The Collection chamber smelled of stone and silence. Torchlight flickered against golden faces, each statue frozen mid-scream or mid-strike, their terror gleaming for eternity.
Justin stood among them often, hands in his pockets, glasses catching the glow. The weight of it pressed against him — not fear, not guilt, but inevitability.
And then one morning, the throne appeared.
He found it in the center of the chamber, massive and resplendent, gold hammered into a seat fit for a king. No craftsman could have built it. No servant could have carried it in. It had simply… arrived. Waiting.
Justin stared at it for a long time, his abyssal eyes faintly alight. The whispers curled inside his mind at once.
Sit, boy. Claim what is yours. What is mine will always be mine.
His hand twitched. For a moment, he imagined himself seated there, the statues arrayed around him like subjects before a sovereign.
He recoiled.
The next day, he had the throne encased in glass. A massive dome of reinforced crystal shimmered around it, a barrier against both touch and temptation. Even so, he caught himself staring sometimes, as though the throne was staring back.
It waited. It always waited.
—
Elise found him there more times than she liked.
"You can't keep coming down here," she said once, heels clicking against stone as she crossed the chamber. Her sapphire eyes locked on the glass-encased throne. "It's not yours."
Justin adjusted his glasses, refusing to look away from the faint reflection of white fire in the glass. "Then why does it feel like it's waiting for me?"
Her hand cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Because that's how greed works. It doesn't wait for you. It hunts you."
He said nothing. But in the silence, Mammon's laughter rippled like smoke.
She cannot hide you forever. Thrones are not denied. What is mine will always be mine.
—
A week later, the Nightwalker estate was alive with preparation. Trunks of immaculate clothes, spell-sealed cases of books, every detail arranged for Justin's departure. The black Mercedes idled in the courtyard, its engine humming, a driver waiting with the patience of stone.
Elise stood at the door, flawless in obsidian silk, her poise betraying none of the storm inside her. She reached up, straightening the crest pin at the knot of Justin's tie.
"You don't have to prove yourself to anyone," she said softly. "Not the world. Not me. Not even him."
Justin glanced back once at the manor — at the hidden chamber beneath, at the glass-encased throne waiting in the dark. Then he adjusted his glasses and gave the faintest nod.
"I know."
The car door opened. Justin slid inside, white suit crisp against the leather seats, glasses reflecting the spires of Nevermore as they loomed closer with every mile.
—
The gates rose from the mist like the teeth of a beast. Nevermore Academy towered beyond them, spires cutting into the gray sky, banners swaying in the wind. Students gathered in the courtyard, their chatter buzzing like hives.
The Mercedes purred to a stop.
Justin stepped out.
Conversations dipped, then hushed. Eyes turned, lingering on the white suit, the pale hair, the glasses hiding abyssal eyes with their rings of fire. His crest pin glinted at the tie knot, a small mark of belonging that looked more like a crown.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Nightwalker.
Even Principal Weems, regal in indigo stripes, paused at the sight of him. Her smile was warm, but her gaze was wary. "Justin Nightwalker," she said. "Welcome to Nevermore. I expect great things."
Justin inclined his head, his voice calm. "I know."
And then another voice broke through the whispers.
"About time."
Justin turned — and there was Xavier Thorpe, taller than he remembered, charcoal still smudged on his fingers, sketchbook under one arm. His grin was crooked, but his eyes were warm.
"You kept me waiting long enough," Xavier said, stepping forward.
Justin adjusted his glasses, a rare flicker of ease crossing his face. "Still getting paint on everything?"
"Still scaring the life out of everyone?" Xavier shot back.
The tension in the courtyard cracked as Xavier clapped him on the shoulder, unbothered, unafraid. For the first time that morning, Justin smiled — not the sharp edge of the prince, but the quiet curve of the boy who once lay in the grass with his best friend.
Together, they walked past the staring crowd and into the academy that would test not just Justin's power, but his very soul.