Chapter 9: The Golden-Eyed Huntress
Solas Thorne arrived the way she did everything: with purpose.
No ship. No announcement. No ceremony.
One moment the space outside the academy grounds was empty. The next, she was there. A woman in dark, form-fitting armor, a coiled harpoon slung across her back. Her hair was the color of fresh ash, her eyes molten gold. They weren't simply eyes. They were scanners. Weapons. Predators, disguised as human.
A hush fell over the academy courtyard. Conversations died. Footsteps froze. The air itself seemed to tighten, sharp and edged. It wasn't the chill of a ghost. It was the primal, bone-deep awareness of a hunter entering the field.
Joric stood near the fountain. He saw her—and his breath locked in his throat.
This wasn't a warrior from a tale. This wasn't even a hero. This was a myth, carved into flesh and steel. A legend walking where mortals stood. Awe hit him like fire in his veins. Not ambition. Not envy. Devotion. He no longer dreamed of being the hero. He only dreamed of following her. She would find the ghost. He would only bear witness. He would be her shadow.
Selan Myris, returning from her dorm, froze mid-step. Frost stirred in her veins, her usually steady power trembling in her grasp. It was not fear. It was recognition. She had heard the stories—hunters with golden eyes, the Thorne family whose pursuits shook myth and legend alike. Rivalry kindled within her chest, sharp and invigorating. This, she thought, was the figure she must surpass. This was the standard she would break if she ever wished to touch godhood.
Solas ignored them all.
Her gaze wasn't for the students. It was for the air, the stones, the ground beneath their feet. Her golden eyes didn't merely look. They pierced. She was reading the myth-layer, not searching for presence, but absence—the hollows in reality where something had been erased. She glided past the fountain in soundless focus. A shimmer brushed her awareness. A tremor, fine as spider-silk, reverberated beneath the myth-layer. It came from the stone where the first rumor had taken hold. From the empty place the void staff had touched before vanishing.
Far away, in the dark veins of the main library, Kairo felt her.
The weight of her gaze, even at a distance, crawled down his spine: cold, golden, unstoppable. He had concealed himself in a ventilation shaft, invisible to the ordinary eye. But this woman wasn't ordinary. She wasn't chasing tracks. She was tracing threads. His threads.
Every instinct screamed at him. Strangely, Kairo only smiled.
So this was how it felt—being prey. Not hunted by men, but by a predator born for it. Excitement flared in him like a secret fire. If she wanted the game, then he would give it to her. He just had to think faster. Be sharper. Outsmart her.
He reached into his pocket. Pulled a scrap of paper. Wrote one word—just one. A word with the weight of a myth, bright enough to ring through the myth-layer. A word she couldn't ignore. A lure. A declaration. A lie.
The tremor rippled outward. He felt it roar through the campus. It echoed from the Grand Archives, heavy and brazen. A new rumor was born. Loud, intoxicating, undeniable.
Solas lifted her head.
Her golden eyes flared as the myth-layer howled with vibration. The lie was bold, audacious, designed to send her running. She smiled. A thin, predatory slash of her lips. She knew the tactic. She knew the trick. And still—she welcomed it.
It was a signal.
A challenge.
And Solas Thorne had never refused a hunt.
Instead of turning toward the archives, she turned her back on them. Her eyes fixed on the abandoned dormitory, the one left to time, the one now shrouded in myth. Her harpoon slipped into her hand like a natural extension of her will.
Now her golden eyes were not seeking.
They were seeing.
The ghost was no longer a rumor.
The ghost was real. Flesh and will, thread and defiance.
Her prey had announced himself at last.
And Solas Thorne always finished the hunt