STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE OF FIELDS, FLAMES, AND THE APPLE THAT DIDN'T FALL

"She just silenced them with one arrow—"

Behind the crowd, I caught a glimpse of Bianchi. Still. Arms crossed. Watching.

But something was... off.

Her expression wasn't anger. Not fully. It was calculation.

"Alright," the instructor finally barked, storming onto the field like this was salvageable. "Boys, fencing drills. Girls, archery range. Let's go."

"You know how to shoot arrows?" Jodie whispered as we shuffled to the edge of the field.

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Celestine. It's part of training."

Xylia blinked. "What kind of school is that?"

"The kind that prepares us for war."

That silenced the whole line.

One kid actually took a step back. "Celestine Ardent Academy really hides a lot."

Good. Let them think that.

Bianchi went first. Of course. She lined up, drew, and let loose. Two bullseye. Three misses. And yet the crowd clapped like she'd just shot through moving fire.

"She's good," Jodie admitted.

"She's practiced," I corrected, watching her posture. It wasn't confidence in her shot—it was precision. Like every move was rehearsed for maximum applause.

My turn.

I stepped forward. Fingers grazing the bowstring.

Deliberately, I missed the first two shots. Mocking laughter. Scoffs.

"Guess war school didn't teach her everything," Bianchi muttered from behind me.

Xylia hissed. "I will throw my shoe."

"Let her play," I said calmly.

Next two arrows? Bullseye. Clean. Center.

Silence.

Until—

"WAIT." Xythe's voice again.

Why did I even expect peace?

He marched to the side. Dragged Saichel with him. Grabbed an apple from a snack vendor. And—yes, seriously—balanced it on Saichel's head in front of the target.

"That is not protocol!" the teacher yelled. "You could injure—"

"Relax, Teach," Xythe said lazily. "Watch closely."

He turned to me. "Ari. Fire."

I stared at him.

"Absolutely not."

"Trust me."

"You're both insane."

"You already knew that."

Ugh. Fine.

I raised the bow.

Exhaled.

Fired.

Thump.

The arrow cleaved cleanly through the apple. Didn't touch Saichel. He didn't even flinch. The crowd exploded.

Screams. Cheers. Phones recording.

"SHE HIT IT—"

"They're actually assassins—"

"Did she train in the mountains??"

Just before the teacher could scream again, another notification pinged across every screen.

Bold. Crimson. Official seal.

📢 NOTICE FROM THE HIGH CHAMBER:
Effective immediately, the suspension of President Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega is hereby lifted. All privileges, duties, and jurisdiction are fully reinstated.

The courtyard froze.

No one spoke for three solid seconds.

Then—

📢 SECOND NOTICE — FROM THE OFFICE OF THE HEADMASTER:
Arcanum Festival will resume effective tomorrow. All prior event stalls, academic counters, and activity booths are to be reactivated under Festival Clause 17-B.

Chaos.

Students screamed.

Phones were in the air.

"KHAIZER IS BACK—"

"THE FESTIVAL'S ON?!"

"WAIT—FESTIVAL CLAUSE 17-B???"

The training field became noise incarnate.

I just stood still. Didn't say anything. Didn't move. But I turned—toward Sovereign Court, where I knew exactly who was watching.

And whispered under my breath:

"Took you long enough."

–

From the highest floor of Sovereign Court, he heard her.

Not the words, not exactly. But the tone. The challenge threaded in calm. The relief buried beneath the mockery. It was always like that with her—layers beneath layers, and he had learned to listen to the ones that weren't said out loud.

Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega didn't move from the window. The world below was roaring. Phones flashing. Students chanting his name like it was gospel returned.

But his eyes? His eyes were only on her.

The girl in black sleeves and sharp aim. The one who just split an apple in front of two Ardent Court members and didn't even smirk after doing it.

She didn't gloat.
Didn't bow.
Didn't break character.

She just stood there.

Unmoved. Unbothered. Unforgiving.

"She didn't even blink," he murmured.

And then, softer—so soft the wind almost took it before the walls could keep it:

"I'm here now, Riyee."