The duel had ended only hours ago, but the echoes of it still lingered in Argolaith's thoughts.
He had walked off the field in silence, sword sheathed, eyes calm. Kaen had been taken away by healers, mumbling something about power and purpose.
Back in his room, Argolaith was wiping down his blade when the letter arrived. It was sealed with a shimmering crest—thirteen intertwined rings representing the academy's elders.
He broke the seal, unfolding the crisp parchment. The message was brief, written in elegant runes:
"You are invited to the Western Courtyard at sundown. We would like to discuss your recent performance. There will be tea."
Argolaith blinked, then smirked.
He arrived at the courtyard just before the sun began to dip. The garden was quiet, filled with pale-blooming flowers that glowed faintly in the twilight.
A stone table waited beneath an arched canopy of woven vines, with thirteen chairs circling it.
One by one, the elders appeared.
