ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Asher exhaled sharply as they walked. "That was the first paper this week that did not feel like the academy was trying to peel my brain apart."

Liam adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. "It was direct."

"It asked things that mattered."

"Core Myst matters."

Asher gave him a look. "Do not start."

"It does."

"I said do not start."

Liam glanced at him. "The paper was easier because you could imagine hitting something."

Asher scoffed. "And? That makes it better."

"It makes it simpler."

"Better," Asher repeated firmly.

Liam did not bother arguing further.

Asher rolled his shoulders as they descended the steps leading out of the Knight Combat wing. "The formation analysis was good. The question about retreating under pressure was stupid, though."

"It was not."

"It said the unit had one injured student, two exhausted frontliners, and unknown enemies pressing from the left flank. The answer is obviously burn through the left flank before they tighten the pressure."

"That was not the question."

"It should have been."

"The question was about preserving formation integrity while creating a controlled retreat."

Asher waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, words for not dying while moving backward."

"That is what retreat means."

"It sounds worse when you say it."

They stepped out onto the academy open grounds.

The sun was high, bright enough to make the stone paths gleam faintly, though the late-autumn air still carried enough cold to irritate Liam the moment it touched his face. Students moved across the grounds in scattered paths, some heading toward dormitories, others toward the cafeteria or training halls. For a brief moment, it looked like the usual post-exam release, with everyone trying to decide what to do with unexpected free time.

Then Liam noticed several students rushing in the same direction.

Not running in panic.

Moving with purpose.

A few came from the eastern corridor, another group from near the dormitory path, and two first-years hurried past while whispering excitedly. Their direction was the same: the eastern training arena.

Asher noticed too. His brows drew together. "What is that about?"

One student passed close enough, and Asher reached out, catching him lightly by the shoulder before he could hurry by. "You. What is the commotion?"

The student, a second-year from one of the parallel Knight Combat classes, blinked at him, then glanced toward Liam and seemed to regret being stopped by both of them at once.

"There’s some kind of verbal debate or argument happening in the eastern training arena," he said. "People are going to watch."

Asher released him. "Between who?"

"I do not know for sure. I heard it had something to do with the commander choice for the Bastion Assessment."

The student hurried off before Asher could ask more.

Liam and Asher exchanged glances.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Asher clicked his tongue. "Of course."

Liam’s eyes shifted toward the eastern arena.

He already had a fair idea of what this was.

’Chris might have really put time into all this just to overshadow Sheila,’ he thought.

The timing was too convenient. Knight Combat Theory had just ended for many students, giving them a block of free time in the middle of the day. The eastern training arena was open, public, and large enough to gather attention without needing permission for a formal hall. A "debate" about commander choice would draw not only second-years, but curious first-years and third-years as well, especially if the argument promised drama between ranked students, royalty, or both. Chris did not need to defeat Sheila in a private conversation. He needed to make the year question her in front of witnesses.

Asher’s expression had already darkened. "We are checking it."

"I know."

The two of them started toward the eastern training arena.

As they moved, the flow of students thickened. It was not just their peers heading in that direction. First-years came in small clusters, eager for something that was not their own exam anxiety. Third-years moved more slowly, pretending their interest was casual while clearly choosing the same path. That made both Liam and Asher more alert. Whatever was happening had spread fast enough to cross years, which meant it was no longer an ordinary second-year disagreement. It had become a spectacle.

Asher looked around with visible irritation. "Why are first-years going?"

"Entertainment."

"And third-years?"

"Judgment."

Asher snorted. "Great."

Liam kept walking.

The eastern training arena came into view beyond the stone path, its wide circular structure open to the sky. It was one of the academy’s larger outdoor arenas, used for class demonstrations, controlled duels, formation exercises, and the occasional event that needed space without the formality of Beacon Hall. Stone seating rose in tiers around the central ground, and the sun poured down over everything, bright and cold at once. The combat floor below was empty except for a few students standing near the center, while others gathered in the seats above.

It was not packed.

Not every student had come, and there were still plenty of vacant seats scattered across the tiers. But enough had arrived to create noise and attention. Second-years took up most of the lower and middle sections. First-years clustered higher up, whispering and pointing. A few third-years sat apart from the younger students, their posture relaxed but their eyes sharp. The arena’s open air carried every murmur easily.

Liam and Asher found seats not too far from the center, low enough to hear clearly but far enough from the front to avoid making themselves part of the display.

Asher sat with his arms folded, eyes narrowed. "If this is Chris wasting everyone’s time, I am setting something on fire."

"Do not."

"I said something, not someone."

"That does not improve it enough."

"It improves it slightly."

Liam ignored him and looked toward the center of the arena.

Students were still arriving, though the rush had slowed. A few second-years moved down into the lower seats, looking around for friends or trying to understand what they had walked into. Whispers built and faded. Names moved through the crowd. Sheila. Chris. Commander. Bastion Assessment. Debate. Challenge. No one seemed fully certain what was about to happen, which likely meant Chris had arranged the beginning carefully enough to make curiosity do most of the work.

After a while, when it seemed no more major groups were going to arrive, a voice followed through the open space.

Liam knew it too well.

So did Asher.

Asher’s jaw tightened almost immediately.

Chris Rature stood near the center of the arena with polished calm, dressed in academy attire but carrying himself as if he were already standing before an assembly that owed him attention. Logan stood off to the side, predictably present. Several second-year students were positioned around the lower floor, not enough to look like a formal faction but enough to make it clear Chris had not come here alone. Lucian was present too, though farther back than Logan, his face composed and unreadable.

Chris looked up at the seats, letting the gathered students settle under his gaze before he smiled.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice carrying cleanly through the arena. "To my fellow second-years, our juniors, and our esteemed seniors who have chosen to observe."

The words were polite.

The respect inside them was not.

Chris’s usual arrogance sat beneath every syllable, barely hidden and not hidden enough.

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