Evoker

Marianne entered the sitting room with a tray of tea in hand, moving with her usual grace. She set it down with careful precision, every motion measured. Leon couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to put great care into everything she did. It was only the second time she had made tea for him, yet she had already chosen the perfect blend. Yesterday evening, she had brought a calming brew that had been exactly what he needed. This morning, it was something more invigorating, the kind of refreshment that sharpened his senses.

“This is amazing,” Leon remarked after his first sip. “I didn’t know tea could be this good.”

Marianne smirked, her silver eyes glinting. “A retainer’s duties go beyond information gathering and political manoeuvring. Sometimes, we have to handle the simpler things too.”

Leon nodded appreciatively, setting his cup down. “Well, you’re very good at it.”

“Thank you, Evoker Leon,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of teasing before her tone shifted to something more serious. “But let’s focus on what matters for today.”

She paused briefly, her eyes narrowing with intent. “I’ve been watching Cyrus—yesterday in the yard, and this morning before breakfast. He’s strong, no doubt about that, but I noticed something during your sparring match. He pushes hard to end his fights quickly, but his Aspect gets stronger the longer he fights. Why would he rush?”

Leon frowned, thinking it over. “Maybe he’s worried about losing control? Like he can’t handle it if it goes on too long?”

Marianne nodded slowly. “That’s what I’m thinking. His Aspect is still new to him, and it’s unlikely he’s fully mastered it. If that’s the case, there’s a chance he ‘overheats’ or can’t sustain the power for long. We don’t know for sure, but if that’s true, it’s something you can exploit.”

Leon’s eyes lit up as the pieces began to fall into place. “So, if I make him use it faster, I might burn him out?”

“Exactly,” Marianne confirmed. “Start aggressively to force his Aspect to activate sooner, then switch to defence and make him chase you. Once his power starts to drain, that’s when you strike.”

Leon thought through her plan, his confidence building. “He’s been trained since he was young, though. His moves felt predictable. I remember the sequence from yesterday—it was like he was following a strict form.”

Marianne smiled, pleased with his observation. “You’re right. He’s been trained by instructors who probably held back because he’s the son of a Baron. His style is ingrained, almost mechanical. You can use that. If you predict his moves and stay on the defensive, he won’t know how to adapt.”

Leon straightened, feeling the weight of the strategy settle in his mind. “So, push hard at the start, let him wear himself out, and then finish it when he’s burnt out.”

Marianne’s smile grew softer as she stood and crossed the room to him. She pressed a finger into the square of his back, and instinctively, Leon straightened his posture. “It’s not just about tactics, Leon. You need to carry yourself with more confidence. You’re an Evoker now. You have power—people will look to you. Stand tall.”

Leon blinked, shoulders pulling back unconsciously. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Marianne said, her tone softening. “But this isn’t just about today’s duel. At the academy, you’ll face noble-born Evokers like Cyrus. They’re not used to losing, and they don’t handle it well.”

Leon frowned, his thoughts turning over the implications. “So, you think Cyrus...?”

“Will hate losing to you,” Marianne said bluntly. “Especially after yesterday’s easy victory.”

Leon frowned. “But... he’s an Evoker too. Shouldn’t it just be about who's stronger?”

Marianne shook her head, her eyes sharp. “It’s never that simple with nobles. They come from power, and they don’t like being bested—especially by someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Leon raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant.

“A commoner,” Marianne said plainly. “Noble-born Evokers like Cyrus come from families with power, and they’re used to that. Even though Evokers are technically outside the noble system once they awaken, their old families still hold sway over them in practice. The common-born Evokers know that, and they’re cautious. They know it could be their family traded between nobles, or they could end up under the thumb of someone like Cyrus’s family.”

Leon blinked, absorbing the new layer of complexity. “So... it’s not just about power, then?”

Marianne smiled, but it was a small, knowing smile. “Exactly. It’s about pride, influence, and who still holds the cards. The noble-born ones don’t want to lose face, and the common-born ones can’t afford to make enemies. You’ll face this kind of thing at the academy, too—more often than you’d think.”

Leon let out a slow breath, his mind working through it all. “I didn’t realise...”

“Most don’t, until it’s too late,” Marianne said, her tone softening. “That’s why I’m telling you now. Be ready.”

Marianne smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair again. "If you use what you’ve learned, and trust your instincts, you’ll do just fine. Now, shall we discuss your strategy for today?"

Leon nodded, eager to hear more.

"When you win," Marianne continued, her tone measured, "you need to give Cyrus a way to save face. The last thing you want is for him to lose and feel humiliated. A frustrated noble-born Evoker can be dangerous, especially one as young as him."

Leon frowned. "But how do I do that?"

Marianne leaned forward, her silver eyes sharp. "Act to the crowd. After you win, make it seem like Cyrus let you. Loudly thank him for his guidance, say that it was only thanks to his help that you could manage the victory. Maybe even suggest he went easy on you. Play up his role in your improvement."

Leon blinked, then nodded slowly. "So... even though I won, I make it look like I owe the victory to him."

"Exactly," Marianne said with a satisfied nod. "It’ll smooth over any ill feelings he has about losing, and it’ll keep you in good standing with his father, Lord Alden. Nobles appreciate these little gestures more than you might think."

Leon leaned back, thinking over her advice. It felt strange—pretending to lose while winning—but he trusted her judgement. "Alright," he said at last. "I’ll do it."

Marianne smiled, a glint of approval in her eyes. "Good. Now let’s go over your plan again. You’ll need every advantage you can get.”

Leon stood across from Cyrus in the training yard, gripping his practice sword with calm focus. The morning sun bathed the yard in golden light, but tension thickened the air. The gathered nobles, guards, and a few servants watched closely, their eyes following the two boys as they squared off. Marianne’s words echoed in Leon’s mind, her plan clear.

Across from him, Cyrus wore a confident smirk, his fiery red hair catching the sunlight as he bounced lightly on his feet. The easy win from yesterday still lingered in his expression, and he looked completely at ease, as though victory were inevitable.

Before the duel even began, Cyrus tilted his head slightly, a confident gleam in his eyes. "I hope you’re ready, Leon. I won’t go easy this time. You’ve had a day to think about it—let’s see if it made a difference."

Without hesitation, Leon surged forward, launching a rapid series of strikes. His blade met Cyrus’s with sharp, audible clashes. The speed and aggression of Leon's assault forced Cyrus to react quickly, his own sword coming up to block and parry.

The crowd murmured in surprise, not expecting such an immediate offensive from Leon.

Cyrus’s smirk faltered as he adjusted to the sudden pressure, his feet shifting as Leon’s strikes came faster and harder. As Marianne had predicted, Cyrus’s Aspect flared to life sooner than usual. Leon could see the tell-tale flicker of fiery energy start to wrap around Cyrus’s limbs.

"Just as planned," Leon thought, feeling the heat rise between them. His mind honed in, using his own ability to recall each of Cyrus’s movements, each form he had seen before, predicting Cyrus’s next attacks.

As the fire of the Flameheart grew, Leon switched tactics. He began pulling back, falling into a more defensive stance. Cyrus, now fully ignited, took the bait. His swings grew more powerful, each one forcing Leon further back across the yard.

The energy radiating from Cyrus became almost oppressive, his strikes faster, stronger. But Leon was ready. He recognised the same sequence of movements from their previous spar—Cyrus was using the forms drilled into him since childhood. Leon’s memory kicked in, predicting each swing before it happened. His practice sword blocked each strike, sometimes just barely, but always with purpose.

The fiery energy surrounding Cyrus blazed even brighter, but as the minutes passed, Leon noticed something else—Cyrus was starting to lose control. His breathing was heavier, the fire around him flickering unevenly.

He was overheating.

Now was the time to act. Leon bided his time, waiting for the next wild swing. When it came, he dodged to the side, slipping out of range. Cyrus, caught off balance, overextended, leaving an opening.

Leon seized the moment. He spun and struck Cyrus on the side, his practice sword making solid contact.

The yard fell silent as Cyrus stumbled. His fiery aura sputtered and died out, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and the weight of the moment.

For a second, Cyrus simply stood there, staring at the ground as if trying to process what had just happened. His face, normally so composed, darkened with frustration.

He raised his head slowly, and when his eyes met Leon’s, the mask finally dropped. His expression twisted with anger, but it was more than that—it was disbelief, humiliation.

Leon took a step back, rattled by the intensity of Cyrus’s gaze. It was like seeing someone entirely different, a side of Cyrus that had been hidden beneath his noble facade.

But despite the tension in the air, Leon remembered Marianne’s advice. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak, projecting humility.

"Thank you, Cyrus," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I couldn't have done this without your guidance. You really helped me improve. And thank you for going easy on me."

The crowd stirred at Leon’s words, a few murmurs of approval breaking the silence. For a brief moment, Cyrus’s eyes flicked toward the onlookers, the reality of his public defeat settling in. He seemed to realise the eyes on him, and the anger in his expression wavered. If he lashed out now, it would reflect poorly—not just on him, but on his family.

Cyrus’s fists tightened around his practice sword, his knuckles white. He said nothing for a long moment, his jaw clenched as though he were holding back a storm of emotions. Then, with a stiff nod, he muttered, "Next time."

His voice was strained, thick with frustration, but the situation didn’t escalate. Not this time.

Leon lowered his sword, his heart still racing. He glanced towards Marianne, who stood at the edge of the yard, her arms folded, watching with satisfaction. She gave him a slight nod, a silent acknowledgement of the plan’s success.

As the crowd began to disperse, Leon caught sight of Roderic and Alden, standing off to the side, unnoticed until now. Roderic had a small smile on his face, his eyes bright with pride. Alden, meanwhile, remained impassive, though the tension in his jaw suggested he was less than pleased with the outcome.

Cyrus shot Leon one last look—one filled with simmering resentment. It was clear that this wasn’t over, and that losing to Leon had hit him harder than he would admit.

As Leon turned to leave the yard, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this victory, though earned, had come with a cost. He had won, but the tension between him and Cyrus had only deepened. Marianne had been right—this was just the beginning, and the academy would likely be full of moments like this.

And if this was how noble-born Evokers reacted to losing, he’d need to be ready for far worse.

Leon stood in the great hall of Highfield Manor, the weight of the moment pressing down on his shoulders. The polished wood of the long table gleamed under the soft glow of candlelight, casting long shadows as the late afternoon light faded into dusk. At Roderic’s right hand, Leon stood tall, every bit the poised student of Madam Aldwin and Marianne’s relentless teachings. Yet, despite his calm exterior, he could feel the undercurrent of tension.

Roderic, seated across from Lord Alden, maintained his usual measured composure, but even Leon could tell that the conversation to come would be far from light.

"Your son acquitted himself admirably in the yard today, Lord Alden," Roderic began, his voice smooth and deliberate. “Highfield is always honoured to host such esteemed guests."

Alden’s smile was thin, his sharp eyes moving from Roderic to Leon with quiet calculation. "Indeed. Cyrus’s skills have been long nurtured, and it’s only fitting that he now begins to show his true potential. But I must say, young Leon here has shown... remarkable progress, and rather quickly. It's not often we see such growth in one so recently awakened."

Leon felt Alden’s words like a barb, the subtle challenge woven beneath the compliment. He kept his face neutral, just as Marianne had drilled into him. He took a deep breath, drawing on the carefully crafted lines she had taught him for situations exactly like this.

"I owe much of my progress to the guidance I've received, Lord Alden," Leon began, forcing the ornate words to flow smoothly. "Cyrus’s strength has been both an inspiration and a challenge, driving me to better myself in service to Lord Roderic and the people of Highfield."

Leon could almost feel Marianne watching from the shadows, willing him to project confidence. Even so, inwardly, he winced at how absurd the words sounded. Inspiration and challenge? Goddess, who actually talks like this?

But Alden's eyes narrowed slightly. "A wise sentiment," he remarked, his voice cool. "Though I wonder if such swift growth comes at a cost. Loyalty, perhaps, can be tested by ambition... or by those who might offer more fertile ground."

The implication was clear. Leon’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the back of the chair, but he kept his expression steady. He could hear Marianne’s voice in his head: Don’t react. Let your words be your armour.

"My loyalty is as firm as the land beneath my feet, Lord Alden," Leon responded, his voice steady despite the knot of tension forming in his gut. "Like the roots of a tree, it grows stronger the deeper it goes. Everything I’ve gained here is thanks to Lord Roderic and Highfield’s support. I am, and always will be, in their service."

Roots of a tree? Leon thought to himself, biting back a sigh. I sound like a poet at a harvest festival. Is this really how nobles talk all the time?

But the words had the desired effect. Alden’s smile tightened, the sharpness in his gaze only deepening. "Indeed, it’s good to see such loyalty, Evoker Leon. Loyalty is the bedrock upon which empires are built. But just as the strongest trees can be uprooted, so too can the most steadfast loyalties shift... under the right conditions."

There was a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Roderic, ever the master of subtlety, stepped in. "Loyalty is something we value above all else here, Lord Alden. And I have every confidence that Leon’s dedication will only grow stronger with time."

Alden gave a slow nod, though his eyes lingered on Leon, as if measuring his resolve. "Let us hope so, for all our sakes. The academy will be a testing ground for our young Evokers. Strength is one thing, but resolve... resolve is another matter entirely."

Leon’s heart quickened at the mention of the academy. The conversation was now veering into dangerous territory, but he kept his face calm, forcing himself to meet Alden’s gaze with unwavering confidence. He’s trying to rattle me. I can’t let him see that it’s working.

"Both Cyrus and Leon will be tested in ways beyond our imagining at the academy," Roderic said, his voice smooth. "But I have faith that they will rise to the occasion and make us proud."

The finality in Roderic’s words seemed to draw the conversation to a close, and Alden rose from his seat, his expression carefully neutral. "Indeed. Let us trust that their training will serve them well."

As Alden excused himself and strode from the room, Leon finally exhaled, tension slowly draining from his shoulders. His mind buzzed with the intricacies of the conversation, every word a reminder of how far he still had to go in navigating the politics of noble society.

A soft rustle at his side caught his attention, and he turned to see Marianne, who had been quietly observing from the corner of the room, stepping forward with an amused smile. "Not bad," she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of approval.

Leon let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, the ridiculousness of his own flowery speech still ringing in his ears. "I feel like I’ve just recited some kind of forest poem," he muttered under his breath.

Roderic, who had lingered behind for a moment, gave Leon a small, amused glance before leaving the room, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. Leon couldn’t tell whether it was pride or amusement, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

Marianne chuckled softly, her gaze steady with quiet amusement. "Welcome to noble politics, Leon."