Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 57: Station Theater

The taller guard shifts his spear and shrugs. "No, Awakened," he replies, the title coming out flat, almost mocking. I almost admire how flatly he says it.

She scoffs. "Our families are nobles. Important nobles." Then she drops the name: "I am from House Askert."

That gets a reaction. The guard pales, just a shade, but I can see it from where I'm standing. I shake my head, biting down another laugh. Of course. The name game. Like that's going to matter once the academy starts stripping them down. She presses on, tossing out more bloodline names like she's reading a grocery list of entitlement, each name more elaborate than the last, and her friends start chiming in, tossing insults at the guards, mocking their armor, their rank, and their relevance, asking how they dare deny Elites on business.

I finally step forward, boots crunching over the frost-laced stones. Their jeering toward the guards grinds to a sudden, almost comical halt as I shoulder my way straight through the cluster of black-robed morons. One of them stumbles back with a muttered curse, and another gapes like I just slapped his mother. I don't even glance their way.

The guards stiffen further as I approach, irritation still etched into their features, though it seems to shift slightly as I stop in front of them.

I give them a smirk. "Am I good to go in? Just got the one sword."

The taller one eyes me, then nods. "It'll be confiscated before departure to the academy grounds."

I just shrug, giving him an easy nod, and start heading inside without looking back. I barely make it three steps before that same noble elite girl shrieks, voice high and brittle, "What do you think you're doing?"

I turn back with my best grin, dripping with fake cheerfulness. "Going inside. Guess you didn't notice, but it's a bit cold out here."

She glares like she's about to explode. "As a fellow Elite, you need to help us with our luggage. It's your duty!"

I let out a real, mean chuckle. "Don't think so. I'm pretty sure the guards told you it can't go in. Besides, even if you could, I wouldn't help; it's not my shit."

The girl's face twists like I just spat in her drink. "I am from House Askert! These fools of guards will be stripped of their ranks and whipped for not allowing me to pass!"

I tilt my head, pretending to consider that like it's some sort of revelation. Then I nod. "Cool. Have fun with that. Bye now."

I turn my back again and start walking. She screeches behind me, the sound clawing against the stone walls.

"Stop! I didn't say you could go!"

I turn one last time, raising my eyebrows, barely suppressing my own laughter. Internally, I'm savoring how she's playing the role of spoiled brat to absolute perfection. If this is the competition, I'm not worried. Not worried at all.

"Oh," I say, tone light. "Wasn't aware I needed your permission."

The girl's face twists with indignation, lips trembling between a sneer and some aristocratic threat she hasn't quite decided on yet.

But before she can get the words out, one of the guys steps forward. He's broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, the type who probably flexes in front of mirrors when no one's watching. His lips curl with indignation like I've just pissed on his estate.

"You dare speak that way to us?" he snaps. "You show shocking disrespect" fists clenching at his sides. "State your name and lineage. I demand to know which house bred such insolence."

I pause mid-step and glance over my shoulder. "No thanks," I say, my voice tinged with mockery. "I'd rather not be associated with this circus."

There's a beat of stunned silence, just long enough for the insult to sink in. I give them a lazy smile and mocking salute before turning back toward the stupid building, already imagining how warm the inside must be. But of course, they can't let it go.

A ripple of offense goes through the group, their outrage ripening into actual anger. The tall boy's eyes narrow dangerously, jaw working as he tries to decide if he's allowed to hit me or just wishes he could. "I am Alaster Fereth, son of Lord Fereth...."

"Congrats," I cut him off, flashing a lopsided grin. "Must be exhausting, introducing your family tree every time you meet someone new."

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A quiet laugh snorts out slightly behind me from one of the guards. The group of Elites shift and mutter, not taking kindly to my words, apparently. I take another step for the doors, but Alaster plants his feet.

"I formally challenge you to a duel," he says sharply, chin raised high. "By Elite Custom, you will answer for your disrespect here and now."

The guards just exchange looks; one sighs, and the other pinches the bridge of his nose like he's seen this show too many times and wishes it would end already.

Is this dude for real? I blink, then let out a low laugh. ""A duel?" I blink at him, half amused, half irritated. "Over what, exactly? Your bruised pride? Or the fact no one here is impressed by the number of trunks you dragged along like a group of travelling clowns?"

He flushes red, hands curled into fists. "By Elite law, you cannot refuse!"

I slip my hand from my pocket, giving the tiniest of bows. "Well, I wouldn't want to break the rules on my first day.

The others cluster behind him, a mix of hope and anger on their faces. I roll my shoulders and square up, unable to stop the smirk curling at the corner of my mouth. If nothing else, this place promises to be entertaining.

One of the guards raises a hand between us, voice calm but firm, maybe finally realizing where he was. "With this many civilians around, perhaps it'd be wiser to postpone. You will both be taken to the academy today. Settle your differences there, where..."

"I demand satisfaction now," the Alaster snaps, voice laced with ire. "He insulted not only me but also a daughter of House Askert. I will not be made a fool of in public."

The guard sighs, muttering something under his breath. Then he straightens and begins shouting, loud and practiced. "Clear the area! A challenge has been made—a clash between Awakened Elites is incoming! Civilians must vacate the platform immediately!" This draws attention, and soon other train station guards are herding civilians away. The porters, already half-dead from exhaustion, scatter like startled birds, leaving their carts and hustling well out of the way.

His partner doesn't waste time; he marches up the steps toward the building, pushing open the doors with a gust of cold air. I watch him go, guessing by the stiff way he walks that he means to fetch someone from the academy staff. An "incident" this early isn't something they'll want to ignore, no matter how bored they act. Good call, to be honest.

I grin and shift my weight onto one foot, watching the little pack of black-robed brats fan out around Alaster. They're all shouting now, their voices shrill with encouragement and taunts as he shrugs off his black robe, tossing it to a waiting friend like he's starring in some grand drama. His friends are already hyping him up, "Crush him!" and "Cut him down, Alaster!" as he draws his sword with a practiced flourish, the steel catching what weak sunlight filters in from above.

I just stand there, hands back in my pockets, barely glancing at the blade. I squint at him, unimpressed, and catch the way the whole group bristles as if they could not believe it—how dare I not take even a shred of this seriously?

Alaster's cheeks burn scarlet. His voice trembles between fury and disbelief. "How dare you? Is there no limit to your disrespect? Draw your blade, coward! Draw your sword and fight like a man!"

I curl my lip into a cruel little smirk. "I don't need to draw for trash."