The silence that settled between them was thick — not tense, but heavy with everything left unsaid. It hung in the air like a weight pressing down on both of them.
Vael stood still, his gaze locked on the man behind the desk. This wasn't Ren anymore. This was Orin.
The Grandmaster of the Order.
But the face — the smirk, the casual ease, the faint lightness — still lingered in Vael's mind. A memory he couldn't shake.
"Why the disguise?" Vael asked, voice low and steady. Controlled.
No anger. No accusation. Just a quiet demand for truth.
Orin didn't flinch or dodge. He met Vael's stare without hesitation.
Instead, he gave a small, tired smile.
"Because you wouldn't have talked to me," he said simply.
Not to the Grandmaster. Not to the legend.
"You would've followed orders. Guarded your words. Built walls. That's not what I needed."
Vael's expression remained unchanged. "What did you need?"
Orin stepped out from behind the desk with slow, deliberate steps. Careful not to break the fragile moment.
"A read," he answered. "To see if the storm inside you would drown everything... or if there was still a man at its center."
Vael didn't respond.
Orin stopped a few paces away, locking eyes with him.
"I created Ren to see you as you are, not as what the Order fears."
"And?" Vael asked quietly.
Orin's voice softened. "And I saw someone who doesn't know who he's allowed to be yet."
The room fell silent again.
Then Vael said, calm but certain, "You feared me."
Orin nodded without hesitation.
"I still do."
No excuses. No softening of the truth.
"You killed a god. No trial, no pact, no ritual. Just rage. Grief. Power. And something else behind your eyes I couldn't name."
He looked away briefly, toward the frost-covered window.
"So I put on a mask. Not to control you. To watch you."
Vael's voice cut through the quiet. "And you'll keep wearing it?"
Orin met his gaze again. "Yes."
A pause. Heavy with meaning.
"I'm still Ren. That version of me — the one who grins too easily, asks the wrong questions, stands too close — he's real. Just not all there is."
He folded his arms, steady and unwavering.
"You don't trust masks. Good. You shouldn't. But sometimes, they show more truth than the faces underneath."
Vael was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, without anger, "You're still deciding what I am."
Orin gave a faint nod.
"No. I'm deciding what the world will see. You decided what you are the moment you didn't let the gods win."
The air between them stilled. No tension, just a quiet understanding forming.
"And if I lose control?" Vael asked.
"Then I'll stop you," Orin said plainly. No threat. Just fact.
"But if you hold it... if you shape it..."
He let the words linger.
"Then I'll help you become something even gods should fear."
The words settled like stone in still water — deep, final, and real.
Vael didn't look away.
He didn't hesitate.
He gave a slight nod. Barely a movement. But it was enough.
Acceptance.
Not surrender. Not submission.
Just a choice.
"Alright," Vael said. "Let's see if you're right."
Orin's shoulders eased slightly — not with relief, but readiness. The kind of calm a man wears before a long war.
"Good," he said. "Then we keep going. Quietly. As Ren, I can walk beside you. As Orin, I'd just cast a longer shadow."
Vael didn't answer, but something behind his eyes shifted. Slightly less guarded. Slightly more... knowing.
The silence between Vael and Orin didn't end. It simply shifted.
It became something quieter. Something older.
He didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't breathe differently.
But deep inside, something turned its gaze.
And then —
"Heh."
The Voice stirred.
Not with warning.
Not with ice.
But with a kind of slow, amused warmth — the kind that came from something ancient watching something young try to shape the stars with bare hands.
"He really said that," it murmured, almost fond. 'Become something even gods should fear.'
A pause. Long. Thoughtful.
"He means it, too."
Vael didn't blink.
But a fraction of his mind tilted inward, acknowledging.
The Voice continued, slow and entertained.
A timeless thing wearing the tone of a god watching mortals act like fire was their own invention.
"He's earnest," it said. "Predictable. Heavy-handed with his metaphors."
Another pause, the silence humming with age.
Then, wryly:
"I like him."
Not friendship. Not approval.
Just that amused, indulgent fondness an ancient being might have for a clever child pretending at war.
"He sees the hurricane you're hiding behind your ribs," it said.
"And still walks toward it."
A soft chuckle — like old mountains cracking in thaw, slow and massive.
"Takes nerve. Or stupidity. Or both."
Vael exhaled once, through his nose.
Not out of irritation.
Focus returning.
The storm settling back behind the still surface of his mind.
The Voice didn't press further.
It didn't need to.
Vael exhaled through his nose — slow, steady. Not from annoyance. Just focus returning.
Orin watched him for a beat longer, then shifted the tone with practiced ease.
"So," he asked, voice casual, but not empty. "Why were you looking for me?"
"I want a private ground," Vael said.
Orin raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"To train. Without eyes. Without limits."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No demand. Just a calm, immovable ask.
Orin didn't answer right away.
He turned and started walking, slow and thoughtful. Vael fell into step beside him.
"A private ground," Orin repeated, almost to himself. "Do you know how many ranked initiates ask for something like that?"
Vael stayed silent.
Orin continued, tone cooling. "If I give a private zone to a ranked-fifty student, it won't stay quiet forever. Instructors will question it. High-level agents below the Sigils will question it."
He looked over at Vael.
"They don't know who you are. Not really. You're just another late-placed oddity on paper. You didn't break the system loud enough for them to make excuses."
Another pause.
"And I don't hand out favors I can't explain."
Vael said nothing.
Orin clicked his tongue, annoyed — but not at Vael. At the situation.
"The Sigils won't question it. They know what you survived. That alone gives me room. But the others... they'll sniff around."
He stopped walking.
Turned.
"We can make it happen," Orin said. "But we need to make it look like it makes sense."
A pause.
Then — more serious:
"You'll take a mission."
Vael's eyes narrowed slightly.
Orin continued. "Student mercenary level. Not through the Academy board — directly through me. Quiet, clean, sanctioned. Dangerous, but not political. You complete it alone, and I get the cover I need."
"If anyone under the Sigils sees your name attached to a high-risk successful op, the questions stop. They'll assume you've been greenlit from above."
"And technically," Orin added with a dry smile, "they won't be wrong."
Vael considered it.
"And if I complete it?"
"Then you'll get your ground," Orin said. "No leash. No instructor oversight. No observers. Just space to burn."
"And if I don't?"
Orin met his eyes, firm.
"Then you don't get what you haven't earned."
A long silence.
Then Orin's voice lowered slightly.
"But I don't think that'll be a problem."
Vael's answer came without delay.
"I'll take it."
No bravado. No weight behind the words.
Just fact.
Orin nodded once, satisfied.
"Good."
Vael tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What kind of mission?"
Orin crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the cold, rough corridor wall as if drawing strength from it.
"Monster hunt," he said quietly. "Solo."
He let that hang in the stale air for a beat before adding, "Class: Lord-level."
Vael's expression didn't shift, but his silence deepened — not in doubt, but in careful, precise calculation.
Orin continued, voice low and steady.
"Comparable to the goblin lord you faced during the entrance trial — though this one's weaker. Still dangerous. Still capable of tearing apart an unprepared squad."
He pushed off the wall, straightening his posture like a blade unsheathing.
"But it won't be surrounded by an army. No tide of lesser beasts. No arena eyes watching your every move. Just you, the target, and the relentless ticking of the mission clock."
Vael gave a single, measured nod.
"I'll have the full report delivered to your quarters by morning," Orin said.
"Threat profile, terrain map, confirmed sightings. Everything you'll need."
He turned, already shifting into motion again as if the weight of the mission was already pulling him forward.
"And you'll be granted mission leave from the Academy. Standard student deployment cover. Officially, you'll be listed under active field trial status — no explanations necessary."
He stepped out from the room, the soft creak of the old floorboards marking his return to the corridor.
Vael followed without a word.
They resumed walking side by side, footsteps echoing off the cold, ancient stone walls.
This time, it wasn't Ren who walked beside him. It was Orin.
"No one in your division will know," Orin added quietly.
"And the instructors won't ask. As far as the internal board is concerned, you've been marked for special rotation. Happens all the time for top-ten ranked students."
He gave a faint smirk, one corner of his mouth twitching.
"Which you're not. Officially."
Vael didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Orin slowed as they reached the corridor fork — the path splitting toward the Academy's upper dormitories and the northern tower halls.
He clapped a hand lightly on Vael's shoulder — brief, steady, a silent gesture of resolve.
"Get some rest. You leave in two days."
Vael gave a slight nod, then turned without another word.
As he walked away, the air behind him seemed to settle — silent, untouched, holding its breath.
Orin watched him for a moment longer, shadows flickering across his face.
Then, under his breath, he muttered:
"Let's see what kind of storm you really are."