There's something I haven't told you.
Meet me at the meadow after school.
Please.
I kept rereading it. That last line was the part that stuck.
Was she in trouble? Hurt? Marked?
Or worse, was this her way of saying goodbye?
My thumb hovered. I didn't reply.
Because some part of me already knew that whatever this was, it had already started.
And it wasn't going to stop just because I asked.
Lyra turned catching the shift in my face.
"What's up with you?" she asked, voice light, but watching too closely.
I shoved the phone into my pocket. "Anya's not coming."
"Oh…" she said, softer. Then caught herself.
"Oh, to be young and in love," with a grin that didn't reach her eyes as she ruffled my hair.
Her hand lingered. Just for a second.
And I thought maybe she was going to ask something else.
But she didn't.
The hallway buzzed around us.
A new semester. New beginnings.
And all I could feel was the end.
—
The start-of-semester assembly was held in the Academy's vaulted auditorium.
Light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting fractured colour across polished wood and cold tile. The walls echoed with centuries of speeches, honours, and eulogies. Stone archways. Wrought-iron detailing. Banners that hadn't come down since before the war.
The kind of place the Accord kept around to remind us who we were meant to become.
I should've messaged back. I should've asked what.
But I didn't.
I just kept staring at the screen, hoping she'd say it first.
I slipped into an empty row near the back. Early, thanks to Lyra's vice-presidential duties. The council was already onstage, faces turned toward us like we were the ones being judged. Most of them were bootlickers in pressed blazers, orbiting the real power:
Eitan. Of the Hale Legacy.
Not a name. A brand.
He wasn't up there yet. Neither was Lyra.
My phone sat in my palm, screen off.
Still no buzz.
Seats started to fill. The hum of voices layered over itself. My friends trickled in, dropping into chairs like nothing had changed.
"Yo Dio, last night was a movie."
We clasped hands, he pulled me in for a shoulder bump.
I pulled back and just gave a short nod. Didn't look away from the stage.
And then she came out.
So did he.
Eitan stepped to the centre podium like he owned it. Tall. Clean-cut.
The sharp lines of his suit just barely tucked under his uniform.
That practiced smile. That perfect tone.
He radiated trust like a campaign poster.
And I didn't trust him for a second.
I watched him glance at Lyra - subtle, but not to me.
His smile tilted as she adjusted the mic, like they shared some unspoken joke.
My jaw locked.
Beside me, my friend caught it.
"Bro… you sure your sister isn't dating the president?"
I blinked. "No. They're not."
As Eitan finished, applause rose.
It hit like a slap. I'd heard it before.
The same cheers, the same perfect speeches.
Back when I failed my first real exam.
Anya and I had just started dating.
I kept telling myself my grades didn't matter, but I knew the truth.
If I wanted any future with her.
So I skipped class.
Couldn't face anyone.
Just wandered the admin wing like a ghost.
That's when I saw him.
Not the golden heir. Not the House of Hale's chosen son. Just a boy behind a building, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.
Not angry. Not sad. Just… desperate.
He looked up. Held my gaze.
Let the smoke curl between us.
That was the real Eitan.
And now he was watching Lyra like she might stand with him at the top.
He didn't deserve to even imagine that.
Lyra stepped into the light like she'd been born beneath it.
The braid had held. A few loose strands caught the morning sun, softening her silhouette.
And for a second, I almost forgot.
Forgot the message. The silence.
But it came back, curling behind my ribs like smoke.
Meet me at the meadow.
She adjusted the mic.
Her smile easy, natural. No nerves. No stumbles.
Lyra wore confidence like a second skin, stitched from speeches, practice, and all the parts of her life no one gave her credit for.
"Welcome back, everyone," she said, clear and bright. "For those of you returning, you already know the kind of year we're facing. And for those just joining us… don't worry. It only gets harder from here."
Laughter rippled through the hall. She owned the room. She always did.
But even as the applause rose, I couldn't stop checking my phone.
Still no reply.
The meadow was where it began.
Was it going to end there too?
—
As the speeches ended, the headmaster stepped up.
"We also have a new student joining us this semester," he announced, eyes flicking down at the list.
"Transferred under special Accord Authority dispensation."
The room quieted. That wasn't normal phrasing.
The Accord Authority handled everything to do with the Reverie, Vows, and the Citadels.
Was the transfer someone who'd been Marked?
"Please welcome… Cayos."
Chaos?
Whispers broke out immediately.
Nothing else. Just Cayos.
A boy stepped onto the stage; hands tucked into his uniform pockets like he hadn't noticed the thousand eyes staring at him. He was tall, lean, and annoyingly, looked like he belonged on the cover of a fashion mag. His black hair was tousled like he'd run a hand through it on his way in, and over one eye he wore a tight black eyepatch that matched too well with his outfit to be a medical necessity.
I didn't know why, but the air felt… wrong. Like the temperature dropped. Like the room forgot how to breathe.
His uniform matched ours, but his posture didn't.
Relaxed. Casual. Like none of this mattered.
Nothing forced. Nothing performed.
Just presence.
Sworn. No other word fit. But even that felt too small.
He moved like the world bent slightly around him, as if his presence confused gravity.
His uncovered eye moved like it was remembering, not seeing.
Amber. No, deeper, something bright flickered inside, just for a second, like fire behind glass.
And he smiled.
Not at the teachers. Not at the crowd. At me.
Huh?
"Dude, he's looking right at us."
My friends looked scared.
I looked away, jaw tight.
I hated guys like this the most.
Too cool. Too effortless.
The kind of guy who walked into a room like he owned it… and got away with it.
Then he stepped forward, lazily, like he had all the time in the world.
The room quieted instinctively.
"I was told to introduce myself," he said, voice smooth, unhurried.
"But names are fragile things. So let's start with a lie instead."
He paused, eyes sweeping the crowd again.
"They call me Cayos."
A ripple moved through the room.
Confusion, interest, unease.
I frowned. What the hell was he talking about?
His expression flickered. Fondness, then something colder. A game face. Like he wasn't just one person, but a carousel of them, each waiting their turn. Like his mind was never in one place long enough to finish a thought before another took over.
"They say the Reverie chooses the worthy," he continued, pacing the stage. "I say it chooses the interesting."
Another pause. A few students shifted. The air felt tighter now.
"Either way…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…hello."
The silence that followed was heavy, like everyone had forgotten to breathe.
Then the whispers started.
Girls in front of us leaned in, practically melting.
"Think he's from that new Citadel in the south?"
Lyra raised an eyebrow as he passed her seat.
Her lips twitched, not a smile, but close enough.
Great.
"I bet there's nothing behind that eyepatch," I muttered.
"Just wants to look edgy."
My friends nodded. But not to agree, just to acknowledge what I said.
"Or maybe," one of them said, "he's the real deal. Came back with a Vow, decided to slum it with us mortals."
"Then why isn't he up in the Citadel?"
"Maybe he chose not to go. Or maybe…"
He trailed off, twirling a finger by his temple. "Few screws loose."
Cayos turned his head. The group went silent.
Yeah right. Like he actually heard us.
Another voice cut in. "I heard about a Sworn still in Halden. One of the freaky ones. Sees a few seconds into the future."
"A few seconds isn't much," I said. My voice cracked on the word seconds.
"Still enough to dodge a bullet before it's fired."
That shut us up.
"What rank do you think he is?" someone whispered.
"Who, the seer?"
"No. Cayos."
"Five ranks," another said. "If he came back from the Reverie, he's at least Declared. The third rank."
The group went quiet.
If Cayos was Marked, he'd passed a Trial.
Faced something impossible.
And survived.
I kept my eyes on him. Cayos slid into an empty seat in the front row like it didn't matter where.
At first, I thought nothing of it.
Then he shifted.
Just a little.
Not enough to be noticed.
Not enough to seem deliberate.
But he was angling himself.
Just enough to keep Lyra in the corner of his vision.
Watching her, without looking.
My stomach turned cold.
I felt lightheaded.
Like he had wanted me to see.