The scarred man helped Tristan into the tent where the injured were gathered and treated. There, he was met with an unpleasant sight: Benjamin Vermillion sitting upright on one of the beds, his torso wrapped tightly in fresh bandages. Their eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting moment they exchanged nothing but cold disdain. Tristan walked past him without a word, the silence between them sharper than any insult.
The scarred man lowered Tristan gently onto a vacant bed, Amelia positioned only inches away. It was obvious the entire ordeal had shaken her to her core; the usual composure in her silver eyes had dimmed.
To Tristan's side lay Garfield, his wounds properly dressed, deep in a heavy, dreamless sleep. Not even the loud roar of crackling thunder outside the tent could stir him from his exhaustion.
Once Tristan had been settled, the scarred man prepared to leave. He turned and walked toward the exit, but Tristan's voice stopped him.
"Thank you, sir…?" Tristan hesitated, realizing he had never asked the man's name.
The man turned, offering a faint but reassuring smile. "Blake. Blake Foster."
"Thank you, Blake Foster," Tristan replied earnestly.
Blake nodded once, then stepped outside, pulling the tent flap aside as he disappeared into the camp.
As soon as he left, the nurses gathered around Tristan and began tending to him. While they worked, Amelia watched silently. They massaged his exhausted, pain-ridden muscles, pressing firmly into bruised flesh. With every deep touch came an involuntary squeal from Tristan, and with each sound came a faint chuckle from Benjamin, who sat not far away, clearly entertained.
Tristan answered the mockery with a scornful glare.
"Let me guess," Benjamin said coolly, "a beast beat you down while you were trying to run away, lesser?"
Tristan smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "No. In fact, I defeated several beasts. This pain," he added evenly, "was caused by fighting one of the individuals who appeared on the island… in single combat."
Benjamin's expression shifted to open surprise. He could hardly believe it. For him and his team, it had taken all three of them to face just one of those enemies — and even then, it had not been enough. They had only survived because a representative of a Pillar had intervened.
"The one you fought must have been among the weaker ones," Benjamin stated, attempting to regain composure.
Amelia slowly turned her head toward him, her expression dark and resolute.
"I do not speak falsehoods," she said firmly. "The man we faced was powerful — a Four-Star, likely midway to Five. And Tristan fought him alone."
Benjamin looked from Amelia to Tristan, disbelief written plainly across his face.
"How is that even possible?"
Tristan knew very well that it should not have been possible. If he was to answer, it would need to sound truthful — but not entirely so. There were aspects of his ability he could not reveal.
'Not again.' He thought
He raised a hand and pointed toward his blade, which rested upright near the tent's entrance.
"Star Divider grows stronger the longer a battle rages," Tristan explained. "The more intense the fight, the more powerful I become."
"Well," Adrian's voice interrupted from across the tent, "it hardly matters who defeated whom. We all lost today. We lost capable warriors."
He lay shirtless on his bed, his torso and shoulder wrapped tightly in layered bandages.
Tristan glanced at Adrian. He did not know much about the young noble, but there was something gentle in his eyes — whether that kindness was reserved for fellow nobles or for humanity itself remained to be seen.
"To be honest," Tristan said coldly, "I don't particularly care for people who were once my enemies… or those who would gladly see me dead." He turned his head slightly toward Benjamin. "I wouldn't lose much sleep if they killed you."
Benjamin responded immediately, his tone calm and unshaken.
"Neither would I."
Adrian exhaled slowly and shook his head, disappointed. The two boys seemed far more invested in their rivalry than in sparing a thought for the lives that had been lost. He turned his gaze away, unwilling to witness their petty hostility any longer.
…
Blake Foster returned to the tent where the representatives had gathered. Their expressions spoke volumes — disappointment in themselves for not saving more children, and grief for those they had failed. Even Thomas Holmes, a man known to drink regardless of circumstance, had set his glass aside.
But there was something heavier lingering in the air. It was not only the loss of students that weighed upon them.
Blake approached the group and spoke plainly.
"I've secured Lady Amelia's team."
Thomas was the only one who visibly reacted. He lifted his gaze and nodded once.
"Well done," Thomas said gravely. "But matters have grown worse."
Blake's brow furrowed. Concern etched itself deeply into his scarred features.
"What happened?"
Before Thomas could answer, Trinity collapsed to her knees. She covered her face with both hands and began sobbing uncontrollably.
"What happened?!" Blake repeated, urgency rising in his voice.
Thomas inhaled slowly, his voice unsteady. "Within the past hour, a terrorist group attacked Constella Academy. Most of the remaining students were killed. Headmaster Sylvia rushed to intercept them but was confronted by what witnesses believe was their leader." His jaw tightened. "She was slain."
Blake sank onto a nearby couch, running a hand through his hair before covering his mouth in stunned disbelief. He did not know the Headmaster personally — only the stories told by his elders — yet the implications were staggering. To defeat her, one would need power equal to her own. That thought alone was terrifying.
"When did this message arrive?" Blake asked.
Felicia, who was holding Trinity close in an attempt to comfort her, answered softly. "Five minutes ago, by carrier pigeon. But… there was more."
She glanced toward the tent entrance to ensure no one else was listening.
"The young girl who accompanied the Headmaster has been named a suspect. They believe she may be a member of the terrorist group. Her trial date is yet to be set, but it is most likely it will happen soon."
Blake leaned back slowly, staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent.
"I assume we'll be escorting the students back to the mainland?" he asked.
"Yes," Thomas replied. "They will return to their homes. But news of something this catastrophic will spread quickly. I suspect many of them will attend the trial."
Blake lowered his head, then rose from his seat. He walked toward the exit, stopping just before stepping outside.
"These terrorists will not be forgiven for taking the life of such a noble woman," he said quietly, his voice laced with restrained fury.
He stepped out into the open air and found himself recalling the arrival of the Jester. Even from a distance, he had felt the sheer magnitude of that man's strength.
"Terrifying… truly terrifying."