The forum is already crowded when Alaric arrives.
It's one of Ravenshade's weekly academic discussions open to upper-tier students, faculty, and anyone important enough to matter. The kind of room where words are currency and silence is calculated.
He takes a seat near the side, close enough to hear but far enough to observe.
Silveren Vale is already there.
Of course he is.
Silveren stands near the center of the room, speaking with a faculty advisor, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. People orbit him naturally, adjusting their distance without realizing they're doing it. The space bends around him, obedient.
Alaric watches without reacting.
That, too, is new.
Across the room, Isaac Blackwell enters without announcement.
The effect is quieter than Silveren's but just as absolute.
There's no pause, no disruption. Conversations don't stop they simply reorient. Isaac doesn't acknowledge Silveren. He doesn't even look in his direction.
He takes a seat near the discussion table.
Alaric notices the deliberate choice.
The forum begins with a moderator outlining the topic "accountability within hierarchical systems. Safe enough to sound neutral. Dangerous enough to matter."
The first few comments are careful. Polished. Designed not to offend anyone who could retaliate.
Silveren speaks early.
His voice is calm, controlled, each sentence precise. He frames accountability as structure, responsibility as something maintained through order. It's a familiar argument clean, efficient, difficult to dismantle without sounding reckless.
The room hums with approval.
Then Isaac speaks.
Not immediately. Not to contradict.
He waits.
When he does, he doesn't address Silveren at all.
"Accountability only functions," Isaac says evenly, "when those within the system believe dissent won't be punished."
The room quiets.
A few people glance toward Silveren instinctively.
Isaac doesn't.
His gaze shifts instead to Alaric.
"Rowan," he says calmly. "You raised a similar point yesterday. Would you expand on it?"
The invitation is casual.
The effect is not.
Alaric feels the shift ripple through the room. He doesn't hesitate not because he isn't aware of the weight of the moment, but because instinct has learned faster than fear.
"Yes," he says, sitting straighter. "Systems that demand obedience over understanding don't produce accountability. They produce compliance. And compliance fails the moment pressure shifts."
Silence follows.
Alaric can feel eyes on him, measuring, reassessing.
He continues anyway.
"When people fear consequences more than injustice, they stop correcting problems. They stop speaking. That's not stability. That's stagnation."
Isaac watches him closely.
Not approving.
Assessing.
Silveren hasn't spoken.
That's when Alaric realizes something important.
Isaac never asked permission.
He didn't check Silveren's reaction. Didn't soften the exchange. Didn't frame the invitation as collaboration.
He simply chose Alaric.
Silveren steps in smoothly, voice cutting through the quiet. "Order exists to prevent chaos," he says. "Unchecked dissent destabilizes institutions."
Isaac turns his head slightly then.
Just enough to acknowledge Silveren's presence.
Not enough to defer.
"Unchecked authority does the same," Isaac replies.
The words land cleanly.
No hostility. No challenge.
Just fact.
Alaric feels something loosen in his chest.
Not relief.
Recognition.
The discussion resumes, but the tone has shifted. Questions are sharper now. Less careful. People start addressing Alaric directly testing him, engaging him, pulling him further into the center of the conversation.
Isaac doesn't intervene.
He doesn't need to.
Silveren watches from the edge of the exchange, expression composed, jaw set just a fraction tighter than before. This wasn't how the room was supposed to move. This wasn't how attention was meant to flow.
Isaac hadn't challenged him openly.
That's what makes it worse.
As the forum wraps up, voices rise again, the spell breaking slowly. People gather their things, conversations splitting off in hushed clusters.
Alaric stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
He feels eyes on him before he sees Isaac step closer.
Not invading his space.
Claiming it.
"You speak without cushioning," Isaac says quietly. "That's rare here."
"I don't see the point in pretending," Alaric replies.
Isaac's gaze sharpens slightly. "That will cost you."
"Everything costs something," Alaric says.
For a moment, Isaac studies him in silence.
Then he nods once. "True."
Silveren approaches then.
He positions himself beside Alaric with practiced ease, presence deliberate.
"Rowan," he says, voice cool. "A word."
Isaac doesn't move.
He doesn't step back. He doesn't look away.
"I was speaking to him," Isaac says calmly.
Silveren meets his gaze.
"So was I," he replies.
The tension is quiet but thick enough to taste.
Alaric feels it settle between them, a line drawn without being declared.
Isaac's attention shifts to Alaric.
"Another time," he says.
Not permission.
A statement.
Then he steps away, leaving Silveren standing where he is.
Across the room, Asher Crowe has been watching the entire exchange with open fascination. He drifts closer, eyes bright, lips curved in a faint smile.
"Well," he murmurs lightly, glancing between Silveren and Isaac's retreating figure. "That's interesting."
Silveren doesn't respond.
He doesn't need to.
The realization has already taken root.
Isaac Blackwell didn't wait.
He didn't ask.
And that far more than open defiance has just changed the balance of power.