ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Liam arrived at the cafeteria and found it almost exactly the way he had expected.

Quiet and mostly empty.

The large dining space, which usually carried the heavy noise of students arguing over classwork, gossiping about rankings, or loudly pretending they were not worried about exams, felt almost peaceful at that hour. Only a few scattered students occupied the tables, most sitting alone or in pairs with books open beside their plates.

A handful of cooks moved behind the serving counters, speaking among themselves in low voices while preparing food for the next busier wave. The long tables were cleaner than usual, the floor less crowded, and the air carried the warm smell of roasted meat, bread, and soup without being buried beneath the sweat and noise of a hundred bodies.

Liam approved of it immediately.

He approached the counter, chose something warm and filling without wasting time, and took his tray to a table near the side of the cafeteria. It was not hidden, but it gave him enough space from everyone else to make his intention clear.

He wanted food. He wanted quiet. He wanted to eat without being spoken to, return to the library, and continue studying the Eldervale guide until he had enough of the realm’s structure mapped in his head to stop feeling like the academy was withholding half the important things.

He sat alone and began eating calmly.

For several minutes, the world behaved.

No one approached him. No one asked questions. No one tried to talk about the Bastion Assessment, commander roles, Sheila, Chris, or the Warden. One student at a distant table glanced his way once, then returned to reading. The cooks remained occupied behind the counter. The cafeteria doors stayed shut. Liam ate in silence, letting the warmth of the food settle into him while his thoughts cooled into something almost orderly again.

Rare quiet was a thing to be respected.

Unfortunately, the academy rarely respected anything Liam enjoyed.

The cafeteria doors opened.

A cluster of second-year students walked in, and one particular voice carried ahead of them with far more confidence than the moment deserved.

Liam’s gaze shifted toward the disturbance without lifting his head fully.

Chris Rature walked at the center of the small group, dressed neatly and carrying himself with the familiar certainty of someone who believed every space improved once people noticed him inside it. There were only a few students with him, not enough to be called a crowd, but enough to create a little orbit. Logan was there, of course, close to Chris’s side like the loyal dog he had decided to make of himself. His expression carried that eager readiness to agree, bark, or sneer depending on what Chris required.

Lucian, however, was absent.

Liam noticed that and immediately decided he did not care.

His attention returned briefly to his plate as he continued eating, though his ears remained open. Chris was not being subtle. He was speaking loudly enough for the small group around him to hear, and likely loudly enough for nearby tables to catch pieces as well. There was confidence in his voice, but beneath it sat that familiar mixture of arrogance and smugness, sharpened now by the private advantage he thought he possessed.

"The mistake most students are already making," Chris said as he walked farther into the cafeteria, "is treating the Bastion Assessment like some larger version of a battlefield simulation. That is childish. Eldervale is not a classroom. Veyrhold is not a neat little board with marked pieces. The realm will not politely wait for everyone to feel prepared before it begins pressing on the weak points."

One of the students beside him, a boy Liam vaguely recognized from the second-year Combat Strategy track, nodded slowly. "The guide makes Veyrhold sound hard to manage even before threats get involved."

"That is because it will be," Chris said. "A ruined fortified settlement, limited supplies, unknown conditions, and fourteen days of exhausted students pretending they are more organized than they are. People hear ’commander’ and think it means giving brave speeches. It does not."

Liam took another bite of food.

Chris continued, his tone smooth enough to sound thoughtful if someone did not know him better. "A commander will have to make harsh decisions while people are tired, hungry, injured, scared, and divided. Veyrhold will not care about kindness. It will not care about popularity. It will not care who smiles the gentlest or who makes everyone feel included."

The criticism was not direct.

That was the point.

The students around Chris understood who he meant without him needing to say Sheila’s name. One girl in the group shifted uneasily, glancing around as if expecting someone nearby to object. Logan, unsurprisingly, looked pleased.

Another student, a narrow-faced boy with dark hair, frowned slightly. "Are you saying Princess Sheila would hesitate under that kind of pressure?"

Chris stopped near the center aisle and gave a small smile.

"Did I say that?"

"No," the boy said, careful now. "But it sounds like you are implying it."

Chris’s smile widened just enough. "I am saying some people look strong when the room already wants to believe in them. Some people seem steady when they are surrounded by support, praise, and convenient silence. But pressure has a way of showing what is real. A commander who needs someone nearby to steady them every time things become difficult is not commanding. They are being held upright."

Liam’s chewing slowed once.

Then continued.

A second student looked uncertain. "How would you know something like that?"

Chris opened his mouth to answer.

Then his eyes found Liam.

The recognition shifted across Chris’s expression like a spark catching dry oil. The smugness returned, brighter and more deliberate this time. He looked at Liam sitting alone with his meal, detached and apparently uninterested, and the opportunity seemed to please him far more than it should have. Instead of answering where he stood, Chris turned and began walking toward Liam’s table with unhurried confidence.

The students followed with varying degrees of hesitation.

Liam did not move.

Chris stopped near the table, his smile sharpened with public daring. "You do not have to ask me," he said, still answering the student from earlier while looking at Liam. "Ask Hunter. He seems to know quite a lot about how steady Princess Sheila is when no one else is watching."

The cafeteria changed.

Not dramatically. There were too few people inside for a true eruption. But the tension drew tighter all the same. The scattered students who had been minding their own business looked up. One of the cooks behind the counter slowed slightly, attention shifting toward the tables without openly staring. The small cluster around Chris turned their eyes to Liam, some curious, some uncomfortable, and Logan looked like he was waiting for permission to enjoy whatever happened next.

Liam looked at Chris for a moment.

Then he looked back down at his food.

’Pathetic,’ he thought.

Chris stood there acting as if he had raised a blade, not knowing that the blade in his hand had strings tied around it. He thought he was pressing Liam. He thought Isolde’s little fragments of information gave him enough shape to make the situation tremble.

He did not know Liam could shatter the entire borrowed confidence with a few words. Puppet. Student president. Third-year classroom. Bastion information. Sheila’s trust. Chris had walked into the cafeteria wearing someone else’s plan like armor and was now stupid enough to believe it made him untouchable.

Liam took another bite.

He said nothing.

The silence reached Chris almost immediately.

His eye twitched.

It was small, but Liam saw it.

Logan saw it too, and like the eager fool he was, he took one sharp step forward. "Oi, Hunter, His Highness is speaking to—"

Chris’s eyes cut sideways.

Logan stopped.

The warning in Chris’s gaze was quiet but dangerous enough to shut him down before he finished making himself useful in the worst possible way. Logan’s mouth closed. He lowered his head slightly, irritation still clear on his face, but obedience holding him in place.

Chris looked back at Liam.

For a moment, he stared down at him, likely deciding whether walking away would look like losing. That decision did not take long. Chris pulled out the chair across from Liam and sat, claiming the seat as though the table had been waiting for him. The students with him remained standing nearby, now fully drawn into the moment.

Liam continued eating.

Chris leaned back slightly. "You are as rude as always."

Liam did not answer.

Chris’s smile tightened. "Though I suppose silence is one way to admit there is nothing useful to say."

Liam lifted a spoonful of soup.

Chris watched him, irritation rising beneath his polished expression. "It is strange, is it not? The whole year is being asked to choose who should lead them into Eldervale, and yet the supposed best candidate has private doubts she does not show the students around her. Doubts she apparently shares only with certain people."

Liam swallowed.

Still, he said nothing.

Chris’s tone sharpened slightly. "A commander cannot be built in private rooms and quiet conversations. If Princess Sheila needs hidden support just to stand confidently before the year, then perhaps everyone should be asking whether they trust her or the people holding her together."

A few of the nearby students shifted uncomfortably.

That was the kind of line meant to spread.

Liam knew it. Chris knew it too. It was not a direct accusation, but it carried enough poison to stain if repeated carelessly. Sheila had private doubts. Sheila relied on Liam. Sheila was not steady. Sheila needed someone behind her. It was exactly the sort of thing that could eat at trust because it did not need to be fully believed to become damaging. It only needed to be considered.

Liam finished another bite before finally lifting his gaze.

"People assuming things is not my responsibility."

Chris’s expression froze for a breath.

Then he smiled again, though the edges were thinner. "That is all you have to say?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. You do understand that silence says plenty, yes?"

"No. People say plenty. Silence just lets idiots hear themselves."

One of the students beside Chris made a sound that might have become a laugh if fear had not killed it immediately.

Logan’s face darkened.

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