The fight was easier than expected.
Aldric was not a weak fighter, in fact, he was impressive for a student of his level. But there had never really been a chance for him. Perhaps he had underestimated Corin. Perhaps it was simply the natural disadvantage that short-range fighters had against someone like Corin.
He could see just about every one of his attacks coming.
Aldric had been an open book. A direct, powerful fighting technique, but without subtlety. Without an awareness of small changes, of the flow of a fight. Against brute force, Corin could hold his own effortlessly.
Now all that remained was to wait. Until next week. The first step had been taken.
As he left the arena, Cearen was already waiting at the exit. His posture was relaxed, as always, but his eyes, hard to read, as so often.
Unlike Aldric, Cearen was never easy to figure out.
As Corin approached, Cearen crossed his arms and let out a soft laugh.
"I'm surprised, Corin."
"Surprised?" Corin raised an eyebrow.
Cearen nodded.
"Non-nobles like us don't get into this academy without talent. Still, I was a little worried when I heard that Aldric was your first opponent."
Corin opened his mouth to reply, but the next moment he felt Cearen's arm wrap around his shoulders and give him a brief but firm tug.
"You should have seen the reaction of some of the students." Cearen grinned as Corin half-heartedly tried to free himself from the embrace.
"Were they that good?" asked Corin as he finally gave up struggling.
Cearen laughed softly. "Good? Some thought you wouldn't last a minute against him. Others?"
He shrugged. "Well, you've definitely secured yourself some new watchers."
Corin let his eyes wander over the crowd. Yes, he could feel it. Some were whispering, some were looking at him with new eyes.
Perfect.
He had their attention. Now he just had to keep it.
"What's the deal? Sparring against me next?"
Cearen grinned challengingly, still holding Corin in his arms. But Corin shook his head.
"My... sponsor is expecting me over the weekend."
Cearen blinked, then twisted his lips into a knowing smile.
"Hooo? I bet anyone would love to have a looker like you as a protégé."
Corin snorted, but he didn't elaborate.
Cearen let go of him and patted him on the shoulder.
"Get ready for a very different next week."
With that, he turned away as the crowd around them gradually dispersed.
Corin let his eyes wander over the students, who were now looking at him with mixed reactions. Some whispered, others watched him with renewed attention.
'Perfect.'
But his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Viviana.
The last time she had spoken of family matters. She hadn't revealed much, which rarely meant anything good with her.
He would be lying if he said he hadn't missed her presence a little. With one last glance at the arena, he turned and headed off to pack his things.
------------------------------------------------
The rain fell in light, steady wisps, little more than a whisper against the roof of the carriage. It misted the windows and gathered in thin rivulets that ran over the smooth wood of the carriage roof. Corin watched them as they drove through the streets.
The same vehicle as before.
Magnificent, but without a coat of arms, a deliberate sign. The Virellies may be one of the most powerful families, but they saw no point in embellishing their power with symbols. Everyone who needed to know, knew it anyway.
The journey took a while. The Virellie district was on the other side of the city, a neighborhood crisscrossed by high walls and discreet luxury. Not only nobles lived here, but those who had more than just influence.
When the carriage finally stopped, it was already evening.
Corin stepped out into the damp air and involuntarily pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. The rain had become heavier, leaving dark patches on the gravel path that meandered through the estate's extensive courtyard.
Viviana hadn't come to pick him up.
Not surprisingly.
He knew her well enough to know that she rarely did things she didn't think were necessary. And meeting him at the door was definitely not one of them.
Corin walked across the courtyard, past the manicured gardens, the neatly trimmed hedges and the statues that guarded the estate like silent sentinels. It was too big of a house for too few people.But that had never bothered him.
As he stepped through the entrance hall, he slipped his coat off his shoulders and ran it briefly through his damp hair. The warmth of the house enveloped him, gentle but deceptive.
And as always, he was drawn to the paintings.
He had made a habit of taking a few minutes each time to look at them. Some were restored, others replaced, it was never exactly the same as the last visit.
But this time he was not alone.
A tall figure stood in front of one of the larger works, his back erect and his hands clasped behind his body.
Tall. Pale hair. A distant look.
Corin recognized him immediately.
The Patriarch.
The head of the Virellie family. Viviana's Father? He wasnt sure, they looked way to different.
He didn't move as Corin stepped closer. His gaze was still on the painting in front of him, an imposing depiction of an ancient war, with horsemen charging through a blood-soaked field.
A man so still that he felt like an extension of space. Corin let his gaze wander briefly over the painting before he scrutinized the patriarch
He had only ever seen him from a distance. His posture, his calmness, it was as if he was part of the house itself. As if he belonged to these corridors, to these walls, like the statues in the garden or the chandeliers on the ceiling.
Without turning to him, the man spoke.
"You are Corin, right?"
It was not really a question. Corin didn't let on that he was getting a touch more tense.
"Yes."
A brief silence. Then came a terse, matter-of-fact reply.
"Hmm."
Nothing more. The patriarch turned his head slowly, letting his cool gaze glide over him. His eyes were dimm, but almost penetrating, as if he not only saw, but understood without a word having to be exchanged.
Then he said in the same calm voice:
"Viviana was talking about you a lot."
The words were neutral. Not appreciative, not disapproving. Simply an observation.
But Corin knew that when a man like him said something, he didn't mean it casually.
Corin remained silent.
There was no reason to speak at times like this if you didn't know what was expected.
There was another pause, then the patriarch turned to face him fully.
"She'll be here soon."
Then the conversation was over.
Without hurrying, the man turned away and continued to walk through the corridor at a deliberate pace without looking back. His footsteps were barely audible, as if he had never really been there.
Corin stayed behind.