Yellow Jacket

The conversations churned on, from boasts about different fight to whispered speculation about what came next. Some cadets leaned into celebration, raising mugs high and shouting over one another, while others hung back, their smiles strained, eyes calculating. The feast had the shine of victory, but beneath it ran unease. They all knew the Citadel didn't throw parties for free. And as much as they wanted to revel, they couldn't escape the weight of questions hanging over them.

Torman finally leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice slicing through the chatter. "So, this is all fun and great, but what are we doing for actual classes? Does anybody know how this is going to work? We're supposed to be fourth years now, but we haven't even done the first-year rotations. How are we supposed to be ready for anything?"

The laughter faltered. Forks clinked against plates. A few heads turned toward Vaeliyan, curiosity mingling with unease. The truth of Torman's words settled over them like a damp cloth. They were climbing ranks faster than sense dictated, but none of them knew what that really meant. The silence stretched, uncomfortable, and more than one cadet shifted in their seat as if hoping someone else would answer first.

Merigold was the one to break the tension, her sharp gaze fixed on Vaeliyan. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tight, every inch of her posture both defiant and wary. "And what about me? Deic isn't going to sit on the bottom. She'll come for my class the first chance she gets. She'll tear the 91st apart if that's what it takes to climb again. You know it as well as I do."

A ripple of agreement moved through her class, grim nods and muttered curses. Everyone had seen what Deic was like. Everyone knew she wouldn't let the loss stand. For a moment, it seemed like the celebration had evaporated, replaced by the looming specter of politics and blood.

Vaeliyan grinned, unbothered, his voice steady as ever. "Deic should've handled that sooner. She didn't, so now I have plans for it. We wanted to leave in style, and we did. Dropped the bomb and walked away. Now we look cool, sure, but I'll need to mend that wound before it festers. She'll get her shot, but not the way she expects."

That earned him wary looks from both classes. Some eyed him with suspicion, others with cautious respect. A few exchanged glances as though silently wondering whether following him meant salvation or disaster. If nothing else, Vaeliyan sounded like he meant every word, and that was enough to keep them from pressing him further.

In the corner, Kuri sat with Styll curled warmly on her lap. The girl adored the silver-backed ferret, stroking her fur with the kind of reverence usually reserved for relics or icons. Styll's fur gleamed under the light, her long fangs catching flashes as she yawned. Kuri laughed at the chaos swirling around them, enjoying the rare moment of ease. Grinning mischievously, she tipped her glass, angling it toward Styll's mouth as if to sneak the creature a sip of alcohol.

Styll sniffed it, blinked twice, and then blurted out in her small, startlingly clear voice, "Warn says I can't have any of the spicy water. Warn, Warn."

The room froze. The laughter died. All eyes turned toward the ferret perched on Kuri's lap. Jaws dropped as the realization set in. A ferret had just spoken. Several cadets visibly paled, as if the world had tilted sideways in that instant. The warmth of the party vanished in the shock of that single phrase.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick. Even Roundy paused in his rounds, hovering midair as if stunned. Cadets looked from Styll to Vaeliyan, horror and fascination mingling on their faces. A few whispered curses escaped, but no one dared speak louder. Vaeliyan facepalmed so hard it echoed, a groan slipping out as he dragged his hand down his face. He had not expected her to, well, be her. That was his one and only mistake, and the admission burned on his face even as he tried to play it off.

Bastard, in his war form, padded across the room on silent claws. His massive frame dwarfed the couches, and his glowing white eyes fixed on Styll. Without a word, he leaned down, clamped her by the scruff like a misbehaving kitten, and lifted her from Kuri's lap. With casual, terrifying grace, he carried her off through the party, ignoring the stunned cadets who parted quickly to give him space. None dared laugh, though a few tried to, only for the sound to die in their throats when Bastard's eyes flicked toward them. The celebration limped on after that, but no one forgot what they had seen or the way the room had shifted in a single, surreal heartbeat.

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Marigold and Vaeliyan stepped aside as the party rumbled on behind them. Even with the shock of Styll's outburst still clinging to the air, most of the cadets forced themselves back into their drinks and jokes, though every laugh carried an uneasy edge. Kuri, still rattled, simply started drinking harder, her cheeks already flushed as she tipped her mug back like a seasoned soldier trying to drown memory with alcohol. Bastard had dealt with Styll, the ferret was gone, and the chaos seemed contained, at least for now.

Marigold lowered her voice, glancing toward the noise of her classmates. "Um… has Jurpat talked to you yet?"

Vaeliyan arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in the hint of a smile. "If he hasn't, go talk to him."

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, he spoke to me before. It's just… kind of crazy that you found out before we did. We've been down there a dozen times. We thought we understood it, thought we were being tested, but it turns out you had the truth in your hands while the rest of us were stumbling blind."

"I didn't say anything," Vaeliyan replied, his tone flat, guarded, his eyes sharp with warning.

Marigold pressed a finger against her nose, meeting his gaze, then nodded knowingly. "Anyways… now that you know I know. What's the plan with Deic? Because we're kind of fucked against her squad. I thought we were good, thought we had a chance. But after watching you and your class? Every single one of you is… insane. Not normal insane. I mean, mentally unstable insane. The kind that makes people dangerous to stand besides, even if they're on your side."

Vaeliyan laughed, low and sharp, the sound carrying more menace than humor. "Yeah, I can see that. Makes a lot of sense. We've all been through more than most could survive. That changes people."

Marigold folded her arms tighter, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "I'm serious. Deic won't stop. She's stubborn, and she's got the right to be. She's still probably the strongest cadet in the Citadel, and you didn't even fight her directly. I have, and it's scary. Her pressure, her presence, it's like she bends the room around her when she fights."

"When did you fight her?" Vaeliyan asked, his head tilting slightly. "I didn't think there were any cross-year battles. Not until I issued one."

Marigold shrugged, eyes distant as though recalling a moment that had carved itself into her memory. "We did some sparring with High Imperator Kasala. She wanted us to know what it felt like to go up against a wall that couldn't be moved. But I guess that's over now. You lot took half the seats in that class, and the game has changed. So… you're really doing this. You're changing everything. I don't even think the 49th pulled stunts like this. And honestly? I'm kind of scared of you."

Vaeliyan smiled, calm and unsettling all at once, a predator's smile. "Marigold, you don't need to be. I'm not coming after you. If you'd been at the top, yeah, I would've taken your spot. But waiting for four years? No. I couldn't do it. None of us could. The Citadel can break you if you sit in place too long. We refused to let it."

She exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "I get that now. I didn't before. But after tonight… yeah, I get it. You weren't just trying to look cool. You were trying to survive on your own terms."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the party carrying on without them. The sound of mugs clinking, cadets singing off-key. Lessa could be heard boasting about how many fourth-years she'd dropped single-handedly, her voice booming with laughter as Chime mocked her math. Ramis and the twins were making out in the corner, a sight that still made no sense to anyone watching. At the same time, Yuri was trying to get Sylen to eat one of what he called a beefsteak potato. She resisted at first, rolling her eyes at his persistence, but after drinking enough she finally gave in. The disappointment was instant, she declared loudly that the so‑called beefsteak tasted more like a tomato than a steak, and Yuri erupted into Insane cackling laughter. Keth and Rovan argued loudly over who could drink more, while Merigold's other classmates jeered and egged them on. The mixture of two classes filled the room with a chaotic warmth, rivalry and camaraderie twisting together until it was impossible to tell which was which. Yet between the two of them, the air was heavier, charged with an understanding that went deeper than rivalry or pride. Then, as the night thinned and the cadets drifted away in pairs and clusters, Marigold gave him one last nod. Neither of them said anything else. They didn't need to. The conversation had already written its weight in the air, setting the stage for what was to come, as the night drew closed.