They made their way down the stairs of Argent, Seravyn's eyes caught on the murals that lined the walls, glimmering silver depictions of winged beasts and battle scenes, shifting slightly when you looked too long.
She slowed. "Are those… moving?"
"Glamour-ink," Lamia said. "Ashen specialty. Every floor gets a different story."
Rowan muttered, "They ran out of budget halfway through mine. Just got a stickman holding a sword."
Seravyn snorted.
Argent's courtyard stretched wide ringed with silvery trees that shimmered like moonlight. Paths wove through overgrown blooms. A winged beast the size of a lion lay sprawled beneath a fountain, its tail flicking lazily as it dozed.
Seravyn whispered, "That's a real creature?"
"It's bonded," Lamia said. " Probably napping off a spar."
They crossed the courtyard and reached the marble staircase that spiraled up to Central Sanctum.
They climbed the staircase in silence. Seravyn glanced sideways. "So… where do classes happen?"
Rowan looked back over his shoulder. "All lectures are in Central Sanctum. Combat's in the north yard. Trials, assessments, all of it."
Lamia continued, "But each Path has its own combat wing for training. They'll explain it in orientation."
At the top of the stairs, the corridor opened wide and smooth stone stretched ahead.
Seravyn kept close. "This place is massive."
Lamia waved them along. "Hurry. If we're late, the meat turns weird."
Seravyn frowned. "What's it like when it's not weird?"
Rowan chuckled. "Still weird. Just hotter."
The moment Seravyn stepped into the cafeteria, the world stilled.
Chatter dipped. Movement slowed. Heads turned like a wave, dozens of them. And then came the whispering.
"That's her."
"No beastmark...how the fuck is she still alive?"
She didn't flinch. Didn't glance at them. Just held her tray like a shield, breath locked beneath her ribs, nausea curling hot and bitter at the back of her throat.
Lamia hissed when a Crimson Path boy laughed too loud. Sharp, serpentine, lethal. It cut the air like a blade.
Rowan laughed, delighted. "Gods, that's my favorite fucking sound."
But Seravyn barely heard him over the sound of blood roaring in her ears.
Someone was watching her, she could feel it.
Not just watching, devouring. Every step she took, every shift of her weight, every breath in that infernal top that hugged her like it had been painted on.
From across the room, near the windows, he sat like a carved statue of a God. One arm draped across the back of his chair. A cup of black coffee in his other hand.
The steam curled like smoke around his fingers, but his eyes never left her.
Orion
He was already looking at her when she walked in. Hadn't stopped. His black sleeves were rolled to the elbows casually , but nothing about the way he watched her was casual.
He wasn't just looking, he was memorizing.
The cut of that top, the one that clung like sin. The leggings that traced her legs like they'd been made for her. The way her lips parted, like she felt him before she saw him.
He watched like a starving man would look at the last thing he was ever allowed to touch. With reverence. With heat. With dangerous control.
Her hair was like fire, untamed, backlit by sunlight, slipping over her shoulders like she didn't even know she was a fucking vision. That top clung to every curve, and those damn leggings.
He could tear them in one second. If he reached her, he could tear them in half with one hand. He knew it.
And gods he wanted to. In the dark, against a wall, wrists pinned above her head, breath stolen, legs trembling around him
He shifted in his seat, jaw flexing. Ran his tongue across his bottom lip like he could already taste her skin.
And that's when she turned.
Mid-step, like gravity had yanked her spine. Her gaze swept the cafeteria and landed on him.
Their eyes met.
She stopped breathing.
So did he.
The world collapsed between them. The distance, the noise, the whispers, the hunger. All of it vanished. There was only that look. That burn. That pull.
Her tray trembled. Her mouth parted like she wanted to say something, anything, but no sound came.
Orion tilted his head, slow and sinful, letting his eyes drag from her mouth down to the curve of her throat, her waist, her hips and then back to her eyes like he wanted to ruin her with just a stare.
He lifted his cup to his lips, drank like he wasn't seconds from losing his mind.
And smirked like he knew she already lost hers.
Seravyn
She felt it before she saw it.
She looked up, and Orion was staring at her.
The noise in cafeteria faded. There were dozens of people in here, hundreds maybe, and all she could feel was him.
That stare, that stillness. That terrifying calm.
He tilted his head just a little and then… he smiled.
Not a full one. Barely a curve of his mouth.
But it was worse than a grin. It was the kind of smile you gave prey when it finally stopped running.
Seravyn froze and beside her, Lamia dropped her fruit.
Rowan cursed softly under his breath.
"The fuck," Lamia whispered.
They weren't looking at Orion. They were looking at her.
"Why are you—why is he..." Rowan stammered, eyes flicking between them like he was watching a goddamn prophecy unravel.
Everyone else was staring now too. Half the room had caught on. Whispers flared, and tension crackled.
Seravyn's tray trembled in her hands.
"Sovaria to Seravyn" Lamia's voice cut through the static like a blade.
Seravyn blinked, throat tightening.
Lamia stepped forward fast, eyes still wide. "Okay. You're eating. You're definitely eating." She slapped a thick cut of grilled meat onto Seravyn's tray, followed by a splash of veggies and a metal cup full of milk.
Rowan took her wrist. "Move. Now."
Seravyn let them guide her, legs wooden. Orion still hadn't looked away. Not once.
They wove through the room, past tables of silent stares and poorly disguised curiosity, until Rowan shoved out a chair in a far corner wrapped in violet ivy.
Seravyn sat.
Only then did she realize her hands were shaking.
Lamia dropped beside her, still watching her like she might burst into flame. "What the hell was that?"
"Seravyn." Rowan leaned in, voice low, frantic. "That was Orion Athlar. He doesn't look at people. He doesn't talk to people. He barely even blinks."
"And he just soul-stared you like you were his last fucking meal," Lamia snapped.
Rowan was pale now. "Is this some sort of trick? Did you meet him before? Did he say something to you?"
"I—" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, "I don't know."
They both stared at her like she'd grown a second head.
"Oh, hell no," Lamia whispered. "That was not an I don't know. That was an I've seen him naked and I'm trying not to pass out in public."
"Lamia—"
"Okay, no. Absolutely not." Lamia was full-volume now, jabbing a fork toward her. "You're gonna explain that."
Seravyn blinked, dazed. "Explain what?"
Rowan's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? He looked at you like he's already written your fucking name on his grave."
"And you looked back," Lamia hissed. "Like, like you recognized him."
Seravyn froze.
Lamia's voice dropped, sharp with suspicion. "Do you?"
Seravyn hesitated.
"Do you know him?" Rowan pressed.
"Because nobody knows him," Lamia added. "I'm Obsidian. I've been here two years. That boy's a ghost. Barely breathes near anyone."
Seravyn looked down at her tray.
"You stared at him like you'd seen him before," Rowan said. "Like you'd touched him."
"And he stared at you," Lamia added, quieter now, "like he missed you."
Seravyn's hand tightened around her cup.
"Where did you come from?" Rowan asked. "Because I've looked. There are no records. No last school. No Path rank."
Lamia leaned closer, her voice turning deadly quiet. "You didn't just transfer here, did you?"
Seravyn stayed still.
She couldn't lie, not well. Not to Lamia, who was far too sharp. And not to Rowan, who was too damn kind. But truth was a razor in her mouth. One slip, and blood spilled.
"I'm not supposed to be here," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lamia blinked. "What?"
Seravyn looked at her tray again. "I wasn't chosen. I wasn't summoned. I was...taken."
Rowan frowned. "Taken from where?"
"From Vaerlyn. From nothing.
Lamia leaned in. "It doesn't change the fact that you know him."
"Everyone knows him," Seravyn said coolly. "You said so yourself."
Rowan let out a low whistle. "That wasn't casually. That was... personal."
"Was it?" she murmured, lifting a piece of grilled meat to her mouth like this conversation bored her.
Lamia finally shoved her tray aside. "Who are you, girl?"
Seravyn set her fork down and met Lamia's eyes without blinking. "I said I grew up in Vaerlyn."
Rowan leaned forward. "What part?"
Seravyn looked at him. "A brothel."
The table went quiet.
Lamia opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at Rowan. "Oh."
Seravyn went back to her food.
She didn't add that she never knew her mother. That she slept in linen closets. That she bled her first blood alone and scrubbed it out of someone else's sheets.
She didn't tell them about the Sanctum dragging her through the back door in chains.
They finished their food in relative silence. The tension ebbed, retreating just enough to let easier topics surface like breath.
Rowan turned to Seravyn. "I'm from Vaerlyn, too. Just outside the Wastes."
Seravyn didn't look up from her empty plate.
He checked the time crystal embedded in his wristband and groaned. "Shit. I've got Elementals in ten." He stood, grabbed the last bite off Lamia's plate, and popped it in his mouth. "Try not to get cursed."
He punched Lamia lightly in the shoulder, then did the same to Seravyn—gentler, like he wasn't sure she was solid. "Later, mystery girl."
With that, he strolled off toward a cluster of older students with their fourth-year sigils stitched bold over their jackets.
Seravyn rose with Lamia. Before they could leave, she turned, just once, scanning the cafeteria.
Orion's table was empty.
Her heart twisted.
Lamia caught the look. "Yeah," she muttered, grabbing two apples from a bowl by the door. "He's gone. Probably vanished back into whatever haunted mirror he crawled out of." She tossed one of the apples at Seravyn. "Catch."
Seravyn fumbled but caught it.
Lamia smirked. "You're going to need a better grip than that. First years have Beasts next, right?" She flagged down a smaller girl in black and red. "Hey, what's your next class?"
The girl blinked. "Um… Beasts. Down at the quarry pens."
Lamia nodded. "Thought so."
Seravyn turned. "Wait, you're not coming?"
"I'm second year, genius," Lamia said, already steering her toward the exit of the cafeteria. "Different track, different timetable. But I've got a spare bag in my room. Couple of notepads and pens."
Lamia led them across the field,
"So," she said, tossing the apple from hand to hand. "I'm from Ozyreth. Got two little sisters who won't stop stealing my jewelry and a mother who tried to name me after a war goddess. Dad's… around. Sometimes."
Seravyn blinked. "That sounds… warm."
Lamia shrugged. "Chaotic more than warm. But yeah. It's home."
"I don't have one," Seravyn said quietly. "No siblings. No parents left. Just… Vaerlyn."
Lamia looked at her for a long moment. "Well. Welcome home, then."
They reached a spiral staircase carved from slick black stone, the railing wrapped in twisted iron. An arch above bore the Obsidian House sigil; two emerald horns, wickedly curved, with snake-like eyes coiled between them. It shimmered, ever-shifting, alive.
Seravyn hesitated at the first step.
"House of demons and the cursed," Lamia said with a grin.
They descended.
The stairs opened into a wide courtyard. Moss glowed faintly along the cracks of the stone. A fountain in the center hissed steam instead of water. Students in black and deep green moved through the space like smoke, their tattoos and horns and twisted sigils marking them in ways Seravyn couldn't name.
"Wait here," Lamia said, peeling off toward one of the arched dormitory entrances. "I'll be back in five."
Seravyn nodded, clutching the apple, suddenly aware of how small she felt here. Of how everything was darker than it should be.
She stepped aside to let a group pass and slammed straight into someone.
Someone solid, broad, immovable.
Her breath caught as she stumbled back, only for a large hand to steady her. Hot. Firm. Gentle.
She looked up.
And up.
He was tall, easily over six foot four with shoulders like a siege wall and muscle coiled tight under a fitted black uniform. Two blades crisscrossed his back, hilts glinting with gold inlay.
He smelled like rain on stone, like crushed leaves and warm citrus. Earthy, so very male.
His jaw was sharp, his nose straight, and his hair dark and just long enough to fall around his eyes. It looked too wild for someone this composed.
But his eyes
They stopped her breath.
Yellow, with flickering streaks of crimson swirling through the iris like fire behind glass.
He stared at her. Not startled. Not even annoyed. Just… curious. His mouth full, distractingly so pulled into a near-frown. A scar curved just above his upper lip.
His brows tugged together, as if something about her didn't make sense.
Then, without a word, he let her go.
And walked away.
Seravyn stood still, pulse thundering, fingers clenched around her apple.
"Okay, what the hell," Lamia said, returning with a black bag slung over one shoulder. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"