
Somewhere, hidden in the city's shadows, knives were being sharpened.