Both Avin and Henry rose to their feet when Theo gave the order to meet the prince. The command wasn't loud or demanding, just quietly certain — like something that didn't need to be repeated.

Henry obeyed first, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve before taking deliberate, measured steps forward. Avin, on the other hand, hesitated.

Theo hadn't moved. He stood there, rooted to the same spot, eyes steady on the empty air before him. It was strange — his stillness didn't feel hesitant; it felt intentional, like he was waiting for something.

Avin glanced between them. Should he move or stay?

Henry seemed to make that decision for him. He stopped beside Theo, standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting in silence. The room was thick with an unspoken tension, a hum that filled the space like a held breath.

Avin sighed quietly, running a hand through his red hair. "Fine, whatever," he muttered, and followed.

The moment he came close enough to Theo — it appeared.

A door.

Out of thin air.

Right in front of them, gleaming faintly like a mirage made solid. The same door he had passed through once before — the door that led to the prince's chamber.

Avin froze. "What the—"

He took a cautious step back. Instantly, the door blinked out of existence, leaving nothing but the faint ripple of displaced air.

He blinked, frowning.

Then he stepped forward again — and there it was. Perfectly real, perfectly wrong.

"Weird," he said under his breath.

Theo didn't comment. His gaze remained fixed on the door, unreadable as ever.

Avin tilted his head, then exhaled. "Fine. Let's see where this joke takes us."

Together, they entered.

The transition was smooth — too smooth. There was no blinding light, no jarring pull. Just a quiet shift, like walking into a dream mid-scene.

But the moment Avin's boots met the floor, he knew something was off.

This wasn't the same place.

Gone was the opulent golden living room from before — the marble floors, the embroidered curtains, the sense of wealth that dripped from every corner.

Instead, they stood in a plain, undecorated chamber.

It wasn't ugly, exactly, but painfully ordinary — couches arranged neatly around a circular table, muted colors, no sparkle or scent of royalty. A place that looked lived in, not worshipped.

And there, seated casually on the couch to the left, was the prince.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin on his fist — the posture of a man thinking, or pretending to. His golden hair shimmered dimly under the muted light, the color of sunlight dulled by arrogance.

His eyes lifted slowly, locking on Avin.

Avin stared back.

For a second, silence ruled.

Then, movement — from beside the prince.

A woman sat there.

The gown gave it away first — soft silk that caught the light like liquid metal, elegantly fitted yet effortlessly regal. Her legs crossed, hands folded neatly atop them. She lifted her head, and when her eyes met his, her lips curved.

"So," she began, her tone a mix of mockery and grace, "this is the rumored disgrace to the protectors of our Northern Borders."

Avin blinked, unimpressed.

His gaze flicked from her to the prince again. Same hair. Same sharp blue eyes. Same smug tilt of the lips that screamed royalty bred from entitlement.

Siblings. Obviously.

And equally insufferable.

Avin exhaled and started walking toward the empty seat opposite them, while Henry — ever the obedient one — moved ahead, dropped to one knee, and bowed deeply before the pair.

Avin paused mid-step, watching him.

He knew he was probably supposed to do something like that too — some show of submission or respect or whatever ridiculous ritual nobles still thought mattered.

But he didn't.

Not because he couldn't.He just… wouldn't.

Especially not to someone who opened their mouth only to call him useless.

"Yeah, hi," he said flatly, waving one hand as he approached the couch.

The woman raised an eyebrow; the prince didn't move.

Henry shot him a panicked look from the floor, silently begging him to reconsider this suicide attempt of etiquette.

Avin ignored him.

As Henry finished his bow, he gestured subtly, signaling for Avin to sit. Avin sighed, relenting — fine.

He took a step forward, lowering himself toward the couch —

And the world betrayed him.

The moment he was about to sit, the cushion beneath him wasn't there.

Instead—

A door.

The same one.

Lying flat, where the couch should've been.

He barely had time to register it before it swung open beneath him like a trap.

"Wait—what the—!"

He plunged downward, air whipping past him before he slammed onto solid wood.

CRACK!

Pain. Splinters.

Tiny wood shards pricked his skin as he groaned, pushing himself upright.

"What the—" he started, but his voice cut off as his eyes focused.

There were people.

Two of them.

Eira and Sylas.

Mid-argument. Frozen now, staring at him like he was the ghost of a bad decision.

He stared back.

Eira blinked, eyebrows raised. "…Um. Things okay?"

Avin's jaw clenched so tight a vein twitched at his temple. His hand went instantly for his sword.

"Wait—" Sylas raised both hands, stepping back. "Whoa, whoa—let's not be rash here—"

Avin glared at him for a solid three seconds, breathing through his nose before exhaling sharply. He let go of the hilt, the metal ringing faintly as it settled back into the sheath.

He straightened, brushing dust and wood shards off his coat. "Why haven't they cleaned this yet…" he muttered, flicking off a bit of glass from his sleeve.

Once he was satisfied, he looked up — and there it was.

The door.

Still there.

And beside it, standing in perfect calm, was Theo.

Unmoving. Unbothered.

Saying nothing.

Of course.

Avin gritted his teeth, muttered something under his breath, and stormed forward — moving at the fastest pace that could still technically be called walking.

He stepped through the door again.

And found himself right back in front of the prince and his oh-so-charming sister.

They both looked up at him as if nothing unusual had happened.

Avin's patience cracked.

"What the fuck, man?!" he barked, throwing up a hand. "What did I do this time?"

The prince blinked, unimpressed. A small scowl formed, followed by a sigh — the kind that sounded more practiced than real.

"You didn't greet royal blood the way you were supposed to," he said, voice cool, like a teacher correcting a child.

"What?" Avin frowned, trying to make sense of the words.

The prince's tone stayed patient — dangerously patient. "Your friend greeted us properly, as one should."

Avin's mind replayed the scene — Henry kneeling, head bowed. The gesture clicked.

"The kneeling?" he asked.

The prince didn't answer. He didn't have to.

That silence was confirmation enough.

Avin took a slow step back, thinking of Leo's words from before: The academy's meant to be neutral ground… but there are always those who ignore it.

Kneeling wasn't difficult. It wasn't physically demanding. But to Avin, it wasn't just posture — it was submission. A gesture of respect he didn't feel.

And if there was one thing he'd learned about himself, it was that he couldn't fake that kind of thing.

So, naturally, he told himself that it wasn't pride. It was principle.

(But it was definitely pride.)

He exhaled through his nose. "So… the whole 'equality in the academy' thing," he said, voice edged with dry humor.

The prince pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, gasping in mock horror. "Are you accusing me of discrimination within academy walls?"

His sister mirrored the gesture, smiling with identical grace — the same smug curve of lips that made Avin's blood pressure rise.

Avin's eyes narrowed. "This is ridiculous."

The prince stood slowly, straightening his posture, his eyes locked on Avin's with a new, deliberate sharpness.

He closed the distance until they were face to face — almost bumping foreheads. He had to tilt his head slightly upward to meet Avin's gaze; Avin was taller by just a few inches, but that was enough to make the air between them hum with unspoken challenge.

"We are not part of the academy yet," the prince said softly. "So the rule doesn't apply."

The logic was stupid. The confidence was worse.

Avin arched a brow, inhaled, and sighed deeply — the long, exhausted kind.

"So mature," he muttered. "Truly inspiring. You'll make a fine emperor someday."

The prince's jaw twitched.

Avin turned away. "Yeah, I don't have time for this."

He strode toward the door, brushing past Theo — who, as always, stood there in eerie stillness — and stepped through.

Only to find himself back in the same room.

The same couches. The same table. The same prince staring at him.

Avin stopped dead.

"…Fuck."

He stared straight at the prince.

And the prince smiled.

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