The courtyard had not yet drawn its next breath.
Students overflowed the steps and balconies, their quiet a pool of incredulity that would not break. The duel had been short, violent in its precision, and utterly devastating to the academy's fragile order.
"Shadows," one boy whispered, clutching at his sleeve. "I swear I saw them move."
"You're imagining things. It had to be aura," another retorted, though his voice quavered.
"No… aura doesn't twist like that. That was something else. Something wrong."
Fear tangled with awe, threading its way into every conversation. Nobles who had once laughed at Lucian Vale now glanced at him sidelong, unwilling to meet his eyes yet unable to look away.
On the balcony was a tight-knit circle of professors. Mistress Elara's lips were curled, like she'd just witnessed the most unusual sight. Professor Aldren's pale face was shaking his head, and others were muttering theories that grew increasingly frenzied by the second. The Headmaster was the only one who remained still, his expression carved from stone.
Here in the practice field, Lucian unsheathed his sword with a barely audible whisper of metal and stood motionless. His coat barely stirred in the breeze, face impassive. He was more statue, less student—unbreakable, unforgiving, detached.
Seraphine could not move. Her breathing seared her lungs, her fingers curved crescents within her palms, but her feet would not budge. The sight of him—shadows undulating like wings behind him—still burned on her eyes. She had begged that night all those years before to be a figment of her frightened brain, a dream. But shadows returned. And this time, they were not hers alone to observe.
On the opposite side, Rylan grunted, trying to stand. His lips were bleeding, his pride more so. He thrust the healer's hands aside, white face pale, sweaty hair dripping down to his shoulders. Anger quivered every muscle.
"You—" His voice cracked but did not weaken. "You embarrassed me." His eyes flamed, teeth grinding. "In front of them all. In front of the professors. In front of the Headmaster!"
Lucian shifted his gaze, so that the courtyard could glimpse his profile. His eyes were glacial, almost disdainful, as if Rylan was not an opponent but a child hurling rocks against a mountain.
Rylan's rage intensified. His aura burned wildly again, unraveled at the edges. "This isn't over, Vale! I'll leave you naked, I'll drag your lie out of the shadows. Whatever scheme you used—whatever rot you have infecting your belly—I'll drag it out! Do you hear me?"
His words were hollow. Even his loyal students averted their eyes, unable to witness a lion's fury after being broken.
Lucian remained silent. He had said it all by keeping quiet.
The bell tower rang out, the iron clanking in the thick air. The spell of the duel was severed.
From the academy walls, pennants unfurled with the sound of bursting color—red, blue, gold. The Awakening Festival began. Merchants wheeled wagons into courtyards, their goods glinting with enticement. Lanterns came to life, strings of them curving between arches. Music, pure and insistent, burst from pipes and drums.
In an instant, the atmosphere changed. The rampaging crowd that had been panting for blood was now laughing too strenuously, clapping too wildly, tumbling over sugared treats and fairy fireworks. The intent of the celebration was celebration—distracting. And distraction was what the academy so badly required.
But the threat of the duel lingered, clumped under the surface. Every laugh was strained. Every smile trembled. Students still gazed at Lucian as if he might tear the ground open beneath their feet.
Seraphine pushed through the throng until she caught up to him at the courtyard's edge, where the torchlight stained his face with amber and shadows.
"You," she breathed. Her voice shook more than she desired. "You didn't need to go that far."
Lucian looked at her, his gaze cold and hard. "He pressed too hard. I stopped it."
Her throat closed. "That wasn't all you did. I saw…." The memory clawed its way up. Wings, great and black, spreading like an abyss god. ".saw something I shouldn't have."
His eyes lingered with hers. For an instant, the mask cracked—exhaustion leaking through, a burden in his eyes that became lifetimes born solitary. Then it was restored. He shifted his head, to the festival lanterns that danced in the shadows.
"You shouldn't see too clearly, Seraphine," he whispered.
The words cut. They were not cruel, but they carved distance deeper than stone. She yearned to touch him, to remind him of the laughter of the boy who used to carry books on his head just to make her smile. But that boy seemed further away now, shrouded in a darkness she could not identify.
The music swelled. Fireworks burst in the sky, spewing red and gold across the heavens. Students clapped, their faces aglow against the flame.
Seraphine stayed at Lucian's shoulder, her fists bunched into her skirts. And yet, in spite of the laughter that filled the air, she could not suppress the question that arced up like a storm within her:
Was the boy she loved still within her reach—or had the shadows already claimed him?