The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

The courtyard stretched open as they stepped outside. Students scattered in small clusters, their voices carrying bits of casual chatter. Vencian's hand brushed against the satchel at his side where the papers rested. He had asked to keep it from Elías, and the prince had let it go without a word. That silence made it easier, but it also left Vencian with the weight of deciding what to do with it.

He planned to look it over himself before speaking with Roselys. This wasn't the place for that. The noise of students moving around left little room for private matters.

Elías walked beside him, his pace light but his mood quieter than usual. After a stretch without words, the prince finally said, "You've got that face again."

Vencian didn't turn toward him. "What face?"

"The one where you're thinking too much and trying to hide it."

It wasn't the first time someone had caught on. He had noticed yesterday, after speaking with Aline and then Quenya, that his expression betrayed more than he thought. His face slipped without warning, giving others glimpses of what he preferred to keep hidden. Unless he paid close attention, it kept happening.

He told himself to fix it. Being reminded of his shortcomings over and over irritated him more than the slip itself.

"Maybe I'm not thinking at all," he replied. "Did that ever occur to you?"

Elías smirked. "That'd be new."

Vencian left it alone. Elías liked to fill gaps in conversation with remarks, waiting for one to land.

Quenya flew along the wall, pausing now and then to look at the carvings that showed old battles and saints. She traced the lines with her gaze, following the story cut into the stone.

A moment later, Elías nudged his arm. "So, is it still on your mind?"

"Depends on what you mean by it."

He kept moving, but the question lingered. He knew what Elías referred to. The deaths of Caesor and Moses.

It struck him then that Elías was the first person to ask directly about it. His mother hadn't pressed, buried in her own grief. She believed they shared it, though the bond between them had never been more than surface-deep. Quenya stayed near him, never forcing words, and her quiet presence had been enough. Aline seemed worried too, though her concern was divided between loyalty to Seris and whatever ties she felt toward him.

It made him notice how the original Vencian, no matter how sharp or gifted, lacked connections beyond his family. And that family, for him, barely existed anymore.

"You know exactly what I mean," Elías said.

The truth was harder to explain. He couldn't call it grief when the memories weren't truly his. He remembered the weight of a brother's hand on his shoulder, a father's gaze filled with expectation. Yet the feelings weren't his. He carried them like borrowed clothes, ill-fitting and heavy. It was guilt mixed with detachment. Pretending to be someone else's son and brother left him hollow.

His reply came smooth. "If I did, I'd have answered already."

"You don't have to pretend nothing shakes you," Elías pushed.

"Better than pretending like you."

That earned laughter. "There he is. I thought you'd gone soft."

"I'll take that as proof you don't know me well."

Before Elías could retort, voices rose across the courtyard. The sound cut through the space, pulling the attention of everyone nearby. A group gathered near the fountain, the air shifting as more students pressed in.

Elías tilted his head. "Looks like something's happening."

"Or a waste of time," Vencian said, though he followed the crowd with him.

The ring of students thickened around the fountain. At the center, two boys squared off. One pointed a finger sharply, his words reaching everyone nearby for all to hear. "Your people are hiding him. That common-born rat struck one of ours, and you think there won't be consequences?"

His opponent stepped closer, shoulders stiff, voice rising. "What you call an attack was defense. Your lackey cornered him first. Don't twist it."

The names came to Vencian quickly. Pereneth Varethion, son of the Chancellor. His posture radiated entitlement, authority inherited rather than earned. Across from him stood Rapheldor Herrera, jaw clenched tight, unwilling to give an inch. Both were bred for conflict, but their paths had forged them in different ways.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. "…the Chancellor's son…" "…Herrera won't back down…" "…tribunal for sure…" The weight of their names only made the scene sharper in everyone's eyes.

Beside him, Elías snorted. "Of course it's them."

"Who else?" Vencian kept his gaze fixed forward.

Pereneth's voice cut higher, drawing a few laughs from those behind him. "So you admit your side shields vermin. Better to deal with it now than let it spread."

Rapheldor leaned in, his hands curling at his sides. "Careful who you call vermin, Varethion. Say it again, and you'll regret it."

The crowd shifted uneasily. Some edged closer for a better view while others pulled back, waiting for the moment fists or steel might fly. The air thickened with that kind of tension that demanded a release.

Vencian glanced at Elías. The prince's face tensed, caught between wanting to act and the hesitation that always held him back. Elías's burden wasn't small — heir to a throne, weighed down by expectations — yet his own lack of confidence dragged at every choice.

Turning back, Vencian kept his eyes on the center.

Pereneth's lips curved, his words dripping venom. "Fitting. A family clawed up by soldiers, reaching above their worth, pretending they belong. Guarding street rats doesn't change that. That's all the Herreras will ever be."

The insult landed hard. Rapheldor surged forward, squaring himself fully. His hand slid toward his belt. "Say it again, and I'll take your tongue."

Pereneth's hand moved in return. "Then drop the act. Show them what kind of blood you really carry."

Rapheldor's eyes shifted. Black swallowed the whites. Pereneth's followed in kind.

The circle hushed. Tension at its limit.

Vencian felt a spark inside him. Excitement pressed against his chest as if it wanted out. He knew what that change meant.

They were Arkspren. Bonded with Archeans. The kind of union that made ordinary men into something more.

Memories of duels flickered at the edge of his mind. He had watched them before, but always from a distance. Always with someone else's eyes.

A Front seat to entertainment between two nobles? I'll take that.

The air hung heavy. Every second stretched.

Then a voice cut through the courtyard.

Strong. Commanding. Unyielding.

"Stop this stupidity."

Silence fell.

Every gaze turned.

The crowd froze.

No one moved.