“You’re annoying,” Marrik says when it’s over. “But effective.”
I sit there, watching it all, heart pounding in my chest like I’ve been in the pit with them.
My friends aren’t just talented.
They’re legends in the making.
And I’m the deadweight sitting in the stands with a notebook and no spark.
But as the rune-wards dim and class wraps, I’m not just jealous. I’m fired up. I will catch up. Sin power or not.
One day, that pit is going to be mine. It’s all I can think about as I head to my next class.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts as soon as I walk in the door. While Wrath’s training arena felt like home, Pride’s training room feels like a museum that I have no business stepping into.
Everything gleams. The floors are smooth black marble veined in gold, polished so well that I can see my scowl reflecting back at me. High ceilings hold large screens that cycle through depictions of past Pride Champions locked in elegant battle poses.
The seats aren’t desks; they look more like cushioned thrones, arranged in a perfect circle that somehow screams both power and exclusivity. There are no runes carved in stone here. No, Pride uses crystal embedded in the walls—subtle, glowing with refined energy like even the warding spells are too sophisticated to shout.
It’s all so… clean. Intellectual. And cold.
I sink into a velvet-backed seat near the edge of the circle and try not to fidget. I don’t belong here. I feel it in my bones. In the way the Pride students glance over at me with thinly veiled curiosity—like I’m some social experiment no one volunteered for.
Of course, Camille and Daphne are in this class.
They spot me instantly, whispering behind glossy hands with matching smirks. Camille’s eyes sweep over me like I’m the punchline to a joke she hasn’t told yet, and when she leans in to speak, her voice carries just enough to draw attention.
“Didn’t know Wrath sent observers now. Or are you here to clean the floors?”
Daphne giggles like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all week.
“I can’t start until I have the proper materials. Want to run and grab me some scissors?” I ask, pointing at Daphne’s hair.
“You little bitch.” Daphne says, pointing at me. “The rules might protect you in the halls, but I can destroy you in this classroom.”
I turn and walk away. I’m not here to throw punches; I’m here to observe.
The instructor enters—flanked by pride constructs that float beside him like sentient statues, shaped like lions carved from mirrored obsidian. His robes ripple with enchantment, changing color slightly as he moves, and he doesn’t even look in my direction. Not once.
“Today’s lesson,” he says, his voice nasally and sharp, “will focus on control and projection. You do not possess Pride sin power—you are Pride. Your power should enter a room before you do. If it doesn’t, you’re doing it wrong.”
Students nod like that’s gospel. I don’t follow. I try to shrink into my seat and fail.
The universe won’t allow it, and my chest gets heavier as he continues speaking.
“Atticus Willshire, a sophomore at the academy will aid my classes. He’s an invaluable resource for the Pride faction, and you’d be wise to listen to his advice.”
The professor drones on. Daphne and Camille both swoon… as do all the females in the class.
Standing off to the side, arms crossed, posture rigid but calm. He’s watching the class with the same unreadable expression he wears everywhere, but when our eyes meet—for a second—there’s something else there.Recognition.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me in this class at all.
Of course, he knew I’d be here. His father probably demanded the Dean send him my whole schedule.
Still… he doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t blink.
Just turns back toward the instructor like I’m no one.
