Chapter 8 - 7: Bloodline Breach
The duel was over. But the war had only begun.
Whispers flooded the Academy before dawn. By breakfast, Alaric's name had outgrown its rumors. They didn't call him a "failure" anymore.
They called him something worse.
> "The Mindborn."
"The Veyron Heretic."
"The Noble with No Magic Who Beat One With Too Much."
The hallways parted when he walked through them. Professors gave him tight-lipped nods. Classmates avoided eye contact. A few stared, then quickly looked away—as if his gaze might peel back their thoughts.
Alaric didn't mind.
In fact, he was enjoying the silence.
---
He sat at the edge of the training yard, sipping lukewarm tea. The cup floated three inches off his hand, held aloft by invisible fingers.