Chapter 18 Aug 19, 2025 The gates of Caerborn didn't welcome so much as swallow. As soon as Mira stepped off Liorith's back, the air changed. Heavier. Sharper. Like the walls already knew what had happened beyond them-and were hungry for more. Students stood near the stables, pretending not to stare. They whispered behind polished vambraces, smirks barely hidden behind mugs of steamroot tea. Mira kept walking. Head high. Shoulders squared. Her shoulder still ached from the canyon fall, but she didn't limp. She didn't give them that satisfaction. Bastian walked behind her, close but not touching. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like he wanted to blast fire at every passing sneer. But she didn't look back at him. Not once. They hadn't talked since the cave. What was there to say when silence had said everything? By the time Mira reached her quarters, the rumor had already reached the walls ahead of her. "She threw herself at him." "I heard she begged." "She probably used magic. Mudblood tricks." And the worst one, said with a mocking pout and faux sweetness: "He was lonely. She was... available." Tessan's voice. Mira would've known it anywhere. She didn't bother turning around. Didn't slap her. Not this time. Because now she knew something Tessan didn't. Tessan was loud. Mira was wildfire. Still, the mockery didn't stop. Mira could feel it in the way people shifted when she entered. The sudden silences. The eyes that crawled over her like she was made of scandal and desperation. But for once, she didn't shrink. Let them talk. Let them guess what really happened in that cave. The next morning, combat lecture turned bloody. They'd been paired off for technique drills-Bastian with some first-year, Mira with a brick of a boy who refused to make eye contact. The hall buzzed with low conversation, most of it not about the actual weapons they were supposed to be handling. Then someone said it. Not a whisper this time. A full-volume drawl from the back row. "Wonder if Bastian taught her swordplay in the cave-or just let her handle his blade." Mira stilled. The instructor-an older veteran with half a face and even less patience-kept talking, unaware or uncaring. But Bastian heard it. He didn't hesitate. He tossed his practice blade across the room like it weighed nothing, marched up the aisle, and hauled the boy out of his seat by the collar. "Say her name again," Bastian growled, "and I'll break your jaw." The boy blinked, caught between terror and disbelief. "It was a joke-" "That goes for instructors, too," Bastian barked, eyes slicing toward the front. The instructor dropped his chalk. Silence fell like a guillotine. No one breathed. Mira didn't move. Her pulse thundered, but she didn't speak. Bastian's voice rang in every corner of the room, echoing louder than any blade. He let go of the boy, who slumped back into his seat like a puppet cut from its strings. Bastian turned, his expression unreadable again, and stalked out. No one stopped him. Mira stared down at her palms, red from gripping her dagger too tightly. Later, in the corridor, Tessan leaned against a column like she'd been waiting for applause. "How noble," she drawled. "Defending your little pet. Is this the part where you kiss her again in front of everyone, or just torch the next person who points out what she is?" Mira stepped closer, calm as stone. "You're still talking." Tessan didn't flinch. Her smile sharpened. "You think he sees you?" Tessan's voice lowered to a hiss. "He doesn't. He sees a distraction. A mistake. Something he'll regret the second this trial ends." "Funny," Mira said flatly. "He didn't sound regretful." Tessan's nostrils flared. "I warned you before," she said, voice tightening. "You don't belong here. You're a mudblood with a dragon too good for you and a boy too confused to see straight." Mira didn't answer. She turned, ready to walk away. But Tessan leaned in, one last barb twisting off her tongue. "If no one else will end this mudblood bond," she hissed, "I will."