The Essence Flow

Chapter 155: New Flavors

The Queen sat alone beneath the stone arches of the southern courtyard, the distant hum of the dueling ring long faded into memory.

Her mask lay beside her on the bench—black, smooth, void-like even in moonlight. She traced a finger along its edge absently, like one might pet a sleeping animal that had recently killed something.

The night air was cool against her skin. Quiet. Still.

Too still.

She exhaled slowly, crimson eyes glowing faintly behind silver lenses. The lenses dimmed them, of course—but the pulse was still there, soft as a heartbeat, stubborn as truth.

Her hands rested neatly on her knees.

She had fought tonight. Again.

And won. Again.

Of course she had.

That boy—flashy sword, shaky hands—he hadn’t even been fun.

No challenge. No pressure.

Just more empty movement. Another dance with no rhythm.

But then...

Her eyes flicked upward, toward the rafters where the spectator had sat.

The one who watched, not for entertainment… but for answers.

He had stared like she was a painting he wanted to step into.

He trembled when she looked back.

That tremble?

It wasn’t fear.

It was something else.

“Playing with people’s emotions is fun, after all.”

She whispered it to the air like a confession no one had earned.

For so long, all she'd ever drawn from others was fear.

Terror. Screams.

The kind of emotions that clung to her skin like old smoke.

But now?

In the ring, in the mask, under the moon?

She could taste curiosity.

Admiration.

Even awe.

New flavors.

Delicate. Strange. Intriguing.

Her Essentia flared softly—just a ripple, a thread of Intent coiling lazily from her shoulder.

From someone else, it might’ve burned.

From her, it whispered.

She smiled. Not kindly.

He’s getting too close.

She reached for the mask again, fingers curling around the edges with practiced grace.

Maybe I’ll let him think he’s winning.

A pause.

For a little while.

She stood, slow and fluid. The kind of movement that gave nothing away.

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With the mask in her hand and silence trailing behind her like a shadow, she vanished into the archways once more.

The dorms were quiet. Most students had either collapsed into bed after the duels or were still out chasing rumors in the starlight.

Calo was neither.

He sat at his desk, hunched over his notebook again, pages covered in notes, diagrams, questions, sketches, eye color theories, probable aliases, gait analysis—

Veik watched him from the other bunk.

At first, it had been funny.

Kinda cute, even.

Calo, chasing after this mysterious fighter like she was a puzzle wrapped in drama.

But now?

It had been four days.

And Calo hadn’t said more than ten full sentences that weren’t about “her.”

Veik tossed a pillow at him.

Calo didn’t flinch. “What?”

“You slept last night?”

“I napped between matches.”

“That’s not—! Okay, first of all,” Veik sat up, eyes narrowed, “you look like you fought the Queen and lost emotionally.”

Calo didn’t answer.

Veik swung his legs off the bed and leaned forward. “Bro. Seriously. I’m starting to worry. This was a side mystery two days ago. Now you’re sketching her breathing pattern.”

“I’m close,” Calo muttered, turning the page. “I know I’m close.”

“Close to what? Her social security number?” Veik threw his hands up. “You’ve written more about this girl’s shoulder tension than you ever did for our midterm reports!”

Calo didn’t respond.

Veik’s voice dropped.

“…This isn’t just curiosity anymore, is it?”

Calo froze.

“I mean, yeah, she’s cool. She’s terrifying. She obliterated Towan and probably bench-presses trauma for breakfast—but dude…” Veik’s voice cracked a little. “You’re spiraling. You talk about her like she’s… perfect.”

Calo’s fingers twitched. “…She’s not.”

“Then stop chasing her like she’s some kind of answer.”

The words hung in the air, raw and uncomfortable.

Veik stood slowly. “I don’t care if she’s the best fighter in the world, Calo. If she breaks you? What’s the point of understanding her?”

Silence.

Calo stared down at the notebook—one page open to a sketch of the mask.

Her mask.

He didn’t speak.

Veik sighed, rubbing his face. “I’m not saying stop watching. I know you. You’re not gonna stop. But maybe…”

He turned toward the door, hand on the knob.

“…Maybe stop letting her watch you.”

He left without slamming the door.

Which somehow made it hit harder.

Third period theory class was halfway through, and Professor Kaen’s lecture on “Essentia Flow Variance in Closed-Circuit Environments” was exactly as soul-draining as it sounded.

Veik didn’t show it, of course.

He leaned back in his seat, feet subtly propped against the desk bar, half-nodding at Kaen’s droning voice like he was totally tuned in.

But his mind was somewhere else.

Calo hadn’t even shown up.

(Skipped class. Again.)

He hadn’t even left a message.

Veik stared at the diagram on the board—some nonsense about reverse-loop flow rotation—and saw instead that damn sketch.

The mask. The glowing red eyes.

(He’s slipping. And I don’t know how to catch him.)

“Are you okay?”

The voice was soft, but crisp enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

Veik blinked. Turned.

Sera Vellmont sat beside him, her hands folded neatly on her notebook, silver eyes glinting in the daylight filtering through the tall windows. Her expression was all gentle curiosity. Friendly. Attentive.

Veik gave her a shrug. “Yeah. Just bored.”

She smiled. “You're usually the loud one in this class.”

“I’m evolving,” he said dryly. “Kaen’s lectures tend to awaken a deep, internal silence.”

Sera let out a quiet laugh—polite, measured, warm. Then tilted her head, just a touch.

“But you’re not bored,” she said gently.

He tensed. Just slightly.

Sera’s smile didn’t change, but something behind it shifted. Her eyes flashed faintly. Her voice was still low, still wrapped in calm, but now it held the soft press of certainty.

“You’re worried.”

Veik blinked. “What?”

“I can feel it,” she said. “Your flow’s a little… off.”

(...Shit. She’s sharp.)

“I’m fine,” Veik said quickly. “Just... friend stuff. Dumb, probably.”

Sera nodded slowly, as if weighing something behind her eyes. “Your roommate?”

Veik hesitated. “…Yeah.”

She looked forward again, pretending to copy down a diagram.

But her voice came again, light as a breeze.

“If it’s about what’s been happening at night…”

She paused delicately.

“…He’s not the only one curious.”

Veik’s gaze snapped to her.

Sera kept her eyes on her notes.

(She knows.)

But of course she did.

Everyone talked about the Queen.

Only a few had seen her.

And fewer still asked why.

Veik watched her for a moment longer.

Her posture was perfect. Her handwriting—neat. Her presence—quiet, hard-working, forgettable in all the right ways.

(Do you know her?)

He didn’t speak again the rest of the class.

But when Kaen dismissed them, and Sera stood to go, her voice floated back one last time:

“Tell him to sleep tonight.”

“Dreams help the mind recover. From… obsession.”

She walked away before he could ask anything