The cold lingered despite the sunlight. Above, the sky stretched clear and cloudless – wide, empty, and unmoved.
Students across the grounds enjoyed the day. Freed from their classes, many took the opportunity to relax.
Most felt little concern. The head of the Institution had assured them that many would awaken soon, and the urgency of their situation was never made clear. Sheltered by the Institution's generosity, their ability to remain objective had dulled, eroded by comfort and quiet bias.
Their trust had been freely given – earned not through proof, but through privilege.
Of course, this wasn't true for every student. Saela was one of the exceptions. Each passing day, she immersed herself in knowledge, filling her time with study and observation. She searched relentlessly for anything that might give her an edge – any clue that could lead her toward success.
Sunlight struck the closed curtains and went no farther, leaving Xeris's room dim and untouched.
Inside, Xeris slept.
"Wasting such a beautiful day – what a pity. How lazy."
That was how it looked from the outside. But appearances were shallow things. Was Xeris truly the sort to waste time?
Day or night, time itself was objective. Its value didn't change – only how it was used.
And for Xeris, the hours that offered the greatest return happened to belong to the night.
By this point, Xeris had returned to the village three times, never coming back until the early hours of the morning.
Each visit took him to a different gambling house. There, he listened more than he spoke, surrounded by an ever-changing mix of people. In fragments of conversation and careless remarks, he gained an understanding that the Institution could never provide.
The Institution was a place of knowledge – but it was also a cage. Its walls filtered what students were allowed to know, deciding which truths were acceptable and which were not. And even then, how much of that knowledge was correct?
There was only one way to find out.
Two sharp claps rang out.
"Attention, class! You are the select few who have exceeded our standards and awakened before the deadline. Today, we'll begin by discussing –"
Kaelric sat in the very first seat at the front. He idly picked at his nail, his expression bored, as if the lecture barely registered.
This class consisted of the 40 students who had successfully awakened their Aris. The seating was arranged by order of awakening, starting with the first to do so – which, unsurprisingly, was Kaelric.
" – Of course, since you are the first batch to rise above your peers," the instructor continued. "By the end of the month, you will be reorganized alongside the other successful students, divided according to your alignment."
Kaelric raised his hand.
Several gazes shifted toward him.
"How many students are expected to awaken by the end of the month?" he asked.
The instructor paused. She blinked once, eyes lifting slightly as she searched her memory.
"Ah, yes," she said at last. "Director Eldric estimates that roughly forty-five percent of the remaining students will awaken."
She paused only briefly before turning back to the class and resuming her lecture.
Forty-five percent. That meant more than half would fail.
Kaelric sneered inwardly.
If that shadow still hadn't awakened… he wouldn't survive the month.
Saela shifted in her chair, turning another page.
Lost in silence, she hadn't moved in nearly seven hours. A dull ache in her back finally pulled her attention away from the book. Only then did she realize the day had long since slipped into night.
She glanced out the window, her thoughts drifting – unbidden – to Xeris.
She had expected him to move first.
He had not.
That unsettled her more than if he had made a mistake.
Saela let out a quiet sigh. She closed the book, rose to her feet, and stretched lightly before a yawn escaped her.
A cold breeze swept across Xeris's face, lifting his black hair and briefly exposing his forehead. His eyes remained unmoved despite the cold, his expression neutral.
He walked on, passing the guards and paying them without breaking stride. What had once required caution now felt routine.
Before long, the lights of the village came into view. He entered beneath the cover of his hood, his face swallowed by shadow, nothing visible beneath it but darkness.
Xeris moved with quiet conviction, passing rows of shops and scattered homes. Few people were out – the hour was late, and the cold had driven most indoors.
Before long, Xeris stopped in front of a gambling house.
It was smaller than the others he'd visited – older, worn down from years of use. The building carried a tired air, as if it had long since stopped trying to impress anyone.
Xeris stepped inside.
For a brief moment, the room fell quiet. A few glances turned his way, curious but uninterested. Then the noise returned, conversations picking up where they'd left off. Only the bartender acknowledged him, offering a short bow before returning to his work.
The tavern's interior was simple. Tables and chairs were scattered unevenly across the floor, and the bar pressed against the back wall. At the center of the room, a large table had drawn a crowd – coins clinking softly as a gambling game played on.
Xeris took it in without pause and moved to an empty chair at a table.
This had become his routine – watch and listen. He observed how the game was played, noted the rules as they revealed themselves, and let nearby conversations drift into his awareness, filtering for anything of use.
"Raise!"
A large man with a scruffy beard slammed 5 Crescents onto the table.
A few brows lifted. Those familiar with him exchanged quiet smiles before folding, sliding their cards back into the center.
Xeris noted the reaction.
Only one person called the raise, placing his own 5 Crescents into the pot. He was younger, likely in his late twenties, his gaze sharp and eager as he waited for the next card.
The larger man smiled, yellowed teeth on display.
The game continued until the final round. 20 Crescents now sat at the center of the table, enough to draw the attention of a few patrons lingering near the bar. The tension between the two players had grown subtle but unmistakable.
When the last card was revealed, the larger man slammed his hand down with a sharp crack and leaned back, laughing.
The younger man lowered his head in defeat, rose from his seat, and walked away.
A few others drifted away as well. Around the same time, an old man entered the tavern and took a seat at the bar, paying no attention to the game that had just ended.
Xeris stood and moved toward the large table at the center, taking one of the newly vacated seats.
A handful of glances followed him – mostly because he had kept his hood up even indoors.
Xeris was unbothered by their silent judgment; these were nothing but unspoken thoughts. What power did they really have?
Across from him sat the large man, a small pile of Crescents stacked neatly before him – a quiet display of his control over the table.
Someone turned toward him.
"Hobb, ready to start?" he asked.
The large man grunted and looked around the table.
"Everyone clear on the rules?" Hobb asked, his voice raspy, carrying an easy authority.
The others nodded. Xeris did as well.
In truth, Xeris had never played this particular game, nor did he know its name. But after watching the previous round, the premise was already clear enough.
Each player at the table was dealt three cards.
Xeris glanced down at his hand. One showed a tiger, its long teeth bared, frozen in a posture that spoke of violence. Another depicted a slave – bound in chains, clothed in rags and filth, despair etched into every detail.
The last card was a snake. Plain and unadorned, its scales a solid black, offering no pattern or flourish.
Xeris's expression didn't change. Internally, however, he grimaced.
Tiger without dominance.
Slave without loyalty.
Snake without strategy.
It was a scattered hand.
Silence settled over the table as each player examined their cards. It was broken by Hobb's voice.
"Eh… mmh? Oh?" He chuckled. "Haha, this is good."
The dealer stood and turned over a single card for all to see.
A king.
The figure sat calmly, posture composed, authority unmistakable.
A few reactions followed. One man placed a Crescent on the table. A few folded without hesitation. Soon, the decision reached Xeris.
He paused briefly, then placed 5 Crescents forward.
This drew attention.
"Starting that high?"
"He's trying to buy us out…"
Murmurs spread as more players folded, until only Hobb remained.
Hobb's eyes stayed fixed on Xeris. There was no irritation in his gaze – no disdain. A familiar, dirty smile crept across his lips.
Hobb slammed 5 Crescents onto the table once more.
Attention shifted to the man who had originally opened with a single Crescent. After a brief hesitation, he folded, sliding both his card and his remaining Crescent forward in quiet resignation.
The game narrowed. Only Xeris and Hobb remained.
Another card was revealed. Xeris placed down another 5 Crescents. Hobb matched it without pause.
The rounds continued in this way – Hobb growing visibly more animated, his confidence swelling, while Xeris remained composed, his movements measured and restrained.
The sixth card was placed on the table.
At that moment, a soft sobbing drifted in from the bar. A few heads turned to see an older man seated there, his face buried in his hands.
"What's that bloke so upset about?" someone at the table murmured.
"He's had it rough," another replied quietly. "I overheard him the other day – something about his daughter. She failed to awaken."
"So he's given up?"
"I don't think so. I heard he was searching for a Twin Hearts M–"
"That fool ought to give up!" Hobb barked, cutting the whisper short. "Now, back to the game!"
He clapped his hands together and jabbed a finger toward Xeris.
The old man at the bar had overheard this. He paid the bartender and rose to leave.
Beneath his hood, Xeris's eyes widened for the briefest moment.
So he's looking for a Twin Hearts Myr. That means he has information. I should speak with him. If he knows a seller, then this situation can be turned to my advantage.
Xeris's gaze returned to the table. He had been bluffing from the start.
50 Crescents now sat in the center – no small sum.
He tapped the table, attempting to check.
Hobb burst into laughter.
"Where's that confidence gone now?!" he said, grinning as he slammed down another 5 Crescents. "Let's keep this fun!"
Xeris said nothing. He slid 5 Crescents forward to match.
At this point, he was committed. If Hobb was also bluffing – holding a hand as poor as his own – continuing was the correct move. If Hobb held strength, the loss would only deepen.
Under normal circumstances, Xeris would have played conservatively and cut his losses early. But tonight wasn't about caution. He wanted to leave an impression – and his funds allowed for it.
Time, however, was running short.
Out of the corner of his eye, Xeris watched the old man at the bar begin making his way toward the exit.
The dealer flipped the seventh and final card.
Nothing. Xeris thought.
Xeris tapped the table again, attempting to check.
Hobb answered with another 5 Crescents. Xeris matched without hesitation.
"Reveal your cards," the dealer said.
Both hands were turned over.
Xeris's tiger, slave, and snake lay face-up on the table.
Silence followed – brief, sharp – before laughter broke out.
"That was his hand?"
"What a joke."
"Why didn't he cut his losses?"
The table erupted.
Hobb's hand was strong. The outcome was unquestionable.
Xeris stood, unmoved by the loss, and turned toward the exit, already following the path the old man had taken moments earlier.
Behind him, Hobb's smile slowly faded. Watching Xeris disappear into the night.