Ten Minutes to Midnight - The Sword Club's Shadow

The dusk over

Aethelgard wrapped

The dusk over

Aethelgard wrapped the suspended stone courtyards in a heavy, violet twilight.Far below the

Spire, the silver zip-lines hummed with the distant, steady weight of returning students, while torches flared to life along the winding granite staircases.Felix

Lin walked alone across the wide basalt paving stones of the central courtyard, his otterskin cloak pulled tight against the mountain draft.

He had just finished a grueling hour of low-light archery drills in the

Terraces with

Hazel, and his right shoulder felt as if it had been unthreaded and bolted back together with rusted iron wire.”Lin.”A low, clear voice cut through the quiet snap of the evening wind.Felix stopped, his boots sliding slightly on the smooth slate.

He turned his head to see a tall, broad-shouldered senior stepping out from the shadow of a bronze-pillared arcade.The senior wore the dark blue tunic of a

Vanguard third-year, but his cuffs lacked the decorative embroidery of the political debate circles or the literary salons.

Instead, his right hip bore a simple, unadorned training sabre, and his square, resolute face carried the quiet, uncomplicated dignity of someone who spent more time on the sparring gravel than in the

Chancery libraries.Senior

Vice-President of the

Club.Felix blinked, offering a polite, unbothered half-smile. “Good evening,

Miller.”Miller didn’t smile back, but his dark eyes held no malice—only a blunt, frank appraisal.

He walked over, stopping two paces away from

Felix.”You turned down

Vance’s invitation to the

Club yesterday evening,” Miller said, his tone as straightforward as a drawn line. “And three days before that, you politely ignored the

Chancery faction’s gathering near the

Spire.”Felix raised an eyebrow, adjusting the strap of his canvas bag. “Word travels fast through the stone arches, it seems.

I didn’t realize my social calendar was a matter of public debate.””In

Aethelgard, a freshman who scores thirty-one points in the trial and enters

Selection doesn’t have a private social calendar,” Miller said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Every court minister with a nephew in the academy and every high-ranking

Chancery official wants to staple a leash to your collar before you smell gunpowder on the frontier.”Miller paused, his gaze dropping briefly to

Felix’s right shoulder, where the hidden strain of the black bow still lingered.”Vance is the son of the

Minister,” Miller continued, his voice dropping into a tone of quiet approval. “He builds a faction of docile scholars and obedient courtiers who know how to bow before they know how to bleed.

You told him you preferred to study plant medicine and sleep through court politics.

I respect that.”Felix let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly beneath his cloak. “I’ve always found that people who spend too much time worrying about who sits in the front row usually trip over their own feet when the floor starts shaking.”A genuine, rare smile touched the corners of

Miller’s mouth.”Well said,” the senior muttered, turning his head toward the southern trial grounds, where the distant silhouettes of the masked arenas cut against the dark indigo sky. “The

Club doesn’t care about court factions,

Chancery seals, or whose uncle sits in the

We care about balance, footwork, and whether your blade stays true when your ribs are cracked.”Miller turned back to

Felix, extending a thick, calloused hand.”If you ever get tired of running from political dinner parties,

Lin, the southern martial grounds are open every evening after mess hours.

No speeches.

Just wood and steel.”Felix reached out, shaking the senior’s hand with a firm, unhesitating grip.

The palm was rough with old scars—the honest hand of someone who lived by weight and distance rather than ink and whispers.”I might take you up on that,

Senior,” Felix said, his dark eyes glinting with a quiet, steady resolve. “Especially if the sparring partners don’t use willow branches.”Miller let out a short, hearty laugh that echoed off the cold stones of the courtyard, turned on his heel, and strode off into the gathering night.