The figure beneath the window vanished the moment I blinked. One second they were there, an ominous silhouette etched against the moonlit courtyard, and the next, nothing but empty shadows. My breath hitched as I pulled the curtains shut and pressed my back against the cool stone wall. Paranoia? Perhaps. But the nagging feeling that someone—or something—was watching me lingered.
The unease stayed with me until the first rays of dawn streamed through the window. Sleep had been fleeting, my mind preoccupied with unanswered questions. Who was watching me? And why?
I shook off the lingering tension as I dressed for the day, layering the Academy's simple training uniform over my tunic. The fabric felt stiff and unfamiliar, a reminder of just how far I was from the life I had once known.
When I stepped into the courtyard, the chill of the early morning air bit through the thin material. Students were gathering in scattered clusters, their voices a low murmur as they waited for the day's training to begin. The instructors were already present, their commanding presence impossible to miss.
I took my place at the edge of the group, watching as the training stations were set up. Each section offered something different: swordsmanship, archery, hand-to-hand combat. The weapons were dulled for practice, but they carried an air of deadly intent.
A wiry man with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor approached me. He handed me a wooden practice sword without a word and gestured toward an open space at the far end of the courtyard. His movements were brisk, efficient, and utterly lacking in patience.
"Footwork first," he said, his voice clipped.
I mimicked the steps he demonstrated, though my attempts were clumsy at best. Each misstep earned me a disapproving frown, but the instructor said nothing. His silence was worse than criticism—it left me to stew in my own frustration.
"Again," he barked, his tone brooking no argument.
By the tenth repetition, my legs burned, and my grip on the wooden sword felt precarious. I glanced at the other students, many of whom moved with practiced ease. A few struggled as I did, their faces flushed with exertion, but most seemed at home in this environment.
Among them, Corwin stood out like a peacock among pigeons. His movements were fluid, almost theatrical, as he twirled his blade with effortless precision. His audience, a mix of sycophants and admirers, watched with rapt attention.
I tore my gaze away, refocusing on my own training. It didn't matter how polished Corwin was; I wasn't here to compete with him. My goals were far more personal.
By the time the session ended, I was drenched in sweat, my arms trembling from the effort of holding the practice sword. I dropped it onto the bench with a thud and sank down beside it, wiping my face with the edge of my sleeve.
"Rough first day?" Lyric's voice rang out, cheerful as ever. She plopped down beside me, looking infuriatingly unscathed by the morning's exertions.
"How are you not exhausted?" I asked, glaring at her.
She shrugged, her grin wide. "Years of practice. You'll get there. Maybe."
Before I could respond, a commotion near the far end of the courtyard drew our attention. A crowd of students had gathered in a tight circle, their voices raised in excitement.
"Another fight?" Lyric mused, her tone bordering on amusement. She grabbed my arm, dragging me along despite my reluctance. "Come on, you don't want to miss this."
We pushed through the throng of onlookers until we were at the edge of the circle. In the center stood Corwin, his smirk firmly in place, facing off against a tall, broad-shouldered boy. The tension between them was palpable, their animosity evident in every glare and sneer.
"You think you're better than everyone else, don't you?" the boy snarled, his fists clenched.
Corwin laughed, the sound dripping with mockery. "Better? Oh, darling, I don't think. I know."
The boy lunged, his movements fast but unrefined. Corwin sidestepped with practiced ease, his footwork precise and deliberate. The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers as the two clashed, their fight more a display of skill than true violence.
I watched intently, my gaze flicking between their movements and the reactions of the crowd. This was more than a simple altercation—it was a performance, a battle for dominance in the Academy's unspoken hierarchy.
But my attention shifted when I caught sight of something—or someone—at the edge of the courtyard. A figure stood just beyond the circle of light, their face obscured by the shadows of the overhanging trees.
My stomach twisted. It was the same figure from the night before.
They were watching me.
My breath hitched, and for a moment, the world around me faded into the background. The noise of the fight, the shouts of the crowd, all of it dulled as my focus zeroed in on the watcher.
They didn't move, didn't react. They just stood there, their presence as unnerving as it was silent.
"Hey," Lyric's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to find her watching me with a concerned expression. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said quickly, tearing my gaze away from the figure. When I looked back, they were gone.
But the unease remained, gnawing at the edges of my mind like a shadow I couldn't shake.