The Essence Flow-Chapter 142: A Blade ON The Table

The Essence Flow-Chapter 142: A Blade ON The Table

The cafeteria's warm bustle enveloped them as they entered—clattering trays, sizzling griddles, and the rich aroma of spiced porridge filling the air. Len sat poised at their usual table, two steaming breakfast plates arranged with military precision. Her eyebrows arched when Towan appeared beside Rellie.
"Hey Len. Good morning." Towan's greeting carried across the table, scattering the last of Len's composed expression.
"Oh—hey Towan." Her teacup clinked against its saucer as she recovered. "Good morning to you too." The surprise in her voice was subtle, but Rellie caught it, shooting her a knowing eyebrow raise that made Len's cheeks flush just slightly.
"Did something happen?" Len's fingers tightened around her fork. "You took longer than I expected." The question aimed at Rellie, but—
"There was one dumbass being a jerk to her." Towan slid into the seat opposite Len, his casual tone belying the protective edge beneath.
"Who?" The single syllable came out sharper than intended. Len's spine straightened, her noble upbringing warring with her hatred for class-based cruelty. The porcelain under her fingertips grew dangerously warm.
"Kirvant's heir," Rellie supplied, stirring her tea absently. "I don't know his name exactly."
The memory struck Len like a backhand—the duel, her mercy, his betrayal. Her knuckles whitened around her utensils. "That bastard..." The words dripped with more venom than Towan's earlier outburst, her blue eyes flashing like frozen steel.
"I'll go get my breakfast." Towan pushed back from the table, tactfully noting the absence of a third plate.
Len's manners snapped back into place. "Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't know you were coming—"
"Don't worry!" Towan's grin and thumbs-up were sunshine breaking through storm clouds as he retreated toward the food line.
(At least I found people to spend the morning with.)
The thought warmed him as much as the kitchen's heat.
(Sylra said she was going to train in the mornings, and Elliot wanted to dig deeper into the library.)
He piled his tray high—extra bacon for the table, just in case—contentment settling over him like the golden light streaming through the high windows.
The hum of breakfast chatter formed a protective bubble around their table as Len leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "The Kirvants," she began, tracing the rim of her teacup with a polished fingernail, "are a family of assassins." The words carried the weight of someone reciting well-known history. "Their fighting style focuses on precision and stealth." A derisive snort escaped her. "Though compared to other Houses—like the Aurens—it makes them feel rather...small." Her sapphire eyes flicked meaningfully toward where Sylra often sat, the unspoken comparison hanging between them.
Rellie sipped her tea, the steam curling around her face as she absorbed the information. A single nod acknowledged Len's explanation—equal parts gratitude for the warning and dismissal of the Kirvants' perceived threat.
"Thankfully," Rellie said, setting down her cup with deliberate care, "we got classes divided by the amount of flags we earned during the trial." The slight emphasis on "earned" carried quiet pride.
Len's posture relaxed marginally. "Yeah, and Professor Kaelin seems to be quite good." Her finger absently followed a vein of silver in the marble tabletop—a nervous habit Rellie had come to recognize. "Though I wonder when the private tutoring will be available." The question came out carefully neutral, but the spark in her eyes betrayed her eagerness. Behind them, sunlight caught the duelist trophies lining the cafeteria walls, glinting like promises of future glory.
Len's question hung in the air like the delicate steam rising from their teacups. "Hey Rellie," she began, fingers pausing mid-reach for a pastry, "have you never thought of using an Essentia weapon? Since you can't use Essentia at all." The words carried genuine curiosity, but also the unconscious privilege of someone who'd never wanted for high-quality gear.
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Rellie's laugh was sharp as a knife blade, cutting through the genteel breakfast atmosphere. "Girl," she said, setting down her cup with deliberate control, "I'm from the slums." The words landed heavily between them. "I had to work for a year just to pay the entrance fee." Her crimson eyes locked onto Len's, the unspoken divide between their worlds suddenly palpable. "How do you expect me to afford something as expensive as an Essentia weapon?" A bitter smirk twisted her lips. "Let alone one of good quality."
Len's cheeks flushed with realization. "Oh. Yeah, makes sense." Her fingers fiddled with her napkin, suddenly aware of the gilded silverware at her place setting.
Then—like a shadow given voice—another presence made itself known. "Then...do you need a weapon?"
Sera materialized across from them, her elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her palms. The morning light caught strangely on her black hair, making it seem almost translucent as she studied Rellie with those unreadable mercury eyes. Her sudden appearance was so perfectly timed it might have been staged—had anyone been able to detect her approach.
The dagger slid across the table with a whisper of steel on polished oak, coming to rest precisely before Rellie's teacup. Its hilt—wrapped in black dragonhide—gleamed dully under the cafeteria lights, the blade itself so finely honed it seemed to drink in the surrounding light rather than reflect it.
"Isn't it...yours?" Rellie's fingers hovered above the weapon, her Intent Essentia prickling at the sheer lethality coiled in its simple form.
Sera leaned back, the picture of casual indifference as she twirled her remaining dagger between her fingers like a courtier playing with a quill. "Yeah," she admitted, the blade catching mid-spin to point at Rellie, "but I rarely get the chance to use two." Her smirk widened, that particular brand of confidence that suggested she could disembowel the entire Kirvant bloodline before breakfast and still make it to first period. "Don't worry, I'll be all right with just one."
A silent conversation passed between Len and Rellie—raised eyebrows, slight head tilts—their disbelief hanging palpable in the air.
"What's wrong?" Sera's head cocked like a curious hawk spotting prey. "Is there a problem with it?"
The hilt settled into Rellie's palm as if grown for her grip, the balance perfection itself. "Thank you..." The words came out softer than intended as she tested the weight. The edge caught the light just so, revealing microscopic runes along the steel—forged sharpness so extreme it could part flesh without Essentia enhancement.
(Why does she have such a dangerous weapon?)
The thought slithered through Rellie's mind as her thumb brushed the fuller. The blade hummed faintly, a sleeping predator stirred by touch. Across the table, Sera's smile didn't waver, but something dark flickered behind her mercury eyes—something that said the dagger's history might be far bloodier than its pristine condition suggested.
"Well..." Len's teacup clinked against its saucer, breaking the charged silence. "That solves the problem about you not being able to fight." Her eyes darted between the lethal dagger now in Rellie's possession and Sera's retreating form, the unspoken
"for now"
hanging in the air like the scent of bergamot from their tea.
Towan chose that moment to return, his tray piled precariously high with enough food to feed a small battalion. "Hey, I got my breakfast—" His voice trailed off as he took in the scene—Rellie examining a suspiciously high-quality blade, Len's poorly concealed amusement, and the distinct absence of one silver-haired enigma. He feigned ignorance with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, plopping down beside them.
(How the hell are we supposed to treat her anyway?)
The question had been gnawing at him since her forest intervention.
"I guess it's time I take my leave." Sera rose with the fluid grace of a shadow detaching from darkness. "See you in class, cuties," she purred, fingers fluttering in a mock aristocratic wave to the girls. Then, with deliberate mischief—"See you later, Lord Hound." The title dripped with playful condescension.
"Wha—" Towan's fork clattered onto his plate. Then it hit him—the ridiculous pseudonym he'd given during Len's ball last year. "Wait! That's not my surname!" His protest echoed through the cafeteria, but Sera had already vanished as if swallowed by the morning crowd, leaving only a faint trail of laughter in her wake.
"Lord Hound? Seriously?" Rellie's eyebrow arched high enough to disappear into her bangs, her lips twitching dangerously.
Len finally lost her battle with composure, a giggle escaping as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "That's what he called himself at my ball last year," she explained, shoulders shaking. The memory of Towan attempting noble small talk while clearly out of his depth surfaced with vivid clarity.
Towan groaned, burying his face in his hands as his ears burned crimson. "I was undercover!" The weak defense only sent Len into fresh peals of laughter, while Rellie's smirk promised this particular nickname would haunt him for years to come.

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Chapter 142: A Blade ON The Table