The dorm halls were quiet that evening. Only the soft hum of the Riftlight overhead and the occasional shuffle of a late student echoed off the stone walls. Ren moved along the corridor, satchel slung loosely over one shoulder, trying to appear casual—but the weight of the day's events pressed against his chest like a stone.
He had healed in front of half the academy. Students whispered, instructors exchanged sharp glances, and Ilya had not stopped staring at him all day.
They don't understand.
He ducked into the stairwell leading to the East Tower rooftop—one of the few places where he could think without eyes on him. The air was cooler here, tinged with ozone and the faint metallic tang of Rift energy. He leaned against the railing, watching the Rift pulse above the skyline, the jagged wound in the sky glowing like a second moon.
"You're here again," a voice said, smooth and calm.
Ren's head snapped up. Lucien stepped from the stairwell shadows, coat falling in perfect lines, expression calm and unreadable. Public Lucien, polished and untouchable. And yet… Ren felt the familiar pull, the thread beneath his ribs tightening.
"I like the view," Ren said, attempting nonchalance. "Quiet. Not like the rest of the dorms. Though it feels like you've been standing there judging me the whole time."
Lucien's storm-gray eyes flicked to him, neutral. "I am observing."
Ren smirked. "Ah. My very own shadowy stalker. Lucky me."
Lucien's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to make Ren's stomach knot. He looked away, leaning against the railing. "You could have stayed inside."
"I prefer… ambiance," Ren said, letting a teasing edge creep into his tone. "And it's not like anyone else can… understand what I just went through today."
Lucien's gaze softened just slightly, the shadows at his feet flickering as though acknowledging the truth behind Ren's words. "Not everyone would survive it," he said quietly. "You did more than survive."
Ren felt the heat creep up his neck. "Well… you helped. Don't forget that."
Lucien's eyes held his for a long beat. There was something unspoken there—a thread of acknowledgment, of understanding. Private Lucien. Real Lucien. The one who sometimes let the dark edge slip through the golden-boy façade.
Ren swallowed hard. "You know… if you wanted to check on me, you could've just asked," he said, voice low. Almost a tease, almost serious.
Lucien didn't answer immediately. He simply shifted closer, the shadows at his feet curling faintly. "I did," he said finally. Quiet, precise. "But observation tells me more than words ever could."
Ren's chest tightened. He wanted to say something clever, flirtatious, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he let silence hang, letting the pull between them speak instead.
Finally, Lucien turned, stepping back toward the stairwell. "Rest. Tomorrow will require more focus."
Ren watched him go, heart hammering. "Yeah… sure," he muttered, to no one but the wind. And maybe… a little for him.
The next day, the Academy buzzed with talk of the Riftbeast attack and Ren's involvement. Students whispered in the halls, instructors spoke in curt tones behind closed doors, and the rumor mill churned faster than ever. Yet amidst all the chaos, Ren found himself drifting toward the training yard again.
He needed practice. Control. And maybe… a few moments away from prying eyes.
Lucien was already there, supervising sparring drills. His posture was flawless, his public demeanor untouched. Students smiled at him, bowed, nodded—but Ren could see the subtle pull of the shadows, the faint tremor in Eidros' presence that only he seemed to notice.
Ren approached, pretending casual confidence. "You're everywhere today," he said. "Checking everyone else's progress, or just… keeping tabs on me?"
Lucien didn't answer, only inclined his head slightly. Shadows stirred at his boots, responsive and alive, as though they were reading Ren's intentions.
Ren rolled his eyes. "Hm. Very subtle. I'll have to step up my game if I want to impress my personal… shadowy supervisor."
Lucien's mouth twitched faintly. A response that was invisible to anyone else. "Focus on the drills," he said. Cordial, public Lucien. And yet the flicker of private Lucien lingered in his eyes.
Ren's hands flexed at his sides. "Fine. But later… maybe you can give me a few tips. One-on-one. Away from the rest of your… admirers."
Lucien's storm-gray eyes met his. Shadows curled slightly around him, almost protective. "Perhaps."
Ren's pulse quickened. Perhaps. That's all I get.
Evening came again, and Ren lingered in the East Tower's practice room, shadowed and silent. The room smelled faintly of sweat, ozone, and Rift residue. His hands flexed, testing the pulse beneath his skin. Warmth hummed there, subtle, waiting.
He could feel Eidros. Not Lucien—Eidros itself, coiled, responsive, almost aware of his growing ability.
A whisper curled in his mind: You are remembering. You are ready.
Ren closed his eyes, letting the warmth spread through him. Healing, controlling, shaping. It wasn't just physical anymore. His connection to life—human, Rift, something… other—was expanding. And he could feel Lucien's presence even when the boy wasn't there. Watching, always watching.
Ren let a small, teasing smile slip. "You don't have to hover," he murmured quietly. "I can manage… mostly."
The shadows stirred anyway, subtle and deliberate. Almost like a sigh.
Ren's heart thundered. He's here. Even when he's not.
And somewhere deep beneath his ribs, the bond pulsed stronger, threading between them like a living thing.
The world was watching. The Rift was restless. And Ren knew—whatever came next, whatever Xylos and Outworld threw at them—he would not face it alone.
Even if he tried to pretend otherwise.