A sliver of sunlight, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through Elian's eyelids, dragging him reluctantly from a sleep filled with fragmented memories of ice magic and worried faces. He groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. The events of yesterday felt like a whirlwind – the princess's rebellion, the tense standoff, the arrival of Rylan.
The silence of his dorm room was broken by a soft thud. Elian jolted upright, heart hammering against his ribs. Had someone snuck in? He squinted towards the source of the sound – a crumpled piece of parchment nestled on the floor beside his desk.
Before he could investigate further, a voice, hushed but undeniably female, startled him.
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Big day, remember?"
Elian whipped his head towards the window. Perched precariously on the window sill, bathed in the morning light, was Res. Her face was alight with a mischievous grin, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the previous night.
"Res! What are you doing here?" Elian hissed, scrambling out of bed. "This is my dorm room! You can't just—"
Res hopped gracefully off the window ledge, landing soundlessly on the worn rug. "Technically," she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's against the rules for girls to be in boys' dorms after curfew. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"
Elian ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, frustration warring with a sliver of amusement. "Desperate measures? What's going on?"
Res unfolded the crumpled parchment, her grin widening. "Didn't you hear the announcement this morning? The Second day of the Arcana tournament has begun!"
Elian's sleepiness vanished in an instant. The tournament. He'd nearly forgotten in the chaos of the previous night. "The tournament? But it continues tomorrow, doesn't it?"
Res shook her head, her ponytail bouncing. "Nope. Apparently, due to unforeseen circumstances – " she raised an eyebrow pointedly – "the schedule's been bumped up. First match starts in an hour."
Elian's mind raced. He hadn't prepared, hadn't strategized with Rylan. Panic threatened to rise, but he forced it down. "An hour? That's insane!"
"Insane, maybe," Res conceded, "but also an opportunity. Catch everyone off guard, you know? Besides," she added, a playful glint in her eyes, "who wouldn't want to see the legendary Elian fumble around half-dressed?"
Elian swatted playfully at her arm, a smile tugging at his lips despite the tight knot of worry in his stomach. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Res. Now get out so I can get dressed."
Res winked. "Alright, alright. Just remember, sleeping beauty, heroes don't wait for breakfast." With a final mischievous grin, she slipped back out the window, disappearing into the morning light.
Elian grabbed a spare set of robes from his wardrobe, the fabric cool against his skin. He glanced back at the window, a small smile playing on his lips. Res, always the instigator, the voice of reason amidst the chaos. He wouldn't trade their friendship for anything.
With renewed determination, Elian pulled on his robes and raced out of his room, the start of the Arcana tournament, and whatever challenges awaited him, beckoning.
Elian burst out of his dorm room, robes whipping around him like a battle flag in a sudden gale. The hallway echoed with the frantic thud of his boots against the stone floor. Students scurried out of his way, their faces a mix of amusement and apprehension at his disheveled state. The news of the rescheduled tournament had spread like wildfire through the dorms, turning the once tranquil morning into a chaotic scramble.
He pushed through the heavy oak doors of the cafeteria, nearly colliding with a harried server balancing a precariously stacked tray of steaming plates. The air inside hummed with a frantic energy – the clatter of silverware, hushed conversations punctuated by nervous laughter, the yeasty aroma of warm bread blending with the acrid tang of spilled coffee. A storm of activity mirrored the tempest churning within him.
His eyes scanned the room, searching for the familiar splash of colors that signified his friends. There they were, huddled in their usual corner table, a beacon of calm amidst the frenetic chaos. Relief washed over him, a momentary dam against the rising tide of panic.
"There you are, sleepyhead!" Marco called out, his voice laced with a playful edge. "Thought you'd overslept for the glory of the tournament."
Elian skidded to a halt at the table, chest heaving like a bellows. "Res just… well, Res-ed me," he gasped, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "An hour? Seriously?"
Res, perched precariously on the corner of the table, a half-eaten apple clutched in her hand, winked at him. "Someone had to wake Sleeping Beauty." Then, with a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes, she added, "Besides, a little adrenaline rush never hurt anyone, right?"
Elian felt a familiar warmth creep up his neck, a blush blooming beneath the grime of a restless night. He stole a glance at Rylan, half expecting a reaction. But her face remained a stoic mask, her gaze fixed on a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. Disappointment flickered in his gut, a fleeting sensation he quickly dismissed as pre-tournament jitters.
"Alright, alright," Kyle said, clapping his hands together, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough preening and panicking. We need a freaking plan. Who'd you get paired with for the first round, Elian?"
Elian shook his head, grabbing a stale roll from the basket in the center of the table. The flaking bread felt like dust in his dry mouth. "No idea. Res just… woke me up."
"Classic Res," Marco muttered, shaking his head with a tired smile.
The roll sat heavy in Elian's stomach. This sudden change of plans threw a wrench into their carefully crafted strategy. He needed to focus, to think clearly.
"So," Rylan finally spoke up, her voice quieter than usual, almost strained. "Officially with Res now, Elian?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Elian met her gaze, a knot tightening in his stomach. "Yeah," he stammered, the informality suddenly awkward in the face of her seriousness. "We've been seeing each other for a while."
A flicker of something – disappointment? surprise? – crossed Rylan's face before a mask of neutrality settled in. "Oh," she said simply, her voice flat.
Elian felt a pang of… something. Confusion? Regret? It was a tangled mess of emotions he couldn't quite untangle. Was he reading too much into it? Maybe the pressure of the looming battles was getting to her. He shoved the unsettling thoughts aside, focusing on the cold oatmeal now swimming in lukewarm milk on his plate. He needed sustenance, both physical and mental, for the battles ahead, both on the tournament grounds and in the tangled web of his personal life.
Drake, ever the pragmatist, cleared his throat. "Well, congratulations, you two. Now, back to the tournament. We need a freaking strategy…"
As the conversation shifted to spells, opponents, and potential weak points, Elian forced himself to participate, his mind still grappling with Rylan's unexpected reaction. He stole another glance at her, but her face remained an unreadable map. He couldn't help but wonder if the sudden announcement of the tournament wasn't the only thing throwing him off balance.