The bell rang, crisp and final.
Its echo barely settled when Neo, Kael, and Ayna stepped into motion, weaving through the departing crowd like constellations aligning by instinct. Their path led straight to the Grand Library, as it often did—where knowledge weighed heavier than gossip, and silence rang louder than applause.
Kael adjusted the strap of his satchel. "So… who's writing the report on the expansion of the Astral Dynasties?"
"Not me," Ayna said without missing a beat. "I still haven't recovered from annotating Professor Merel's last lecture. My wrist tried to resign."
Neo glanced sideways at her. "You wrote a thesis-length rebuttal to a textbook."
"Because the textbook was wrong," she replied primly.
Kael smirked. "You're doing a public service."
They were mid-laugh when a slow, exaggerated clap echoed through the hall.
"Well, well. If it isn't the brilli stars of the Academy."
Damian.
He leaned against an archway as if the stone held him up, not the other way around. His robe was tailored close to the body, silver embroidery gleaming at the hem—just barely within regulation. He looked like he'd dressed for an opera, not a lecture hall.
Flanking him were Derek, who radiated the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and Silas, whose sharp eyes held that ever-gleaming sheen of disdain.
Neo's step didn't falter. "Lose your shadow? Or did it run off to study without you?"
Damian smiled, all polished charm, no sincerity. "Still full of lines. You'll make a lovely footnote one day, Neo."
"Better a footnote in history than a stain on it."
Ayna's tone was gentle, but her words were not.
Derek shifted forward, but Kael subtly stepped between them. "We're heading to the library. If you're looking to lecture, try the empty classrooms."
Damian's eyes flicked from Kael to Ayna to Neo—calculating. But his voice remained smooth. Too smooth.
"Three minds, one song. It's almost poetic. But even harmony cracks under pressure."
Neo narrowed his gaze. "And some notes are always off-key. No matter how you dress them."
There was a flicker—just a moment—in Damian's eyes. Something hard. Cold. Then it was gone.
His smile returned.
"Enjoy your study session. Use the time well. The next lesson might be... harder to learn."
With a flourish of robes and echoing footsteps, Damian turned and walked away, flanked by his loyal shadows.
As his steps faded, the three stood still for a moment.
Ayna broke the silence first. "Did he seem… calm to you?"
Kael nodded slowly. "Too calm."
Neo exhaled. "He usually pokes, prods—tries to stir something up. Today, it felt like… like he already knew something we didn't."
Ayna hesitated. "Should we—?"
"No," Neo said, shaking his head. "He wants us second-guessing. Let's not give him that."
Kael added, "He's always smug. Just a little more today. We're overthinking."
They exchanged one last glance, then turned and resumed their walk.
Because they were young. Because the world, in all its true cruelty, still felt distant.
---
The Grand Library welcomed them with its cathedral hush and the scent of old parchment and starlit ink.
The trio found their usual alcove, tucked beneath an arch lined with celestial glyphs. The table was wide, scattered quickly with tomes—each etched in gold, each humming faintly with light. The Heavenly Tomes were never easy to parse alone, but together, they turned into puzzles worth solving.
"Kael," Ayna said, flipping a page, "this line contradicts the Mortal Flux Theory."
Kael peered over. "Only if you interpret the glyph 'Solvar' as 'constant'. If you read it as 'anchor', it actually strengthens the theory."
Neo tilted his head. "But then what do you make of the inversion on the second seal?"
They leaned in, debating and cross-referencing. Light from the tomes bathed their faces in faint glow. Three minds, sharply tuned, woven into a rhythm of thought.
They didn't speak of Damian again.
Not that day.
---
Just around the corner of the library wing, out of sight and earshot, Damian leaned against the cold stone with his arms crossed.
Derek grunted. "So… want us to give him a good reminder of his place?"
Damian smiled faintly. "No, Derek. Neo doesn't break when you hit him. He just shines harder. No... we'll let him shine."
Silas arched a brow. "And then?"
Damian's voice was silk soaked in venom. "Then we paint that light in filth. Let him keep the perfect scores. Let him keep the praise. What use is gold when it's wrapped around a noose labeled criminal?"
Derek frowned. "But he's not going to do anything illegal."
Damian's grin sharpened.
"He will."
He tapped a finger against his temple.
"Even if he thinks otherwise."
Then he turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving only the scent of rot beneath the roses.
---