The banquet was over, yet the Academy did not sleep.
Laughter still drifted faintly through the open corridors, torchlight flickered across marble floors, and the scents of spiced wine and roasted meats lingered in the air like ghosts refusing to fade. In the Moon Tower, high above the noise, Thaddeus sat on the balcony railing, silver hair catching pale moonlight, katana balanced loosely across his knees.
The shadows at his feet stirred restlessly, their tendrils curling against the stone as if echoing his unease. They carried whispers—fragments of conversation still carried on the wind from the courtyards below. Names repeated like incantations. Moon. Solgard. Emberhart. And one more, softer, threaded with curiosity rather than fear: Clearwater.
Aurora joined him silently, her gown whispering against the stone as she stepped onto the balcony. Her silver eyes reflected the moonlight, calm but assessing. She did not speak at once. She never did. Instead, she leaned against the railing beside him, hands folded neatly, as though waiting for the silence itself to yield meaning.
Finally, she asked, "What did you see tonight?"
Thaddeus' gaze did not leave the courtyards below. "I saw fire try to scorch shadow with words sharper than his spear. I saw wind watching from the edges, measuring. I saw sunlight demanding to be adored." He tilted his head slightly, katana glinting. "And I saw water… steady, quiet, but deep."
Aurora's lips curved faintly. "Serenity Clearwater."
Her brother did not answer, but the way the shadows tightened at his feet betrayed thought.
Aurora turned fully toward him, her hair silver as frost. "She calmed Blaise before you could. She matched your words without flinching. And she looked at you differently than the others did."
Thaddeus finally shifted, sliding the katana back into its sheath. "Differently? Or simply with more patience than most can afford?"
Aurora studied him, her expression unreadable. "Patience and interest are cousins. Do not mistake one for the other."
Thaddeus rose, brushing the dust from his black tunic. "Interest or patience, it changes nothing. Water may soothe, but shadows do not forget."
Yet as they descended from the Moon Tower to attend the smaller gathering scheduled for the following night, he found her words had taken root.
The Hall of Reflection lived up to its name. Unlike the banquet's grandeur, this chamber was narrower, circular, lined with tall arched windows that opened onto lantern-lit gardens. Candles burned low in wall sconces, their flames tinted by subtle enchantments—blue for water, gold for sun, crimson for fire, silver for shadow. The result was a hall filled with ever-shifting colors, as though the elements themselves whispered at the edges of conversation.
Here, students gathered not to feast but to speak. Clusters formed naturally: the Rosewood twins laughing with a knot of earthbound nobles, Selene Stormhaven listening intently while Ryan charmed a circle with a storyteller's grin, Blaise Emberhart boasting loudly, sparks dancing at his fingertips to emphasize every tale.
Thaddeus entered with Aurora at his side. The hall hushed, just briefly, before the murmurs resumed—quieter now, sharper, each word a blade wrapped in silk. He ignored the whispers, scanning the chamber.
And there she was. Serenity Clearwater, standing near one of the great windows, pale blue gown shimmering faintly where moonlight struck it. Her voice was calm, almost melodic, as she spoke to two younger nobles. She corrected their clumsy observations not with arrogance, but with quiet firmness that made her authority impossible to dismiss.
When her eyes lifted and found his, she excused herself gracefully, murmuring something that made her companions bow, and crossed the chamber toward him.
"Moon," she said, her voice smooth as flowing water. She dipped her head just slightly—a courtesy without submission. "You wield shadows with precision. But more intriguing is how you command attention without speaking."
Thaddeus studied her carefully. Her presence was different from others: no arrogance, no feigned charm. She simply… was. And that was enough to draw eyes.
"And you, Lady Clearwater," he replied, his tone even, "soothe storms before they break. It is… admirable."
Her lips curved faintly. "Storms reveal truth. Still water only hides it. But still water endures, long after storms pass."
The words lingered between them, more than metaphor, less than confession. Thaddeus' shadows shifted, uneasy, as though recognizing his own interest before he did.
They moved to the balcony overlooking the gardens, where lanterns floated on water like drifting stars. The air was cool, the scent of jasmine thick in the night. For a long moment, they said nothing. Serenity rested her hands lightly on the stone railing, posture relaxed but deliberate, the picture of composure.
"You deflected Blaise with words sharper than steel," she said eventually. "But you did not enjoy it."
Thaddeus' silver eyes flickered toward her. "Games are for those who can afford distraction. I cannot. Shadows remind me that every step must lead somewhere."
"And yet here you are," she said softly, turning her gaze on him. "In a hall where every glance, every whisper, is a game."
He exhaled slowly. "Survival sometimes requires standing in the light, if only to remind people what darkness waits beyond it."
Serenity's smile was faint but genuine. "Perhaps. But I think survival is not your only goal."
Thaddeus' hand brushed the hilt of his katana unconsciously. "What do you think my goal is?"
Her blue eyes met his, calm and unwavering. "To control what others cannot. To prove prophecy is not destiny."
The words struck closer than he expected. Few spoke of the prophecy so directly. Fewer still with such calm conviction. His shadows stirred like restless hounds, unsettled by how easily she had named the truth.
Before he could answer, the hall shifted. A presence entered, unmistakable.
Evan Solgard.
Golden hair catching torchlight, blue eyes gleaming, estoc at his side though unsheathed. His aura radiated confidence, almost arrogance, and the chamber bent subtly toward him as conversations quieted. Emily followed, white and gold attire gleaming, her gaze cool but searching.
Whispers rose instantly. Sun and Moon in the same hall. Moon with Clearwater. Sun watching.
Thaddeus felt the weight of stares, but he did not flinch. Serenity, too, remained steady, though her hand shifted slightly along the railing, closer to him than before.
Evan's eyes found him across the hall, sharp and measuring. For a long moment, neither moved, the silence between them louder than the chatter surrounding it. Then Evan smirked faintly, as though amused, and turned deliberately to speak with a cluster of minor nobles who hung on his every word.
Emily, however, did not look away. Her gaze lingered on Thaddeus—and on Serenity at his side. It was not anger, not quite jealousy, but something quieter. A calculation. A note in a ledger of future moves.
Serenity noticed, of course. "The Solgards watch you as rivals," she murmured, voice low enough only he could hear. "But Emily… she sees something else."
Thaddeus' lips curved faintly. "Let them watch. Shadows do not fade because the sun disapproves."
For the first time, Serenity laughed. Not mocking, not sharp. Gentle. Real. A sound like ripples across still water. And Thaddeus, to his own surprise, found himself wanting to hear it again.
The evening waned. Groups thinned, professors withdrew, whispers gave way to silence. Thaddeus returned to the Moon Tower, shadows trailing him like loyal guards. On the balcony, Aurora waited, as though she had known he would come.
"You let her close," she said softly.
Thaddeus placed his katana against the railing, folding his arms. "Perhaps."
Aurora studied him for a long time, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "Be careful, Thad. Water may soothe shadows. But it can also drown them."
He looked past her, to the moon high above, silver light washing over the academy towers. Serenity's calm voice lingered in his mind, the ripple of her laughter, the way she had named his truth without fear.
"Then I will learn to swim," he said quietly.
Aurora tilted her head, her silver eyes unreadable. "Just do not forget—you were born to walk in shadow, not drift in tides."
Thaddeus did not answer. He only watched the horizon, where night wrapped the spires of Elysium in silver and shadow.
For the first time since arriving, he wondered if the prophecy's path—Sun, Moon, Eclipse—might not be walked alone.