Chapter 700: Dispensed
The sun had barely crested over the far spires of Arcanis when Selphine and Aurelian claimed their usual corner table at the terrace café near the upper promenade.
It was quieter than usual—at least, in the way noble haunts quieted during deep intrigue. The kind of quiet that carried the weight of speculation beneath every clink of porcelain and overly polite exchange of words.
Selphine sliced into her honeyed fruit with surgical calm. "So," she said, not looking up, "are we all just pretending the world didn't get rearranged yesterday?"
Aurelian, halfway through dunking a piece of spiced bread into his tea, snorted. "Oh no. We're absolutely pretending." He popped it into his mouth, chewed, then added, "We're nobles. It's what we do when we don't know what the hell just happened."
The corner of Selphine's mouth twitched. "Lucavion."
Aurelian's expression sobered. "Lucavion."
The name had already carved itself into Arcanian conversation like a brand. Not whispered. Not avoided. Spoken with awe, suspicion, bitterness—depending on who you asked. A commoner, yes. But no one was calling him 'just' that anymore.
"Peak 4-star," Selphine said, tapping her fork once against her plate. "They thought he was mid-range. Safe. Strong, but within expectation."
"He was playing all of us," Aurelian muttered, eyes on the steam curling from his cup. "No. Not even playing. He just didn't bother showing more until he had to."
"And when he did," Selphine added, "he shattered one of the strongest projected picks of the exam."
Reynald Vale.
The Bastion.