Night-Henry's declaration hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a dangerous promise. Without waiting for a reply from either goddess, he turned and strode toward the door to his rooms. His hand never even touched the knob.
He just… dissolved.
His solid body lost cohesion, collapsing into a silent, inky pool of pure darkness on the floor. The shadow flowed under the door, a slick of night moving with chilling purpose through the lit hallways of the Solstice Tower. The solar wards, so potent during the day, were useless against a being who became the very absence of light. He was a ghost moving through the veins of the academy.
"Well, that's new," Tsukuyomi said, genuinely impressed. She looked at Helia, who stood rigid, her golden eyes burning with a mix of anger and concern. "Looks like your little bird learned how to fly the coop. Are you going after him, guardian? Or are you going to trust him to behave?"
Helia didn't answer with words. She transformed into a form of spectral light and phased through the wall, a golden pursuer on the tail of her shadowy charge. With a delighted laugh, Tsukuyomi dissolved as well, following them both.
The shadow that was Henry traveled with unnatural speed, sliding along walls and floors, guided by the crackling, prideful aura of Lyra. He found her dorm—one of the more opulent rooms for elite students—and seeped in like smoke through the crack under the door.
Lyra was asleep, but her sleep wasn't peaceful. Her face was tight in a frown, her breathing uneven. Henry, now hovering over her bed like a shroud of darkness, extended his influence. He didn't touch her. He just sank into her sleeping mind, nudging the nightmares that were already there.
He showed her failure. He showed her spells fizzling, her lightning sputtering out. He showed her the faces of Master Kael and Headmistress Elara, filled with disappointment. He showed her losing a duel, being stripped of her titles, becoming… average. Her greatest arrogance was her greatest fear.
Lyra cried out in her sleep, a muffled sound of anguish, and her eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but it wasn't empty. A figure stood at the foot of her bed, a silhouette cut against the moonlight. His eyes glowed with a soft, red light.
"Who… what are you?" she stammered, her body trembling, her electric power failing to answer her panic.
The figure stepped forward, and the moonlight revealed Henry's face—but not the Henry she knew. This was a face carved from cold confidence and mocking power. A smile that terrified her played on his lips.
"Why," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous, "you said I was weak. I decided to show you who I am."
Lyra's fear turned to abject terror as Henry's form began to twist. The shadows in the room rushed toward him, engulfing him. He grew taller, his limbs elongating, his form losing its humanity. The darkness solidified into a nightmarish monster, a creature made of pure shadow with only two points of focus: two glowing red eyes filled with malice, and a giant, white smile that stretched impossibly wide, a crescent of teeth that promised pain and madness.
She couldn't scream. The sound was trapped in her throat. She, the elite mage, the genius of her generation, was paralyzed by primal fear. All she could do was tremble, shrinking against her headboard. With a sob of pure terror, Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, like a child hiding from a monster in the closet.
The silence was broken by a low, rumbling laugh.
"Yes," the monstrous voice echoed in the dark room. "It seems you're the weak one."
When Lyra dared to open her eyes again, he was gone. The room was empty. But the stench of fear and darkness remained.
In the shadows of the hallway outside, Henry re-formed his human shape. He didn't look triumphant or satisfied; his face was impassive, like an artist stepping back to appraise his work. Two spectral forms, one of light and one of darkness, materialized beside him.
"That was cruel, even for your standards," Tsukuyomi whispered, though her eyes danced with glee. "You broke her spirit."
"I didn't touch her," night-Henry replied calmly. "I merely showed her a reflection of her own fear. She wields power. I wield the truth. There's a difference." He glanced at Helia, whose arms were crossed, her face a mask of complex disapproval. "Your night lesson, guardian."
He turned and started walking back toward the Solstice Tower, not caring if they followed. They did. The night had been his, and he had made his point. The war for balance had just gotten a lot more complicated.