After the history lesson, everyone filed out — not just because they were starving and desperate to eat lunch, but because even the students who usually swarmed Professor Maedra Quill with questions could feel the uncomfortable shift lingering in the air. The debate between Princess Nyreal and the professor had left a tension so thick it clung to the walls. No one wanted to stay in it longer than necessary. Even the air felt heavier, as though the echoes of her words still hovered above the desks.
Lucen was still lost in thought because of it. Twice now — not once, but twice — Princess Nyreal had shown that despite being from Noxmere, she understood feelings far deeper than anyone expected. She knew pain beyond torture, beyond cruelty, beyond anything the Academy whispered about her people. And she spoke of it with a calmness that made it even more haunting.
"Lucen…?" Eiran called softly.
Lucen blinked, snapping back. "Yeah… sorry." Only then did he realize they were already seated in the cafeteria, trays full, the noise of lunchtime buzzing around them — clattering plates, bursts of laughter, the occasional magical spark from a careless Talent user. The world had moved on while he was still stuck in that lecture hall.
"Are you sure you are okay?" Eiran asked, worry slipping into his tone despite his attempt to hide it. His brows pinched slightly, and his hazel eyes softened.
Lucen shook his head lightly. "Do not worry. I am fine… just wondering where the princess went."
Eiran nodded, understanding. "You want to go find her?"
"Oh, no. I think she would rather she was not found. Besides, I am starving." Lucen said, finally digging into his food.
Eiran chuckled — a soft, modest, airy sound that caught Lucen completely off guard. It echoed gently, like something sweet brushing past his ear, and Lucen felt an unexpected urge to hear it again. The thought alone brought a warm smile to his face, one he hadn't worn in… well, forever.
"Tell me about yourself," Lucen said between bites, trying to sound casual.
"What do you want to know?" Eiran leaned forward, munching on some chips with quiet enthusiasm. His elbows rested lightly on the table, posture relaxed, as though he was genuinely happy to be asked.
"Well, for starters… why the name 'Eiran'?"
"My father gave it to me," Eiran said. "He worked with the seventh prince — Eiran, the Blade of Dawn, Son of Perseus — for years. He was gone most of the time, only coming home for a day or two. When I was born, he said my eyes reminded him of the prince's. The prince had become like a son to him, so he named me after him."
Lucen blinked. 'Confusion' didn't even begin to cover it. Was he talking about that Eiran? The Eiran he knew? The quiet one — but unlike… well, not mentioning names. Like the other brothers, he had been top of his class at Soulbourne Academy. Second only to Caelir in knowledge. They were so alike that people called them "The Silent Twins." Eiran almost never spoke, while Caelir spoke only when necessary — usually to deliver wisdom or verbally torment Lucen in their endless wordplay battles. And Eiran would stand there, arms crossed, eyes judging, silently criticizing.
His exploits were known across the land. The best in his field. A healer with a heart of gold, more than most. He traveled throughout Solara, helping locals — probably with Eiran's father.
And now, looking at this Eiran… yes, the resemblance was there. The same quiet grace, the same gentle aura. But this Eiran's beauty was… tolerable. Manageable. Lucen understood why the girls kept staring, but Eiran looked too calm, too humble, to be the type who chased popularity.
The truth was, who wouldn't be smitten by such beauty?
Eiran had the kind of beauty that didn't announce itself — it unfolded. His wavy chestnut hair caught the light in soft curls, framing a face too serene for the chaos of the Academy. Warm hazel eyes, flecked with gold, held a gentleness that made people forget their own names for a moment. And when he smiled — even the smallest curve — it felt like warmth spreading through cold hands. His features were delicate yet striking, a harmony of soft lines and quiet grace. There was something in the way he moved, careful and fluid, that made onlookers pause mid-step. Students often found themselves staring longer than they meant to… and a few had to look away before they fell too deep to climb out.
His beauty contrasted with Princess Nyreal's; hers was sharp and ethereal, while Eiran's was soft and gentle. One could just stare and-
"Have you met the prince?" Lucen asked quickly, trying not to drown in the healer's visuals.
Eiran shook his head. "No…" He sighed, eyes drifting dreamily. "He is busy with his movement, but I hope to meet him one day. I want to study hard, graduate, and join his group — not only to work with the prince, but to help as many people as I can."
Lucen stared. Were they talking about the same person? The brother he had grown to loathe was actually someone's inspiration. Someone's dream. He wanted to warn Eiran about the prince's cold silence, his sharp judgment, his quiet cruelty… but he couldn't. Not because he feared breaking the boy's heart — though that was part of it — but because maybe, just maybe, the Eiran he knew from childhood wasn't that deep down.
Maybe Lucen had only ever seen the surface.
Eiran tilted his head. "You look like you're thinking very hard," he said softly.
Lucen forced a small laugh. "Just… surprised. I didn't know the prince inspired so many."
"Oh, he does," Eiran said earnestly. "He saved entire villages during the famine. He healed people no one else could. My father said he never once asked for praise. He just… did what needed to be done."
Lucen swallowed. That didn't sound like the brother he knew. Or maybe it did — maybe Lucen had never bothered to look past the cold exterior.
"What about you?" Eiran asked suddenly. "Why did you come to Soulbourne Academy?"
Lucen stiffened. "Me?"
"Yes," Eiran said, smiling gently. "Everyone has a reason."
Lucen looked down at his food. "I… don't know if mine is worth telling."
Eiran leaned in, voice soft but steady. "If it brought you here, it is worth something."
Lucen's chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that to him.
He exhaled slowly. "Maybe… maybe I'll tell you one day."
Eiran nodded, accepting the answer without pushing. "Then I'll wait." He said, then dug into his food.
Lucen felt warmth bloom in his chest — unfamiliar, unsettling, but not unwelcome. He wasn't pushy; he was earnest and easygoing. Aside from being humble, he was also very respectful; person and boundaries. This guy was too good to be true.
"You free after lessons?" Eiran asked.
"Er… I would have to look for Princess Nyreal since-" Lucen began, but the moment he looked up and met Eiran's pleading eyes, the rest of the sentence died in his throat. He knew he shouldn't have looked. He knew. Those eyes were dangerous. Beautiful, but dangerous.
"Please…" Eiran murmured, lips slightly pouted.
There it was — full puppy-dog mode. And it wasn't just cute; it was irresistible. The more one tried to fight it, the faster it broke through every defense.
"Okay… fine," Lucen yielded with a sigh.
"Yes!" Eiran exclaimed, his excitement only making him cuter. "Then you can come to my room."
Lucen blinked. "Is that not against the rules? You do not look like someone who would break them."
"Technically, it is not 'breaking the rules' if no one knows about it…" Eiran said, wearing the most innocent expression imaginable.
Lucen couldn't help but chuckle. "Sure. We should be heading to our next class," he said, finishing the last of his food.
Eiran nodded. "Mm."
"I did not ask," Lucen said as they stood, "how is it? Being a healer and all."
Eiran thought for a moment. "It is not that difficult. I mean, I was born a healer, so I cannot complain, right?" He smiled softly. "I believe no faction is truly easy or hard, or more important than another. We just have to adapt to its demands if we want to be good at it."
"You lived with your grandmother, huh?" Lucen asked, impressed.
Eiran's eyes widened with pure innocence. "How did you know?"
Lucen chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. "Come on, I will walk you to class."
If Eiran's eyes had a limit, they broke it. They widened even more, filled with gratitude. "Really?! Thank you so much." He quickly cleared the table and stood with a bright nod. "Shall we?"
Lucen nodded, and they set off.
The more time Lucen spent with Eiran, the more he admired him. It wasn't just his gentle looks — it was his manners, his warmth, and the quiet wisdom he carried, the kind that only came from being raised by someone who taught through stories and patience. It explained the way he spoke: careful, thoughtful, precise.
As they walked toward the Healer Faction, the world around them seemed to fade. Students passed by, chatting, laughing, heading to their classes — but their voices blurred into nothing. Not because they were whispering, but because Lucen's focus kept drifting back to the enchanting presence beside him.
Even though some students shot Lucen judgmental glances, he didn't care. He had made a new friend.
"Well, this is it… my class," Eiran said as they reached the doorway.
Lucen nodded. "Well, I should get going." He bowed his head — a habit he had unconsciously adopted — and turned to leave, but a soft, warm hand stopped him.
"Thank you again," Eiran said, wearing his signature warm smile.
Lucen nodded. "Anytime." His gaze dropped to Eiran's hand, still wrapped around his.
Eiran followed his gaze, then looked up, then down again… then up once more before quickly letting go. "Sorry about that," he said, embarrassed.
"It is fine," Lucen said with a small nod. "I will get going then."
"Sure. Bye," Eiran said with a gentle wave before slipping into the classroom.
As Lucen walked to his own class, he felt a strange sensation in his chest — not strange in a frightening way, but soothingly warm. And it gave him something new to think about during the lesson. Not Princess Nyreal's unsettling absence. Not the professor's lecture that made no sense to him because he was Talentless.
But the comforting realization that he had found a friend — someone who might make his stay at Soulbourne Academy far more bearable.
…
Meanwhile, in the reception of the Royal Chambers, Princess Nyreal sat across from the student from before, her arms and legs crossed, her posture radiating a quiet, dangerous authority. The room itself seemed to shrink around her, shadows gathering at her back as if waiting for her command.
"So this cult of yours… you are searching for the gods?" she asked, one brow arched in cold amusement.
"Not a cult…" he replied with a nervous chuckle, though his fingers twitched against his knees.
Princess Nyreal rolled her eyes. "Does that not sound pathetic to you? What makes you think a band of school children is capable of finding the gods?" Her voice carried a sharp edge of mockery with a tinge of anger.
The boy's smile faded. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward. His gaze steadied, all traces of nervousness dissolving into something firmer… darker. A resolve that did not belong on the face of a student.
When he spoke, his voice was calm — too calm — and it chilled the air between them.
"Because we know where they are."