"Revlis!"
She was walking through the corridor leading to the Nefarious Division when a familiar voice called out to her. Her eyes lit up as she turned around. It was a woman with black hair tied neatly into a bun and light green eyes that seemed to shine with warmth, and her skin was medium light. Zelvaflore Cyane Osborne-Turan.
Zelva was a half-blood, a crossbreed, as many called it. She was never academically gifted like Revlis or Hecate, but she had her own kind of intelligence. And surprisingly, she was now married, considering how many lovers she had during their time at the Halcyon Tower. But that was all in the past.
"Hello, Zelva."
"Hello, hello! Guess who I ran into this week?"
Revlis gave a small hum. "Hazelrink, I assume?"
Zelvaflore groaned immediately. "How do you always guess right?"
"I saw him yesterday. Briefly. He hasn't changed much," she added with a quiet scoff.
"Ugh, still as smug as ever?" Zelva laughed, then quickly brightened. "Anyway.. how've you been? It feels like I haven't seen you in months."
"I have been busy. You know how it is. Sanctum duties, reports, and documents to review."
Zelvaflore grinned. "Oh, believe me, I do. Cassiel and Cassius have been missing you. We're buying school supplies, they're starting their first year soon."
Revlis blinked. "Already? They've been accepted in Halcyon?"
"Of course. I wanted them to have options. And you should've seen them arguing over which wand case looked cooler. I told them you'd help them pick if you had the time."
Revlis allowed herself a small smile. "I'll come by next week. I can bring some of my old things for them to see. Maybe even teach them a basic illusion."
"Oh, they'd love that. They still talk about that fire spell you showed them last year, Cassius tried to replicate it with a candle and nearly lit the curtains."
"I'm surprised it wasn't Cassiel."
Zelva burst into laughter. "He encouraged it! I had to drag them both out before the curtains caught properly."
Revlis immediately gave a faint smile. She was about to retort with some sarcastic quip when a voice interrupted her.
"Zelva! Love, why would you run off like that?"
Her heart clenched.
Solrien Ascian Turan stood at the end of the corridor, catching his breath as he approached. His chestnut-brown hair shimmered gold beneath the chandelier, tousled slightly from the wind outside. Those ocean-blue eyes that were so gentle and devastating, still held the same color they did when she first fell for him. His fair skin, the slope of his shoulders, the softness in his voice, it was as if time hadn't moved at all.
Her whole world had once felt like it could fall apart at a single word from him and often did.
"Revlis. Hello there," he greeted politely.
"Hello." She returned the smile, practiced and barely held together. "Ah, hold on, I'm needed in the Nefarious Division right now. I'll see you guys later."
Zelva's hand reached out quickly. "Rev—"
But Revlis had already turned, her heels clacking against the marble. Her eyes remained forward, but her chest burned.
There was a reason she avoided the Turan Manor, avoiding visiting their kids.
Sol was her love. He had been the only one who made her feel like she didn't have to carry the weight of everything alone. During the war, he'd been brave when others ran. Gentle when others hardened. She was with him when his hands trembled after battle, when his eyes lost their light. She held him through it. She loved him more fiercely than she had loved anything.
And Zelvaflore knew.
She had known ever since they were girls giggling about their first kisses and foolish dreams.
Three years after the war, Revlis was still trying to rebuild herself, until the day she heard the announcement. Sol and Zelva, engaged. Just like that. The letters she sent to him stopped, and her visits ceased. And when she did see them again, they looked like a dream she was never written into.
They were beautiful together. Radiant, even. She accepted it. She told herself they were meant to be.
But that didn't stop the ache.
Hecate told her to move on. And she tried. God knew she tried. Revlis buried herself in missions, in midnight sparring matches with Luschariel that left her bruised but distracted. She smiled more often—falsely, at first, then genuinely in slivers. She laughed, sometimes.
But still, when she saw Solrien's hand resting gently on Zelva's lower back. When she heard the warmth in his voice, meant for someone else. When she remembered how Zelva used to braid her hair and tease her about him, it still ached.
She let out a breath as she finally rounded the corner, placing her hand against the cold marble wall to steady herself. The corridor to the Nefarious Division loomed ahead.
"I'm trying," she whispered to herself. "I am trying."
When she arrived in the Nefarious Division, the mood was predictably—chaotic.
A few mages and warlocks immediately approached her, scrolls in hand, their brows furrowed with confusion and mild panic.
"Ms. Velroque!"
Came the voice of Caldrim Maverick, a warlock who was the clerk of the Nefarious Division. His black hair was messily tied by a rubber, strands hanging on his face, and his dark orbs bore into hers. "Do you know what the Eldritch did? My portal assignments just got pushed to midnight rotations!"
"And I'm no longer assigned to the Investigative Subdivision—I'm being redirected to the Sanare Division!" added Elowen Virelle, another warlock who was the archivist of the Nefarious Division. Her cheeks were warm, her caramel colored hair were tied into a bun, and her hazel eyes twinkled. "I just organized their entire leyline storage system last month. Now I have to start over again."
Thornwick Delaroux, the Division Head of Nefarious crossed his arms. His short hair fell down his shoulders, and his dark blue eyes rolled in frustration. "If the Eldritch thinks he can just reshuffle our entire schedule without consulting the other Division heads, we might as well burn the entire rota."
Revlis sighed, raising a hand to calm them. "Why would he?"
Caldrim scoffed. "He said it was in response to our excessive recommendations."
"In other words," Elowen muttered, "he threw a tantrum. Because we dared to suggest logical improvements."
Revlis pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll speak to him."
She couldn't believe it. Luschariel wouldn't change everything over such a silly reason, there had to be something more behind it. As she walked through the Nefarious Division, passing rooms for archives, libraries, and other sealed chambers that held important information, her mind raced.
She paused mid-step. Maybe the shift in schedule was because he was considering their recommendations.
The warlocks and mages across the Sanctum had been requesting expansion protocols. More branches in central Europe, better coverage for containment fields, stronger defense support in unstable territories.
She exhaled slowly, adjusting the fabric on her shoulder as she turned into the corridor toward the Restricted Archive.
So it wasn't just spite, she thought.
"Can I get the records for Iuhence Hazelrink?" Revlis asked, stepping up to the counter.
The Archivist, Elias Crowndale, looked up from his papers. His green eyes studied her from head to toe, the warm light from the nearby lamp catching the red strands of his hair. He didn't say anything at first, just kept staring.
Revlis sighed and reached into her coat. She pulled out a small silver badge engraved with the purple six-winged star, the crest of the Sanctum's Secretary, and held it up for him to see.
Elias's entire expression changed. His posture straightened, and he quickly adjusted his glasses, nodding. "Right. Of course. Follow me."
He stepped out from behind the counter and led her toward a hallway tucked behind the archive's front desk. As they walked past rows of sealed cases and old grimoire shelves, Revlis kept her hands folded behind her back, thinking.
She wasn't entirely sure where to place Hazelrink. The Investigative Division needed someone knowledgeable, but she couldn't ignore the strange reports. Maybe the Insurgent Division would be a better fit, somewhere his level wouldn't be out of place. But first, she had to learn more.
"You know," Elias began, almost conversational, "not many people ask about Iuhence Corvus Hazelrink. Especially not... lately."
"Lately?" she echoed, her heels clicking in rhythm with his boots.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "He's been categorized as archived but pending. Whatever that means."
Revlis gave a short, unimpressed hum.
Elias stopped before a sealed door, placing his hand on a sigil-marked panel. The runes flared with recognition, and the heavy door slid open.
Revlis stepped inside and glanced around. The room was colder than the rest of the archives. Shelves stood high along the walls, some protected by thick glass, others covered in dust. A few had charms floating above them, flickering like candle flames.
He led her to a corner cabinet. "Hazelrink's records," Elias said, pointing. "Everything from his enrollment... to his fall."
Revlis paused, eyes scanning the thick collection of files bound in dark grey and violet parchment.
"And you're sure these haven't been tampered with?" she asked.
Elias offered a lopsided smile. "Tampering with an archive bound by the Eldritch's oath marks is like trying to outstare a basilisk."
Elias led her to a smaller table near the center, then reached up to pull a dark grey file from the third shelf. He placed it on the table with a dull thud.
"Here it is. Iuhence Corvus Hazelrink."
Revlis sat down, her fingers brushing over the folder's surface. A strange tension settled in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was curiosity or dread. She opened the folder.
The first page was standard, birth date, place of origin, parents' names. But the next few pages became less official and more redacted. Large black lines covered sentences, entire paragraphs. Some pages had strange diagrams, and incomplete case notes.
"Why are there so many blackouts?"
"That's how it came to us," Elias shrugged. "Even the Nefarious Division couldn't unseal some of these. According to the logs, parts of his file were classified under Divine Clause Seven. That's way above either of our clearances."
Revlis narrowed her eyes. She had read about Divine Clause Seven. It was reserved only for beings or individuals connected to ancient divine bloodlines, or entities the Sanctum deemed a threat to world balance. Including Archmages and some sorts.
That didn't make any sense. Hazelrink was never that much of a threat to anyone, let alone to the magical realm.
Revlis sighed quietly and closed the folder. "Thank you, Crowndale," she smiled politely. "I'll return this after a few days."
Elias gave a short nod. "Be careful with it."
She gave him a small wave over her shoulder as she walked out of the Restricted Archives. The silence was broken only by the faint clacking of her heels.
Revlis didn't waste any time and made her way back to her office. Her boots clicked steadily on the marble floors, her mind already racing through the details she had skimmed from Hazelrink's file.
None of it aligned. He didn't have the behavior or reputation of someone hiding something so severe. Either someone had forged those documents or there was a side to Hazelrink she hadn't known.
But she could care less. She only needed his background.
Zelvaflore was there again.
Revlis blinked once. Then again.
"...Of course," she muttered. "You again."
Zelvaflore leaned forward slightly, her gaze drifting to the corner of the file. "Hazelrink's file?" she said knowingly. "That's bold."
"I asked, Zelva," Revlis said calmly, setting the folder on her desk. "I'm quite busy today."
Zelvaflore crossed her arms, her brows furrowed as she tilted her head slightly. "Busy? Please. I thought we agreed, no more feelings, remember? Revlis... Sol's already married to me. Can't you just let him go and move on?"
Revlis didn't flinch. Her expression remained unreadable. "I don't believe I understand what you're implying."
Zelvaflore scoffed. "Oh, come on. You're still in love with him, and everyone sees it. You're the one keeping things awkward between all of us. We're supposed to be a circle of friends, remember? But no, you keep walking out whenever Sol's around. It's been years, Revlis. We have children now. Isn't that enough reason for you to finally move on?"
Revlis's brow furrowed slightly. Her eyes darkened, as if there's a strange blankness settling behind it. It wasn't anger... yet.
"I have moved on, Zelvaflore," she said. "You assume too much."
Zelvaflore let out a dramatic laugh. "Really? Walking out of the room every time he enters or making up excuses to avoid him? That's not moving on, Rev."
Revlis stood still, her hands resting on the edge of her desk.
"The way you speak to me," she snapped, "as though I am some bitter ghost clinging to the past, is quite the audacity. Especially considering you've known, since our second year in Halcyon Tower, that I loved him."
Zelvaflore's face froze for a moment.
"You pretended to support me," Revlis continued, like the slow creak of a tightening bowstring. "You stood beside me, listened to me talk about him, encouraged me to tell him how I felt... only to marry him first."
"It wasn't planned that way," Zelvaflore muttered, looking away.
"Wasn't it?" Revlis said coldly. "Then why did you never tell me you liked him too?"
The silence stretched between them.
"I said nothing," Revlis continued. "I accepted his choice, and I stepped aside. I let him love you without interference. I carried that silence for your happiness."
Zelvaflore narrowed her eyes. "You call this silence? You make the air so tense no one wants to be in the same room. It's affecting everyone!"
"Then maybe everyone should stop pretending like nothing happened," Revlis raised her voice. "Because I may be moving on, but I'm not going to pretend it never mattered."
Zelvaflore looked away first.
Revlis returned to her seat, smoothing out the corner of the file. "If this is what you came for, then you may leave. I have no interest in reopening old wounds just to ease your insecurities."
Zelvaflore shot her a glare before grabbing her coat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Without another word, she stormed out the door, only to stop abruptly and flinch. Hazelrink was standing there, tall as ever, gazing down at her with a blank expression. The height difference between them made her look almost comically small.
He didn't say anything, just held her gaze for a moment before shifting his eyes to Revlis.
She didn't say a thing, simply brushing past him with her head low, and he moved his hand to keep the door from slamming shut in his face.
Revlis blinked at the sudden tension, then stood up slowly. "Hazelrink. Why are you here?"
He raised a brow, stepping inside like he owned the place. "I came to hand in my application for whichever division you're planning to send me to."
Without waiting for her invitation, he gave her office a quick once-over, shrugged as if unimpressed, and dropped onto the couch in front of her desk. He placed a neatly sealed envelope on her table, tapping it twice.
"Ah... just put it there," she mumbled, already flipping open the file she had just borrowed.
Hazelrink leaned back, arms crossed lazily over his chest. "You're not replacing Turan with me, are you?"
Her eyes snapped up. "What?"
He rolled his eyes and pointed at the file she was reading. His name was printed on the tab.
Of course he noticed.
"No," she said quickly.
"Then why are you digging through my records?" he asked, his tone dry. "You even bothered to pull it from the Restricted Archive—"
"Gods, I don't even like you, please!" she snapped, throwing her hands up.
Hazelrink raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Revlis continued, her voice firmer now. "It's protocol. Standard procedure. As the Secretary of the Sanctum, it's my job to review every applicant's background... especially for the Insurgent Division."
She snapped the folder closed, leaned forward, and met his gaze. "This isn't personal. It's just work."
He leaned back into the couch, looking smug. "You could've just said you missed me."
She shot him a look of pure disgust.
"The audacity," she muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear. Hazelrink only smirked in response, clearly enjoying her irritation.
This guy was really testing her patience.
She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, trying her best not to glare a hole through his forehead. "You seriously have no shame, do you?"
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Not when I'm being honest."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "Yesterday was not honesty, let alone the words you're spouting now. That was just—what even was that? Some twisted attempt at a joke? A threat? A confession? Because it sure wasn't normal."
He shrugged, the way he always did. "Maybe it was all three. Depends on how you heard it."
Revlis opened her mouth to retort, but paused. Her fingers tapped the edge of the folder in front of her.
Why did he keep saying these things? Was it part of some elaborate manipulation, or was there really something going on behind those stupid expressions?
She hated how her brain was starting to ask why instead of just shutting him down.
She sighed sharply. "You know what, Hazelrink? I don't have time for riddles today."
"But you made time to dig through my history," he said, leaning forward. His voice dropped just a bit—softer, almost curious. "So maybe you do."
That caught her off guard.
She didn't answer right away.
Why did I dig into it so thoroughly?
"...Just standard procedure," she muttered again, but this time even she wasn't sure if she fully believed it.
Her lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated, then closed them again. After a brief pause, she asked in a calm yet firm tone, "Some of your files were labeled under Divine Clause Seven. Why is that?"
Hazelrink fell silent, the question clearly catching him off guard. He exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
"You know, Velroque," he said at last, his tone laced with a strange detachment, "some things are best left where they are. And for the record, it wasn't me who classified them under that clause. It was your boss."
Her eyes narrowed sharply at his words, clearly not satisfied with the answer.
"That doesn't explain anything. Files under Divine Clause Seven are sealed for a reason. Either you're a threat to the whole magical realm or—"
"Or someone up there finds me inconvenient," he interrupted, his tone now tinged with annoyance. "Take your pick."
She frowned, fingers tightening against the handrest of her seat. "This isn't a matter of convenience. Do you even realize how serious that clause is? It's only used for highly classified, potentially dangerous individuals."
Hazelrink turned his eyes back to her, his expression unreadable now. "Yes, I am well aware. And I'm also aware that whatever they sealed, you weren't supposed to see. So why are you so desperate to?"
"I'm not desperate," she replied quickly. "I'm doing my job. And that job involves knowing who I'm placing into the Insurgent Division, especially when their history is hidden behind divine-level clearance."
He tapped a finger against the table. "You don't trust me."
She raised an eyebrow. "Should I?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No. But I think you're starting to want to understand me. And that's dangerous."
She leaned forward, her voice firmer. "Dangerous is withholding the truth, Hazelrink."
Hazelrink gave her a slow, lingering smile, the kind that teetered between amusement and resignation. Then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as if letting go of some internal tension.
"Velroque," he said, his tone was calm but edged with subtle reproach, "