The Weaving Academy's courtyard was always buzzing with life, but today, the tension was thicker than usual. There were no scheduled lessons, no official duels—yet the air carried a weight that made students whisper in hushed tones.
Ren noticed it the moment he stepped onto the training grounds.
Something was coming.
His instincts told him to stay unnoticed. He had just started settling into the Academy, had just begun weaving himself into its routine. His duel with Jorrik had put some attention on him, but he had managed to avoid true scrutiny.
Until now.
Because today, the Academy was getting a new arrival.
And if the energy in the air was any indication, he wasn't just any student.
Instructor Rylis stood at the front of the courtyard, arms folded behind his back, his expression as unreadable as ever. The murmuring students quieted the moment he spoke.
"The Academy welcomes a new transfer," Rylis announced.
The doors at the far end of the courtyard swung open.
A single student strode inside.
Varian Dusk.
He didn't walk like the others. He moved like the ground should be grateful he was stepping on it. Controlled, deliberate, with an air of effortless superiority.
His uniform bore a single silver emblem woven into the fabric, marking him as part of an elite Weaving House.
Ren recognized the name instantly. Dusk.
One of the Great Weaving Houses.
The students around him stiffened, whispering.
"Is that—?"
"He came here? Why?"
"Didn't his family practically build half the Academy?"
Ren forced himself to remain still. He had a bad feeling about this.
Varian scanned the courtyard without urgency. His gaze flickered over each student like they were beneath his notice.
Then, his eyes settled on Ren.
A slow, amused smirk touched his lips.
Ren felt the shift in the Loom before he even understood it.
Threads around him tightened—subtle, but deliberate.
Varian didn't just notice him.
He had already marked him.
"Varian Dusk."
Rylis gestured to him, addressing the rest of the class. "You are all aware of his family's contributions to the Academy. His talent speaks for itself. You would do well to learn from him."
Varian barely acknowledged the compliment. Instead, he turned his head slightly—toward a nervous-looking student in the front row.
Ren didn't know the boy's name. He was younger, probably an early-year student, and his Loom-weaving flickered inconsistently, like he hadn't mastered basic reinforcement yet.
Varian stepped toward him.
The student flinched.
"Show me," Varian said, voice calm.
The boy hesitated. "S-Show you what?"
Varian lifted a hand.
The Loom twisted.
Ren barely saw the motion—but the effect was instant.
The threads around the student snapped inward. Not physically, not aggressively, but suffocatingly.
The student gasped, stepping back as his own weave began to unravel.
He tried to resist. Golden strands flickered from his fingertips—a weak reinforcement technique.
Varian lifted a single finger.
Snap.
The boy's technique collapsed.
Not broken. Unmade.
Ren's breath slowed.
Varian hadn't just countered the attack—he had rewritten it before it was even fully formed.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the courtyard.
The student stumbled, gasping, his threads shaking as they re-stabilized.
Varian smiled faintly.
Then, just as effortlessly as he had started, he turned away.
Like it wasn't even worth acknowledging.
Ren clenched his jaw.
So that's how he works.
Not brute force. Not overwhelming power.
Absolute control.
Varian's gaze swept the crowd.
And then—he locked eyes with Ren.
Ren didn't react. Didn't blink. Didn't shift his stance.
Varian tilted his head slightly, studying him.
The air between them stretched taut.
Then—Varian smirked.
A subtle, knowing expression.
He looked away, stepping forward as if the moment had meant nothing.
Ren exhaled slowly.
He had been noticed.
And that was dangerous.
As the students dispersed after the announcement, Ren caught sight of Kara lingering nearby.
She hadn't spoken the entire time.
But she was watching Varian.
And she had noticed.
"He doesn't like you," she said flatly.
Ren huffed a quiet laugh. "I didn't even say anything to him."
"You didn't have to," Kara said. "Some people don't need a reason."
Ren glanced at her. "What do you think of him?"
Kara was quiet for a moment.
Then, she shrugged. "I think you're in trouble."
Ren sighed. "Fantastic."
Kara smirked.
And for some reason, Ren wasn't as annoyed by that as he should have been.
That night, as Ren walked through the Academy halls, he noticed something odd.
A group of students stood gathered near the mission board, whispering.
Ren moved closer.
His name was written on a parchment, pinned to the board.
A bounty.
Not real, of course—just part of the upcoming Trial of Survival.
But the message was clear.
Someone wanted him hunted.
And Ren already knew exactly who it was.