The Storm

  Few sights commanded as much awe as Castle Centinel.

  Its towering sixty foot walls were carved from stone and crowned in glimmering gold. Looking straight up from the entranceway below, Damian couldn’t help but be in awe of its imposing presence. A massive fortress turned into a palace, as the seat of Solaran rule. Spotlights traced the crowd, their beams cutting through the night as watchful sentries surveyed the streets, the city below, and the black waters beyond.

  But the most present statement of glamour was the thirty-foot gates, gilded in gold and crimson, bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Solaran sun. Thrown open wide, they stood like a triumphant arch, welcoming the swelling crowds into the heart of the castle.

  It used to be that these rallies were much more extravagant affairs.

  Before the war, these celebrations stretched on for an entire week, drawing hundreds of thousands from every Corps of Solar. The pounding of boots echoed for miles as leaders delivered fiery speeches to a sea of perfectly aligned soldiers. Music filled the air, chants thundered in unison, and the streets became a stage for coordinated marches and breathtaking displays of magic. Brand new juggernauts and other new war machines rolled past the crowds in an awe-inspiring procession. To witness such coordination on such an immense scale was nothing short of breathtaking. It was a display of power, order, and military might that could stir patriotic pride even in the most cynical of Solaran citizens.

  Though, ever since the war began, hosting such a grand spectacle had become impractical. Every available resource and ounce of attention was funneled into the war effort. Instead, the celebrations were scaled down to something more manageable.

  By day, a modest parade wound its way through the city, and as dusk fell, an exclusive version of the rally was held within the castle walls, its broadcast reaching the entire nation. The grandeur of Castle Centinel helped maintain a sense of occasion, but honestly everyone knew it was because the enclosed venue conveniently masked just how much smaller the rally had become.

  "Alright, Cadets—formations!" barked the Drill Sergeant as the students snapped into their assigned positions. "Let’s show everyone just how disciplined Providencia students are."

  Damian hated this part. Falling in line, marching in perfect step—like little toy soldiers on display. It was one thing to parade the first-years around, but forcing a group of third-years—most of whom were probably more competent than half the adults present—to perform for self-important officers and doting middle aged mothers? It was humiliating.

  Lately, Damian found he wasn’t all that fond of attention, and the condescending smiles from the audience only made the whole thing worse. But stepping out of line had consequences, and after years of drilling, the marching had become second nature. The Drill Sergeant had beaten the routines into them so thoroughly that it was basically muscle memory at this point..

  What made it even more infuriating? None of the other guests even pretended to follow proper decorum.

  Not that Damian expected them to. Ever since the event had become exclusive, it had attracted high-ranking officers who treated attendance like some kind of status symbol. He had seen plenty of smug high ranking parents and instructors boasting about their invitations as if it were undeniable proof of their importance. People like that wouldn’t be caught dead learning to march like a real soldier. Getting them all to wear official uniforms was probably hard enough.

  If he was being honest, even his own class wasn’t much different. There was probably a reason they had been chosen over the others. While Damian doubted his father cared about such trivial matters, General Dominique on the other hand—He was exactly the type to pull a few strings when it suited him. So it wasn’t hard to believe he had made a few calls to let Vera attend—or perhaps, more accurately, to force her to.

  As they passed through the sturdy metal gates and into the large, open courtyard, the central palace came into full view. It stood tall at the heart of the fortress, its towering red roofs reaching skyward as if trying to pierce the heavens.

  Large crimson banners draped across the palace’s stone walls and the surrounding fortifications in typical Solaran fashion, adding a bit of extra color against the gray stone.

  At the palace entrance, lay a grand entrance up a flight of stairs. However at the moment, the space before it had been cleared, covered up with a large wooden stage that overlooked the cobblestone courtyard now filling up with crowds of uniformed spectators.

  They weren’t the rigid marching squares of old rallies, neatly arranged like a human checkerboard, but Solarans were an orderly bunch. The crowds quickly sorted themselves into formations that, while less stringent, still echoed the structure of past gatherings.

  Each group was organized by divisions, each gathered around a banner displaying their official emblem, with the military divisions standing front and center. The Home Guard, the Expedition Corps, and the Navy were positioned where the cameras could capture them in full display. Behind them stood the doctors of the Medical Corps, the scientists of the Research Division, and, perhaps the most obese of the lot, the Business Corps.

  Damian’s group was, of course, led to the Education Corps section, where honored teachers and school officials represented their institutions. They weren’t the only class of students in attendance, but as members of the nation’s most prestigious academy, they were made to stand at the front—in clear view of the cameras, much to Damian’s dismay.

  As they settled in, Damian glanced toward the Intelligence Corps section on the opposite side, hoping to spot Dante amongst the crowd. But, just as his friend had said earlier, it seemed he wasn’t able to make it after all.

  “See anything?”

  The voice beside him made Damian flinch, and he groaned inwardly as he remembered—to his dismay—Leon was stationed right next to him.

  “See what?”

  “The Aces! Isn’t that what you’re looking for?”

  Caught up in his irritation with the crowds and the tedious marching, Damian had nearly forgotten—this was one of the only places where someone could actually see multiple Aces in one spot. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one interested. Across the formation, heads swiveled like paranoid prairie dogs, as the students scanned the crowd. It was almost as if there were an unspoken competition to spot one first. And before he even realized it, Damian found himself drawn into the game.

  Scanning the crowd, Damian struggled just as much as anyone else to spot someone of true significance. Maybe there were silver-spoon Aces lurking around—the kind of business moguls and privileged old politicians who had been handed the title for clout, as was popular before the war started up again. But no one really recognized or cared about them.

  After all, being an Ace was more than just a title. No, the Aces that mattered were leaders, warriors, pioneers, and inventors. People who actually did something.

  Even scanning the rear of the stage, where the guests of honor had begun to gather, Damian spotted no Aces—just a handful of the High Command generals.

  The most eye-catching among them was Vera’s father, General Ingrum Dominique, a large, broad-shouldered man with a bushy gray-and-brown beard and a booming presence to match. His flamboyant energy filled any room he entered, just as much as his hearty laugh, which even now echoed through the crowd. His not-insignificant gut shaking with amusement as he talked with those around him—no doubt at one of his own jokes.

  The head of one of Solar’s oldest and most renowned military families, General Dominique embodied the entitled aristocracy that defined Solar’s elite. Yet, despite this, he always managed to project a jovial, almost infectious charisma that made him difficult for Damian to truly dislike. Supposedly, he had been a fierce fighter in his younger years, but he was far better known for commanding Aces like The Silver Fox than for ever being one himself.

  Standing near General Dominique was General Salazar of the Intelligence Corps, Dante’s Commanding Officer—a thin-faced, grim-looking man with a sharp, angular cheek marred by a long scar. His features seemed permanently set into a judgmental scowl, his cold gaze constantly dissecting everyone and everything around him.

  Damian had only met him a handful of times, but every encounter left his skin crawling—something about Salazar’s presence always felt off. And that opinion wasn’t helped by the fact that while he stood here, enjoying the rally, while Dante was probably off somewhere running errands at his command.

  A sharp kick to his heel jolted Damian out of his search, and he spun around to find Vera glaring at him, her eyes burning with urgency.

  “Did you find something?” she said in a hushed voice too loud to actually be called a whisp.

  “Find what?”

  Vera huffed. “What we talked about!”

  Damian shot a glance at the Drill Instructor and motioned for Vera to lower her voice.

  “Really? Right now? There are better times to talk about this. You’re going to get us in trouble.”

  "Don’t tell me you chickened out. You better have brought something, or I swear, if my party flops because of you—I’ll make sure you regret it."

  "A party. And you didn’t invite your big brother?"

  Both of them nearly jumped at the sudden voice—unexpected yet unmistakably familiar. Just then, a chorus of excited shrieks erupted from the class as heads snapped around in unison at the man who just snuck up behind the class.

  Ignacio Dominique. The Crimson Rocket.

  Vera’s dashingly handsome older brother and one of Solar’s fastest-rising Aces.

  Even the staunch, stone-faced Drill Instructor—who could normally silence a room with just a glare—suddenly found herself completely overwhelmed as the girls of the class broke rank swarmed Ignacio, their voices overlapping over each other in a storm of admiration and giddy excitement.

  With his tousled amber hair, piercing dark eyes, and an athletic build straight out of a recruitment poster, made all the more striking by his sleek, stylish airman's uniform, Ignacio had become the nation’s golden boy—especially among its young women.

  To top that off, Ignacio had a particularly flashy way of fighting. He propelled himself through the air with his two custom-built rocket sluggers, streaking across the battlefield in an instant—a blaze of fire and speed, arriving to save the day in a spectacle of heat and explosions.

  Once, a bomber formation was ambushed, heavy flak tearing through the sky, ripping down Airobirds left and right. The pilots fought to stay in formation, struggled to dodge through the flak—until, all at once, the barrage began to slow. Before it stopped altogether.

  When they looked down, the worried pilots saw a flaming streak darted across the battlefield below. Racing from one anti-air battery to the next, explosions blooming in its wake, guns falling silent before they could even turn to react. In seconds, the skies were clear, saving countless solaran aviator's lives.

  At least, if the comic Damian read was to be believed.

  Since leaving the academy, Ignacio’s rise has been meteoric. Despite his reputation as a reckless hotshot, his skill was undeniable. In fact, many have claimed he was the next in line to inherit the title of Hero of Solar.

  Personally, Damian had known Ignacio long before he was a war hero—back when he was just Vera’s overbearing older brother. And honestly, Damian had always found him a bit full of himself. He still couldn’t understand how anyone actually believed someone like Ignacio could ever replace a man like his father.

  But even Damian had to admit—for all his arrogance, he was certainly talented, and knew Ignacio was every bit worthy of the title of Ace.

  "Woah, woah, calm down, everyone! I’m not going anywhere." Ignacio laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender as girls crowded him. "I just wanted to say hi to my little sis. I’ll sign as many autographs as you want—after the show."

  As he sidestepped through the throng of eager fans, he finally reached Vera’s orbit—and immediately spotted Damian. A grin spread across his face as he reached out, ruffling Damian’s hair with a firm hand.

  "Oh, and look at that—the Fox’s little pup is here too." Ignacio smirked. "Should’ve known. You two were always tied at the hip."

  Damian barely had time to scowl before Vera beat him to it, slapping Ignacio’s hand away with a sharp glare.

  "Stop treating us like kids! You have no idea what you’re talking about. And seriously—can you not be the center of attention for two seconds?"

  "What’s wrong with that?" Ignacio replied, barely glancing over, his attention locked on the mob of girls eagerly thrusting anything they could find toward him for an autograph. "It’s only natural that people want to show their appreciation for the heroes fighting to protect the homeland. Isn’t that right, ladies?"

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  He mimicked the grandiose tone of a newsreel announcer, earning a chorus of giggles from the crowd, the girls soaking up every bit of attention he gave them.

  "Don’t worry," he added with a teasing grin. "Maybe one day you’ll have your own fans too. Then you’ll finally understand the joy of appreciation."

  "Appreciation?" Vera scoffed, arms crossing as she shot him a glare. "Seems pretty convenient that your version of appreciation always involves being surrounded by fawning women."

  She turned her glare on the rest of the girls, looking just as disappointed in her classmates as she was in her brother.

  "What’s this about being surrounded by fawning women?"

  A new voice cut through the chatter—smooth, confident, unmistakably feminine.

  Another wave of excitement rippled through the class. This time, it was the boys' turn to swoon, murmurs and hushed chuckle spreading like wildfire.

  Elera Stirling. The Rose Valkyrie.

  A perfect merger of elegance and confidence, her flowing blonde hair and striking blue eyes made her impossible to miss among the darker Solaran features. She wore a custom pink and gold officer’s uniform, complemented by a small, stylish cape that billowed from her shoulder. Even Damian, who cared far more about her prowess as an Ace than her looks, couldn’t help but stare a bit. Seeing the legendary heroine in person for the first time was… mesmerizing.

  They say she earned her wings after a river crossing went horribly wrong. The platoon she was attached to had been ambushed and cut off, pounded relentlessly by wave after wave of heavy artillery. Communications went silent. By dawn, they were presumed wiped out.

  When reinforcements finally crossed the river the next day, their worst fears seemed confirmed as they found bodies lined up on the ground. But as they moved closer, they saw the truth—although injured, there was not a single actual death among them.

  And standing amidst it all, tending to each and every soldier at once, was a lone, angelic figure. Rose petals drifted through the air, shimmering with healing magic as she moved between the injured. Earning her the reputation as Solar’s greatest combat medic.

  As Elera approached, Ignacio’s usual easygoing charisma seemed to falter. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead as he hastily replied, "Oh, it’s nothing. Just Vera being her usual bratty self. You know how little sisters can be."

  "Oh, is that all?" Elera replied, her angelic voice and smile soft yet laced with quiet suspicion. "Well, it’s nice to see you again, Vera. As well as the rest of you fine young cadets."

  This caught Damian off guard. He had known Ignacio for quite some time, having visited Vera’s home often. And in all that time, he had never seen him rattled. Ignacio had always been the overbearing older brother type—full of loud confidence, rough horseplay, and an endless supply of unwelcome noogies, wrestling moves, or practical jokes. He had always been something of a playboy too, seemingly escorted by a different girl every time Damian saw him. But for all his arrogance, it was rare—almost unheard of—to see him flustered.

  A fact Vera clearly noticed, if the mischievous smirk on her face was any indication.

  "Nice to see you again too, Elera," she said, voice dripping with feigned innocence. "You know, there’s something different about you two. Nothing interesting happened while you were deployed, did it?"

  Ignacio’s blush deepened instantly. "What! No, nothing happened. Just the usual heroic Ace stuff."

  "Oh, nothing?" Elera repeated, her radiant smile never wavering—yet somehow, her tone carried just enough accusation to make Ignacio visibly squirm.

  "I mean, not nothing, but, well… ugh." His words fumbled as he glanced around in desperation, searching for an escape. Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up with relief.

  "Oh, hey! Finn! Luke! Stop lurking in the shadows and say hi to the cadets!"

  At that, two more figures reluctantly stepped into the commotion. One of them—a lanky young man with a long, slim frame, draped in a white cloak—moved with a quiet unease of someone who preferred to not attract attention. His posture was hunched, as if trying to shrink into the background, yet under his raven-dark hair, a pair of piercing eyes lingered on some unknown distance, detached from the energy around him.

  Damian recognized him too though. Though he was certainly less charismatic as his comic counterpart.

  Finnegan Rivers. The Cerulean Sniper.

  He looked entirely out of place here—his reserved demeanor and introspective gaze a stark contrast to the vibrant excitement swirling around him. And yet, his accomplishments were impossible to ignore.

  They say that during the Treviet winter advance, he had stopped an entire division single-handedly. His shots came from nowhere and everywhere, his position impossible to trace. Like a ghost, he struck without warning—again and again—picking off men one by one, only to vanish back into the snow and leave them chasing decoys.

  For three nights, he hunted them. Officers fell first, throwing the troops into chaos and disarray. Panic set in. By the time the third night ended, the Treviet had abandoned the offensive altogether, paralyzed by the fear that unseen enemies lurked in every shadow.

  The other person to approach was a young man who looked hardly older than the cadets, his red and yellow vest stained with grease and soot and bearing several odd gadgets.

  Unlike the others, he seemed completely oblivious to the commotion around him, absentmindedly trailing behind while lost in his own world. His focus was locked onto a handheld metal device, its inner workings exposed as he deftly tinkered, switching between screwdrivers and wrenches from his hefty tool belt. Every so often, he paused to adjust the wire-frame glasses perched on his nose before resuming his work.

  It didn’t take a genius to recognize him.

  Lucas Fulgor. The Electrum Technomancer.

  An Ace prodigy inventor, renowned for deploying advanced weapons and gadgets of his own design on the battlefield. Like the others, he had a tale of heroism as well—though his wasn’t earned through sheer willpower or brute force, but through ingenuity.

  During a Treviet armored assault, a wave of Juggernauts rumbled across the field, bearing down on a meager trenchline. The soldiers inside stood no chance—their defenses nothing but an afterthought against the steel behemoths.

  But then, as the machines pressed forward, the earth itself seemed to spark to life.

  A surge of electricity ripped through the battlefield, leaping from one armored giant to the next. The custom built mines Lucas had planted the night before activated all at once, sending arcs of lightning crawling over the hulking war machines. One by one, the Juggernauts shuddered, their controls dead, their mighty weapons reduced to little more than scrap metal.

  The assault ground to a halt. Their crews, realizing they were now nothing more than sitting targets, abandoned their vehicles and fled—leaving behind over twenty immobilized Juggernauts. The defenders, once certain of their impending doom, suddenly found themselves in possession of an entire platoon of barely used juggernauts.

  And Lucas Fulgor? He never even needed to leave his dugout.

  "What in the world are you two doing?" Ignacio asked, crossing his arms. "You’ve got an entire crowd of people excited to see you, and you don’t even look like you want to be here."

  "I don’t really do well in crowds. Too much going on," Finnegan replied, his voice reluctant.

  "Well, you can’t always be hiding in some bush or tree somewhere," Ignacio said with a smirk. "But if it helps, I can grab a couple of leaves to throw on you. Might make you feel more at home."

  "And why are we even wasting our time here?" Lucas muttered, still absorbed in his tinkering. "I’d rather be in the workshop, not standing around playing mascot."

  "Well, sometimes being an Ace is about more than just fighting," Elera interjected smoothly. "It’s also our duty to keep up the spirits of the people and assure them they are protected."

  "They’d probably feel a lot safer if we were back at the front actually winning this war, wouldn’t they?" Lucas shot back, barely glancing up.

  Elera sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead, seemingly all too familiar with trying to deal with the idiosyncrasies of the group. “Well can you at least act like you care a little so you don’t embarrass us on stage.”

  "He’s right though," Vera interrupted, effortlessly inserting herself into the Aces’ conversation. "Father and the other adults should be focusing on the war, not throwing some grand party just to stroke their own egos."

  Damian scoffed under his breath at that, considering how much effort she was putting into her own upcoming party.

  Elera didn’t bother arguing—just let out a weary sigh and shifted her attention to Lucas and his latest gadget. "Give me that!" she said, snatching it from his hands with the authority of a disapproving mother.

  "Hey! I was working on that! What gives?" Lucas protested, finally looking up.

  "Now is not the time for tinkering with new gadgets. The last thing we need is for you to set yet another fire in the middle of a crowded castle."

  "Ignacio and Finn get to keep all their stuff," he grumbled, motioning toward Ignacio’s two large, ornate sluggers strapped to his back and Finnegan’s long-scoped sniper slugger.

  "They need theirs for the performance. You, on the other hand, have plenty of gear that we actually know works."

  Lucas responded with nothing more than a click of his tongue and a begrudging cross of his arms.

  “Well, looks like you four are still getting along well.”

  Now came yet another new voice entering the conversation. Though this was a voice Damian hadn’t needed to even look to recognize. In fact anyone in the country could probably recognize this voice from sound alone.

  The Silver Fox had arrived.

  For all the noise and excitement that had filled the space just moments before, the instant he stepped into their midst, a hush fell over the class. There were no girlish squeals, no frantic murmurs of excitement, no eager clamor like the others had received. Instead, a stillness spread through the crowd, broken only by the gasps from those who had just realized who stood before them.

  Because this wasn’t just an Ace.

  He was the Ace.

  Seeing him in person—this close, this real—was a moment most would never experience again.

  Damian couldn’t blame them. Watching his father work his magic in front of a crowd was like watching an artist at work. If you didn’t know better, you might think he was using one of his illusions. Because the tired, battle-worn man Damian had spoken to just the other night was Nowhere to be seen.

  In his place stood a figure radiating warmth and effortless confidence, his presence commanding yet utterly at ease. A soft, easy smile rested on his face, the kind that could break through any tension, and inspire trust from anyone.

  But this was no illusion. This was the true essence of Dalten Vearez—a man who seemed far more at ease standing before a class of wide-eyed cadets than on any battlefield.

  The only one who didn’t seem particularly impressed was Ignacio. Never one to enjoy being overshadowed, he was the first to break the silence.

  “Well, looks like the old man finally showed up. I was starting to think you might not make it. Been hearing you’ve been slowing down lately.”

  Despite the passive-aggressive remark, Dalten’s warm smile remained unshaken and responded with nothing but sincerity.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we have capable soldiers like you to pick up my slack.”

  Ignacio’s smugness was short-lived as Elera, unimpressed with his attitude, delivered a quick jab to his side. Stepping forward, she greeted Dalten properly.

  “It’s good to see you again, sir. An honor, as always.”

  Dalten chuckled, casting a knowing glance at Elera, fully aware of Ignacio’s personality. Then, shifting his focus to the students, he addressed them with an easy warmth.

  “And how is everyone doing today? I’m sure our Aces here will give you quite the show, so just bear with the boring speeches. Us adults do love the sound of our own voices,” he joked, earning a few light chuckles.

  Then, with a glance over the young cadets, he added, “But truly, you all look like a capable bunch. It seems Solar will have a bright future with young soldiers like you at the helm.”

  The words may have been corny, but coming from the Silver Fox himself, they carried a weight beyond sentiment. The students’ eyes lit up, their postures unconsciously straightening, as if this was the first real compliment they had ever received in their lives.

  It was at this point that Damian took notice of Leon, who had previously seemingly lost all courage to approach the Aces after being trampled by the earlier stampede of fangirls.

  But it seemed the sight of The Silver Fox himself had finally given Leon the push he needed. Now, he stood off to the side, quietly hyping himself up like a team before a Prismball match.

  With the elegance of a jittering robot, he marched forward and practically yanked Dalten’s hand into an overly aggressive handshake.

  Damian could only watch—and cringe.

  “Pleasure to meet you, General! I’m a close friend of Damian’s. Pretty much best friends. Leon Danero is the name—Of the Danero lineage, of course. I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

  “Yes, I believe I’ve worked with your father several times in the past, and I recall meeting a few of your siblings as well.”

  “Yes, yes, well, I—Leon—” he said, putting far too much emphasis on his name, clearly eager to separate himself from his many siblings, “—just wanted to let you know that since I am a friend of your son and, by extension, his family, should you ever need an up-and-coming business officer to assist you in any way, it would be my pleasure as your son’s best friend to be seen associa— I mean, to help your family in any way. Me. Leon Danero.”

  Damian had expected worse. Honestly, this was remarkably tame for Leon’s usual eagerness to schmooze. Even he seemed to falter under the weight of the Silver Fox’s presence.

  “Ah, well, Leon," Dalten said warmly, "thank you for being such a good friend to my son. It must be difficult to stand out in such a busy family. If you ever feel like you need a place that’s a bit less busy, you’re always welcome to visit our home.”

  The genuine response seemed to knock Leon completely off balance. For a moment, he simply stood there, blinking, before his face flushed red.

  “Oh… um, yes. Sure. Thank you, sir.”

  He then turned on his heel and marched stiffly back to Damian’s side, staring straight ahead as if unable to meet his eyes.

  “It seems I will be spending some time at your house. ‘Hanging out.’”

  “Oh… Great.” Damian muttered, rolling his eyes, already lamenting that his father may have just saddled him with yet another ‘friend’ that would be the bane of his existence.

  "Must you all be so easily distracted?"

  The sharp voice cut through the ever-growing crowd, drawing far less excitement than the previous arrivals. General Salazar had approached, his presence met with neither fanfare nor enthusiasm.

  Elera was quick to smooth things over. "Apologies, General. We were just greeting the young cadets on our way to the stage."

  "Yes, well, you will have plenty of time for that afterward. He would like to begin now."

  "Don’t worry, Victor, we’re coming," Dalten said with an easygoing smile. "Not everything has to run like clockwork. I was just saying hi to my son’s class."

  "Ah, yes. The boy. This is him, correct?" Salazar asked, his cold gaze landing on Damian.

  "My son, Victor," Dalten corrected, the warmth in his voice cooling ever so slightly. "Yes, this is my son." There was a tinge of irritation beneath his otherwise polite tone.

  "Of course. I’m not sure if you remember me, boy?" Salazar continued, his tone clinical. "But I assisted your father during that unfortunate illness when you were an infant. You don’t still have any... lingering effects, do you?"

  "No, sir," Damian replied as respectfully as he could. "At least, nothing I’ve noticed."

  "Good, good," Salazar nodded. "Then it seems our research proved useful after all. A pleasure to see you’ve grown into a fine young soldier. I’m sure you’ll be instrumental in this nation’s future, like all these fine men and women." His words were polished, rehearsed, lacking the sincerity of Dalten’s earlier address. He barely acknowledged the cadets as he motioned to the Aces. "Now, shall we?"

  Dalten turned to Damian, his warmth returning. "Well, I’ll be heading up." Then, addressing the class with a broad smile, he added, "I hope you all have fun. Enjoy your night."

  As Dalten and the Aces made their way toward the stage, the students cheerfully waved their goodbyes.

  Damian watched them go, only to feel Vera nudge his shoulder.

  "Since when were you sick?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  Damian shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Some heart thing when I was really little. It was no big deal. I’ve been fine ever since."

  She still seemed suspicious. She always acted like she knew everything about him, but it seems there was still a bit not even she knew.

  Either way, Damian returned to his spot with the rest of the class, trying to get as comfortable as possible in the awkward position they were all forced to stand in while waiting for the show to start.