By the time Justin was twelve, his name was no longer just whispered in the dark. It was spoken like a warning. Elise's boy. Mammon's heir. The fire-eyed prince.
He wasn't feared only by strangers anymore. Even the children of outcasts treated him with unease, stealing glances from across rooms, whispering behind their hands.
Everyone, except two.
—
Xavier remained his anchor.
The Thorpe estate had gardens full of statues, and Justin would sit among them with Xavier, listening as his friend sketched and spoke of shapes and visions only he could see.
"Sometimes I think I draw things before they happen," Xavier admitted one afternoon, charcoal smeared across his cheek. He turned the page toward Justin.
It showed a boy with burning eyes, taller than any man, horns curling from his head, flames like a crown.
Justin's expression darkened. "That's… me."
"Maybe," Xavier said with a shrug. "Or maybe just a dream."
Justin pulled his glasses tighter against his face, voice flat. "Dreams don't scare you like that."
Xavier studied him for a long moment. Then, without another word, he tore the page free and tossed it into the fountain. The drawing melted into the water, ink bleeding.
"Dreams don't get to decide who you are," Xavier said. "You do."
Justin didn't answer. But later, when Mammon's whispers coiled in his mind like chains, he clung to Xavier's words like a rope in the dark.
—
Hope, by contrast, was fire against his calm.
She grew into her legacy like she had been born to it — witchcraft sparking at her fingertips, fangs flashing in playful scraps, a wolf's snarl tearing through her throat when boys dared mock her.
And she pushed Justin. Always.
At thirteen, she dragged him to a clearing in the woods.
"Fight me."
He adjusted his glasses, unimpressed. "Hope—"
"No excuses," she snapped. "You're strong. I'm strong. Let's find out who's stronger."
They clashed beneath the trees. Her magic burned trunks to ash, her claws carved furrows into stone, her fangs grazed his shoulder. Justin moved with cold precision, waves of telekinesis sweeping aside her attacks, his abyssal eyes glowing with faint fire.
At the end, she lay pinned against the earth by invisible weight, her chest heaving.
"Do it," she challenged. "Finish it."
He blinked, startled. "What?"
"Everyone says you're dangerous. Prove it. Or are you afraid?"
The weight vanished. Justin straightened, his voice calm. "I don't need to hurt you to prove anything."
Hope sat up slowly, eyes narrowing. "Then I'll prove myself to you. One day."
From then on, her rivalry carried an edge sharper than either admitted — something more than challenge, less than confession.
—
Elise watched it all unfold.
Her son laughing in gardens with Xavier. Trading blows with Hope. Sitting alone in the library, books stacked around him, his white-blonde hair falling across abyssal eyes, his lips pressed tight as if carrying a secret too heavy for a boy.
She saw him smile. And she saw him tremble when he thought she wasn't looking.
And she heard Mammon's whispers louder.
The boy clings to children and toys. He wastes his crown. When he is ready, he will hear me. What is mine will always be mine.
In her chambers, Elise answered the dark with fury. "No. He is mine, Mammon. And I will burn kingdoms before I let you claim him."
Mammon's laughter curled like smoke in the air. We shall see.
—
By fourteen, Justin stood taller than Xavier, lean and athletic, his presence sharp enough to silence a room without a word. He carried himself like Elise's son — disciplined, regal — but his abyssal eyes with their faint rings of fire reminded everyone he was more.
To Xavier, he was still just a boy with too much weight on his shoulders.
To Hope, he was a rival worth chasing — and maybe something more.
To Elise, he was everything she had bargained for.
To Mammon, he was a prize waiting to be claimed.
And soon, to Nevermore Academy… he would be a legend walking through its gates.