## CHAPTER 20: The Summons
The week following the entrance trials felt like the calm before a brewing storm. Word of the "Five Commoners" had breached the high stone walls of Aethelgard Academy, trickling into the surrounding magi-cities and rival institutions. The narrative was shifting; the initial mockery had been replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of paranoia. The "Ordinary" students were no longer seen as a diversity.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the campus was alive with the frantic energy of preparation. The air was thick with the scent of pine needles and industrial mana-grease as students readied themselves for the upcoming Field Exercise.
Caspian Vane walked through the grand, marble-pillared hallway, his hands in his pockets and his silver hair catching the amber glow of the setting sun. Beside him, Casel moved with his usual bouncy stride, though his brow was furrowed with a rare moment of introspection.
"Hey, Caspian," Casel said, breaking the long, comfortable silence that had settled between them.
Caspian glanced sideways, his expression unreadable. "What's on your mind, Casel?"
"What do you think caused that guy to fall, anyway?" Casel asked, his voice dropping an octave as a group of upperclassmen passed them with suspicious glares. "You know... the guy with the hoodie. What was his name again? Something sharp..."
"Silas," Caspian replied instantly, his voice flat.
"Yeah, Silas," Casel nodded. "So, what do you think made him break like that in the fight against Lyra? One second he's basically a god of war, and the next he's on his knees crying like he's seen a ghost. It doesn't add up."
Caspian looked straight ahead, his pace never faltering. "I have no idea," he responded in a dull tone that invited no further questioning.
"People are talking, man," Casel continued, leaning in closer. "The rumor mill is going crazy. Some say that Lyra Valerius has some sort of secret bloodline technique—a mental bind that activates only when she's about to lose. They're calling it the 'Valerius Mercy' or something equally pretentious."
" Must be Aisha's doing," Caspian thought inwardly, a flicker of cold amusement crossing his mind. Aisha was desperate to salvage Lyra's reputation, and inventing a hidden power was the perfect way to explain away the fact that who had been seconds away from winning.
"Have you asked Lyra about it?" Caspian asked, turning to face his roommate.
"Yeah, I did," Casel said, shrugging. "Caught her near the library this morning."
"And what did she say?"
"That she doesn't know anything about it. She said it's all just a baseless rumor." Casel kicked a loose pebble across the polished floor. "She looked... I don't know, annoyed? Like the win actually tasted like ash in her mouth."
"I believe her," Caspian said softly. "Lyra doesn't lie. Mostly because she's terrible at it. Her eyes always give her away before her mouth can finish the sentence."
Silence dwelled between them once more, but it wasn't the easy silence from before. It was heavy with the mystery of Silas's breakdown and the looming uncertainty of the academy's next move.
"So," Caspian said, deliberately pivoting the conversation. "You remember our tomorrow's class work, right?"
Casel raised a hand to touch his chin, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he scanned his memory. "Something about practical field work, right? Mrs Grey mentioned it was an inter-disciplinary event. Some of the older classes and specialized combat tracks will be involved too."
"Although..." Casel paused, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion.
"Although what?" Caspian asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Well, you and I both saw the equipment list posted on the bulletin board this morning," Casel said. "It's... weird."
"Yeah, and so?"
"What do we need a sleeping bag for, Caspian? And portable rations? And a wilderness survival kit?" Casel shook his head. "We're students, not frontier scouts."
Caspian thought about it for a moment, the gears in his head turning. "Maybe it's a camping trip."
Casel burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the high-vaulted ceiling. "A camping trip? Caspian, look around you. These are nobles. They don't 'camp.' To a Ca or a Valerius, 'roughing it' means staying in a villa that only has three floors."
Caspian cracked a small, rare smile. "You make a good point. But whatever it is, we'll understand by tomorrow. The curriculum hasn't exactly been traditional so far."
"I just wonder why Master Grey would wait until the very last second to reveal the location of the exercise," Casel mused. "It feels like they're trying to keep us off-balance."
They reached the Grand Junction, a part of the hallway where the path split into two distinct wings. The left path led toward the main lecture halls and the dormitories, while the right path sloped downward toward the faculty offices and the high-security archives.
Casel began to veer left, assuming Caspian was right behind him. After a few paces, sensing the absence of his comrade's presence, he spun around.
"Uhh, dude? Class is this way!" he yelled, pointing toward the left wing.
Caspian had already turned toward the right, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. He didn't stop, but he tilted his head back slightly. "I know."
"Then where the hell are you going?" Casel yelled, his voice rising in volume, attracting the attention of several passing students. "The lecture starts in ten minutes!"
"Master Grey said she wanted to see me," Caspian called back over his shoulder. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension in his stride. A private summons from a Master was never a social call.
"Oh! Well, don't get expelled before the camping trip!" Casel yelled with a final wave. He turned around and started moving toward class, leaving Caspian to navigate the quiet, shadow-drenched corridor of the faculty wing alone.
***
As Caspian walked deeper into the right wing, the noise of the student body faded, replaced by the low, ambient hum of the academy's protective wards. The walls here were lined with portraits of past Headmasters, their painted eyes seeming to follow him with a mixture of judgment and curiosity.
He reached a heavy, dark oak door marked with a silver plate: **MASTER GREY – COMBAT THEORY & FIELD OPERATIONS.**
Before he could even raise his hand to knock, the door creaked open of its own accord. The office inside was bathed in the flickering light of mana-candles. Master Grey sat behind a desk cluttered with maps, glowing crystal orbs, and ancient parchment.
She didn't look up as he entered. "You're late, Vane."
"The hallways are crowded with rumors, Master," Caspian replied, stepping into the room. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing out the rest of the world. "They tend to slow one down."
Master Grey finally looked up. Her eyes were sharp, scanning Caspian as if she were looking for a flaw in his armor. "Rumors are for those who have the luxury of being distracted."
"Tomorrow's exercise like the others from the previous set, Caspian," she said, her voice dropping to a serious, gravelly tone. "It's a trial by fire. And the reason I called you here is simple: The Board of Governors is starting to ask questions about your group. Specifically, questions about Silas Hashira's... instability."
Caspian felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach, but his face remained a mask of iron. "Silas is fine. He just had a moment."
"A moment that cost him a victory and revealed a fracture" Grey countered. She stood up, her shadow looming large against the wall. "Tomorrow, If you fail the field exercise, they won't just expel you. They'll erase you. Seems like they've been itching to do that for a while"
Caspian met her gaze, his silver hair shimmering in the candlelight. "We won't fail."
"See that you don't," she whispered. "Now, get to class. You have a long night of preparation ahead of you."
Caspian bowed slightly and turned to leave, the weight of the Commoners eputation feeling heavier than it ever had before. The field exercise was no longer just a grade—it has become a battle for survival.