The lattice exercise ended. Calden, Bran, and Liora carried the lingering hum of controlled Core output as they approached the Communal Hall, muscles still rembering restraint, focus, and exacting effort.
Farther back on the left, they settled at their usual cluster, trays balanced, chairs nudged together. A small space remained open—just in case Seraphina decided to join them.
“Where’s Seraphina?” Calden asked, leaning slightly to peek past a taller student.
“Still trapped with Instructor Alessandra,” Liora said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Sothing about her Core formation. She said not to wait unless we’re emotionally prepared to age.”
“She did lap everyone in the lattice,” Bran muttered, rolling a piece of bread between his fingers. “I’m still catching up to my own pulse.”
A hush rippled across the far-right tables.
“Oh,” Calden said, eyes widening. “Never mind. Found her.”
Bran froze mid-bite, bread hovering inches from his mouth. “She just… sat down?”
“No bow. No pause,” Liora said, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Just… yoink. Upper table acquired.”
Calden winced. “Ashes take . That’s illegal in at least three noble houses.”
Bran snorted and almost choked, slapping the table lightly. “Look at Veylan. He’s gonna pop a blood vessel.”
“Seems about right,” Liora said, leaning back and tucking her tray closer. “And—oh—look at Rufus’s face.”
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Bran squinted. “Wow. That’s the face of a man realizing this was not in the script.”
“She’s not doing anything,” Liora said, sipping from her cup. “No flex. No glare. She’s just… eating.”
Calden exhaled slowly, watching the subtle twitch in Lemuel’s jaw. “See that? That’s his brain panicking and calling it strategy.”
Bran grinned. “He’s trying to dance around her and she didn’t even put on shoes.”
“Everyone’s adjusting,” Liora added, tilting her head. “She isn’t. That’s just rude.”
“And impressive,” Calden said, voice flat, eyes tracking every twitch and shift around Seraphina’s table.
Bran leaned in, elbows on the table. “Think she’s insulting them?”
“Please,” Liora said, smirking. “Most likely she’s ranking their eyebrow symtry.”
Bran laughed into his sleeve. “Math claims another victim.”
Calden glanced at Seraphina’s tray, noting the plain, carefully arranged portions. “She’s not even known here. And they’re acting like she owns the place.”
“Trust ,” Liora smirked, letting her words carry over the scrape of chairs and quiet chatter. “She’s not. She’s broke, rember? It’s more like she’s bedazzling them with her precision for social nuance—or lack thereof.”
Bran shook his head, leaning back, openly grinning now. “This is incredible. Nobles sweating, Lemuel scheming, Rufus questioning his life choices…”
“And Veylan actively dying,” Liora added, a quiet chuckle threading through her words.
Calden smiled, small but genuine. “And she hasn’t noticed any of it.”
“I’ve seen rich kids play untouchable,” Liora said, eyes scanning the far-right table. “They always crack.”
“Calm as a lake,” Bran said, reaching for a sip of water. “And they’re all skipping stones.”
“I’d say she’s ahead,” Calden remarked, eyes flicking to the corner. “That corner’s about to take it personally.”
“There goes social etiquette,” Bran murmured. “Out the window faster than my teleport.”
Liora leaned closer, whispering just enough to be caught only by her friends. “Is she lecturing them about their overly pompous ass?”
“Nah,” Bran said, shrugging, fork hovering over his bread. “Most likely she’s computing their unaligned eyebrows.”
“I’m very glad we’re back here,” Bran said, sitting straighter.
Liora lifted her cup in a tiny, hidden salute. “Sa. Classes teach mana.”
Bran clinked his cup against hers. “This teaches survival.”
They ate, watched, and laughed quietly—three students enjoying the rarest of lessons: sotis, the nobles really do make fools of themselves.
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