Chapter 2: The Moon-Touched Princess
The knock echoed again—soft, patient, inevitable.
Lucien Arkwright adjusted his cuffs before answering, a habit that did not belong to him yet felt disturbingly natural, his body remembered how to behave, even if the soul inside it did not.
"Enter," he said.
The door opened without a sound.
Princess Elowen Viremont stepped inside.
She wore the academy uniform, tailored in black and silver, its design understated yet unmistakably regal. A small brooch shaped like a crescent moon rested at her collar—the symbol of the royal house. Her silver-blonde hair was braided neatly, pinned behind her head, revealing a face too calm for someone her age.
Her eyes were the first thing Lucien noticed.
Pale. Clear. Reflective.
Like moonlight over still water.
She closed the door behind her and inclined her head slightly as acknowledgment.
"Professor Arkwright," she said. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Lucien gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. "Not at all, Your Highness."
She sat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched—not awkward, but heavy, as though the air itself were waiting.
Lucien felt it then.
A pressure,almost imperceptible, brushing against the edge of his awareness.
Not magic as he understood it—but something Deeper.
He resisted the instinct to frown.
Princess Elowen folded her hands in her lap. "You didn't attend breakfast this morning."
She asked in a Statement tone.
"I wasn't hungry," Lucien replied evenly.
Her gaze sharpened by a fraction. "That's unusual."
Lucien met her eyes calmly. "So is requesting a private consultation before the first lecture of the term."
A pause.
Then—she smiled.
It was faint, controlled, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"I had a dream last night," she said.
Lucien felt the whisper stir inside his mind.
He remained silent.
"In the dream," Elowen continued, "the moon bled. The academy stood empty. And a man with a blooded knife stood beside a door that should not exist."
Her eyes did not leave his face.
"You were there, Professor."
Lucien's fingers tightened against the armrest.
Dreams, symbols.
He exhaled slowly. "Dreams often borrow familiar faces."
"Yes," she agreed softly. "But this one spoke."
Lucien's heart skipped once.
"What did it say?" he asked.
Elowen's lips parted.
Then she hesitated.
For the first time since entering the room, uncertainty flickered across her features.
"It spoke in a language I do not know," she said. "Yet I understood it perfectly."
She recited the words carefully, each syllable precise.
"Knowledge is a door that opens both ways."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Lucien felt it unmistakably now—the presence within him shifting, attentive.
That sentence.
It had been written in the ritual circle.
He leaned back slightly, buying himself a breath. "Your Highness," he said, "how long have you been having these dreams?"
Elowen looked away, toward the window where the crimson moon still lingered, faint against the morning sky.
"Since childhood," she answered. "They grow clearer each year."
Lucien nodded slowly.
The puzzle pieces slid together with dreadful clarity.
"You're not the one dreaming," he said quietly. "You're the one being remembered."
Her gaze snapped back to him.
"By what?"
Lucien held her eyes.
"By whatever your bloodline sealed away."
Silence crashed down between them.
Outside, a bell rang—signaling the start of the academy day.
Elowen stood.
"If that is true," she said calmly, "then you are far more dangerous than I was told."
Lucien rose as well.
"Danger," he replied, "depends on who holds the key."
For a long moment, they regarded each other—professor and princess, scholar and vessel.
Then Elowen inclined her head once more.
"I will attend your lecture," she said. "I wish to see what kind of man teaches forbidden history."
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door.
"Professor," she added softly, without looking back, "whatever followed you back from that ritual…"
Her reflection briefly appeared in the cracked mirror.
"…it is awake now."
The door closed.
Lucien stood alone.
Inside his mind, the whisper smiled.