The morning air in Arachis hung thick with unspoken tension, heavy as the stillness before a storm. Overnight, news of Cliffhaven's annihilation had sent shockwaves through the world. Royals and commoners alike stood stunned—a noble house erased in a single night. Not just defeated. Obliterated. A statement. A bold one.
Within Arachis Academy, most students remained oblivious, preoccupied with looming exams. But the elite—Ryan with his glacial stare, Jackson with his serpent's smile—they knew. House Grimmjaw hadn't merely fallen; it had been surgically excised from history. Fourteen vassal houses remained where fifteen once stood. A warning carved in blood.
Drake stalked through near-empty halls, last night's frustration still boiling in his veins. Winston's hollow excuses echoed: "You were in danger. I couldn't risk you." As if paternal concern could erase a decade of neglect. No answers about his parents. No explanation for why a stranger should care. And worst of all—the sword, his extension, his power, locked away like some shameful secret.
The classroom door groaned like a dying man when he pushed it open.
Silence.
Not the quiet of disciplined study, but the thick silence of prey sensing a predator. Half the seats stood empty—Alexis and Xian absent. Those present clutched their tablets too tightly, eyes darting toward him then away.
Interesting.
He'd grown accustomed to their disdain. But this? This was anticipation.
Three steps toward his usual seat.
"Hey!"
A voice like shattered glass. Drake didn't break stride.
"I said hey, you gutter-born bastard!"
A hand seized his shoulder—too hard, too desperate. Vince, Connor's latest attack dog. The name didn't matter. What mattered was the sweat on his lip, the trembling fingers.
Fear.
Not of him. Of disappointing whoever sent him.
Drake tilted his head. "Problem?"
Vince's throat bobbed. "You don't walk away when a noble speaks to you." Rehearsed. Brittle.
Then—
A scent.
Duron.
His enhanced senses caught it—the same cologne from last night's encounter.
Provocation. Test. Trap.
Drake's smile sharpened. "Sorry. You're quite a boring piss-poor actor." A glance at the security orb. "Whoever sent you should've trained his dog better."
Vince's eyelid twitched. Bingo.
"You orphaned shit—"
Drake moved.
One moment Vince stood spitting curses. The next, his wrist bent backward at a nauseating angle, Drake's breath warm against his ear: "Say that again. I dare you."
The classroom gasped.
Vince's free hand erupted in jagged stone. The wild punch came exactly as calculated.
CRACK!
Blood bloomed copper-bright on Drake's tongue. He let himself stagger, hit the wall with perfect timing. Performance art.
"You filth!" Vince's granite fists trembled. "I'll kill you!"
"Enough."
Disciplinary officers materialized, restraint rods humming.
Vince froze. "He provoked me!"
"Unsanctioned ability use. Assault. Verbal incitement." A pause. "Shall I continue, Lord Vince?"
The title was a slap.
As they dragged him away, Vince's screams faded: "You don't understand! He wanted—"
The door hissed shut.
Silence.
Then—
Drake laughed.
The sound curled through the room like smoke. He licked blood from his lip.
Checkmate.
The academy's rules were a noose—now around Vince's neck. Duron's pawn had played his part perfectly.
But the real revelation?
The power beneath his skin—the horned king's legacy—had sharpened more than reflexes. It honed his mind to a razor's edge. He saw the strings now.
And he was done being a puppet.
Drake leaned back, stretching as whispers swirled.
Let them talk.
Let them fear.
The game had changed.
He would be the predator.
And he'd enjoy every moment.