Chapter 589
Chapter 588: The Unveiling
Morning came with a quiet that did nothing to ease the tension.
If anything, it made it worse.
The compound was awake earlier than usual, though no one had truly slept. The air carried something sharp—anticipation laced with dread—and it clung to every corner, every breath, every step taken across the snow-dusted paths.
It was the day.
The results would be posted today.
Sophia didn’t linger.
The moment she finished dressing, she turned toward Orion, who was still half-reclined against the headboard, watching her with a look that was far too calm for the weight of the day.
She crossed the room in quick steps, leaned down, and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.
“I’ll be with my friends,” she said, already pulling away.
Orion blinked.
Then frowned.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, pushing himself up slightly. “Just like that p>
Sophia nodded without hesitation, already reaching for the door.
“Yes p>
Orion stared at her.
Sophia paused at the door.
She turned back, considered him for exactly half a second.
“Orion, for now, my friends are more important than you, and we can have some fun after the results have been seen,” she told him.
And then she waved him off like he was the one being unreasonable and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Orion stared at the door as he heard her move through the house, then open the door leading out of the house and step into the compound.
Silence stretched as Orion stared in disbelief.
*I don’t know how I feel about that,*Noctis muttered.
“Me too,” Orion admitted.
By the time Orion stepped out into the compound, the tension had already fully settled into the air.
It was visible now—perhaps even palpable.
People moved, but not casually. Conversations happened, but they were tighter, shorter. Eyes lingered too long. Hands fidgeted.
Everyone knew where they were supposed to be, and no one lingered around. They all moved toward the training grounds.
When Orion arrived, the place was already full.
Trainees stood scattered across the wide clearing, grouped in clusters—some with their teams, others with family members who had come to witness the outcome. The usual noise of the grounds had been replaced by something quieter, more restrained. Even laughter, when it came, felt forced.
Snow fell lightly over it all.
Orion’s gaze swept through the crowd, searching for Sophia, but someone else found him before he could find her.
“There you are p>
Ronan approached him, hands tucked into his cloak, his expression already shifting into a faint frown.
He glanced behind Orion.
Then back at him.
“You came alone p>
Orion exhaled.
“Yes p>
Ronan’s brows lifted slightly. “Sophia p>
“Decided,” Orion said flatly, “that her friends are more important than I am today p>
There was a beat.
Then Ronan laughed.
“Oh, that’s brutal p>
Orion shot him a look.
“It’s temporary,” he said.
“Of course it is,” Ronan replied, still amused.
A third presence joined them then.
Brynhild.
“I can smell it,” she said without preamble.
Orion glanced at her. “What p>
“Nervousness,” she replied. “And sweat.” Her gaze moved over the gathered trainees. “Even this early in the morning p>
Orion huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m sure that’s because they’re nervous p>
“I know,” Brynhild said simply.
Then she smiled.
Orion’s gaze shifted again, scanning the grounds.
Ethan stood off to one side. Gregory was nearby, arms folded, towering as always, his presence alone enough to keep a certain level of order. Kevin stood further back, quiet and imposing, his expression unreadable.
Orion found Sophia among her friends.
She was in the middle of hugging Dren, her arms wrapped around him tightly as though she could physically transfer reassurance.
Ronan followed his gaze.
“There she is,” he said.
Orion didn’t respond.
“Still think you were the more important one?” Ronan added.
Orion ignored him.
At the center of the training grounds stood the board.
It was large—tall enough that no one could miss it—and completely blank.
No one stood too close to it. Not yet, at least.
That was until Garron stepped forward. His movement immediately drew attention, and all the murmurs stopped as silence washed over everyone.
The trainees instinctively gave him space, parting as he approached.
Garron said nothing. When he got to the front of the board, he simply walked back and forth—slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Orion watched, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes.
“He’s enjoying this,” Ronan muttered.
“Very much,” Orion agreed.
“What’s going on?” Brynhild asked. “I know Garron is here, but p>
“He’s in front of the board, just walking back and forth without touching it,” Orion told her.
“He’s definitely doing it on purpose,” Ronan added.
Garron continued pacing.
The silence stretched, and tension coiled tighter.
Some trainees shifted their weight.
Others stared at the board like it might reveal something if they looked hard enough.
It didn’t.
Ronan leaned slightly toward Orion and Brynhild.
“Were we this tense?” he asked. “When we were getting our results p>
Brynhild snorted softly.
“You two?” she said. “You were worse p>
Ronan blinked. “Worse p>
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “But you were not concerned about your results—only mine p>
Orion smiled at the memory. “That is true p>
Ronan huffed a quiet laugh. “I never thought our tension could compete with these guys, but… yeah, I think it was worse p>
Brynhild laughed.
At the board, Garron finally stopped pacing.
He stepped closer and placed a hand against the bottom.
And then… nothing.
He simply stood there and stared at the board.
Whispers broke out almost immediately.
“What is he doing—” “Why isn’t it changing?” “Is something wrong?” “Where are the results p>
The tension spiked.
Someone laughed nervously.
Someone else shushed them.
A woman near the back clasped her hands together, lips moving in silent prayer. Another trainee’s mother gripped her partner’s arm so tightly her knuckles went white.
Garron didn’t move or acknowledge them. He just waited patiently.
Orion exhaled through his nose.
“He’s dragging this out,” he murmured.
Brynhild’s lips twitched.
Garron finally pressed on a section of the wood that sank inward.
Then a clacking sound was heard.
It echoed across the clearing.
Every head snapped toward the board.
Another sound followed.
Wood shifting.
Locking into place.
In the blink of an eye, the board transformed.
Where there had been nothing, now there were names.
Rows upon rows.
Numbers beside them—points acquired during the test.
For a single heartbeat, no one moved. It was like they were in shock at seeing the results.
Then it broke.
The trainees surged forward.
Not in chaos—but close enough.
Boots crunched against snow as they pushed toward the board, eyes wide, breaths quick, voices rising over one another.
“My name—where—” “I can’t see—move—” “Did you find yours?” “What did you get p>
Families followed more slowly, anxiety written across every face.
Some prayed.
Some held hands.
Some just stared, frozen in place.
Orion didn’t move. Neither did Ronan. Nor Brynhild. They just watched quietly.
Ronan let out a quiet breath beside him.
He nudged Orion lightly with his elbow.
Orion glanced at him.
Ronan tilted his head toward the crowd of trainees, a faint laugh slipping into his voice.
“What’s that?” he asked.