The wind that slipped through the dormitory windows carried the scent of stormglass — charged, metallic, almost alive.
Iblis stood before the open pane, his reflection fractured by the faint shimmer of leylight outside.
Below, the fields of Aetherion glowed with nocturnal training — arcs of fire and lightning, laughter, and youthful chaos. He watched it all without envy, without disdain.
Just observation.
And, unbidden, memory stirred.
---
[Flashback — House Veyrahl, Years Earlier]
The great hall was vast and cold, every inch designed to impress the weight of legacy. Silver filigree climbed the marble columns; the ceiling shimmered with constellations captured in glass.
Two boys stood at the center of the room — the same bloodline in different shapes.
Iblis was ten, slight and still, his eyes too calm for his age.
Across from him, twelve-year-old Draen Veyrahl, his father's brother's son, was all motion and precision — taller, stronger, wrapped in confidence like armor.
Their fathers — Kaelith Veyrahl and his elder brother, Lord Aram — stood side by side upon the dais, neither blinking, neither breathing louder than decorum allowed.
The duel was to test "resonant inheritance," though everyone knew what it really meant.
Which branch of the Veyrahl blood would dominate the next generation.
Draen's crimson resonance ignited first. It burned around him like liquid sunlight — sharp, martial, alive.
He smiled — not cruelly, but with the easy arrogance of the favored.
"Yield, cousin," he said. "Father says I'm already chosen."
Iblis tilted his head. "Chosen for what?"
Draen blinked. "To lead, obviously."
"Then lead," Iblis said softly.
The floor cracked.
There was no chant, no sign. Only stillness — then pressure.
The resonance around Iblis bent inward, consuming sound. Runes flickered, dimmed. Draen's crimson light flickered like a candle beneath an ocean.
"Impossible—" Draen hissed, pushing more energy into his form. His spear of red aether lunged forward — and folded. Collapsed into itself, devoured by nothingness.
The explosion was silent. The hall went white, then black.
When sight returned, Draen was on one knee, panting, bleeding faintly from his palm.
Kaelith spoke first, voice smooth as a blade. "He reached into the void strata."
Lord Aram turned sharply. "He's a child. That's not—"
"It's control," Kaelith interrupted, eyes on his son. "And instinct. My blood is precise."
Aram's jaw tightened. Draen staggered upright, face twisted with humiliation. "You think that makes you better, Iblis?"
"No," Iblis said simply. "It makes me inevitable."
The hall fell into total silence.
Their fathers exchanged a glance — centuries of rivalry condensed into one breath.
Kaelith nodded faintly to the attendants. "Enough. We have our result."
As the seers carried away the scorched resonance apparatus, Draen turned one last time. "You won't always be the void between things, cousin. Someday something will fill you — and you'll break."
Iblis only stared at him. "Then I'll break perfectly."
---
[Present — Aetherion Academy]
The wind moved again, snapping the curtains like wings.
Iblis's gaze lingered on the sky, where faint ley lines pulsed like veins beneath the dark.
He wondered if Draen still dreamed of that duel. If he still burned with resentment — or if, perhaps, he'd learned to fear the quiet.
A knock came at his door.
"Hey, void prince!" Rhea called through the wood, her voice teasing and warm. "You skipping dinner again, or are you meditating on the geometry of superiority?"
He blinked once. "The latter."
"Wrong answer. Move your transcendental ass, we're starving."
A pause — then, unexpectedly, a small smile.
"Coming."
The past folded away like a closing wound as he turned, footsteps soundless against the polished floor.
Outside, the laughter of students rose again — messy, human, alive.
For the first time in hours, the silence in him didn't feel absolute.
---
End of Chapter Eight: "Blood in Reflection (Revised)."
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