Alaric arrived at Ravenshade University with a single suitcase, a scholarship letter folded so many times it was soft at the edges, and the quiet hope that this place wouldn't know who he used to be.
Ravenshade rose in front of him like something unreal.
Black stone buildings cut sharp against the sky. Glass walls reflected sunlight without warmth. Everything was clean, polished, distant like it had never been meant to welcome anyone, only to impress them.
People passed him without looking twice. Their clothes were expensive in ways that didn't need logos. Their laughter was low, confident. No one hurried. No one looked lost.
Alaric adjusted the strap of his bag and stepped forward anyway.
Just another university, he told himself.
Just bigger. Colder.
He didn't belong here. He knew that the moment he walked through the gates. But belonging had never been something life offered him easily, and he was tired of waiting for permission.
The main hall was already filling with students when he entered. Tall ceilings. Long rows of seats. A raised platform at the front where faculty would speak.
Alaric paused, scanning the room.
Every seat looked the same.
So he chose one near the middle.
He had barely sat down when the noise around him… faded.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
It was subtle at first the kind of silence you only notice because it shouldn't be there. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs stopped scraping. Even footsteps slowed.
Alaric frowned and looked up.
People were standing.
Not all of them. But enough.
Some moved aside. Others straightened. A few lowered their eyes like they'd been caught doing something wrong.
Someone was walking in.
Alaric followed their gazes to the entrance.
He saw him then.
Tall. Composed. Impossibly calm.
The boy didn't rush. He didn't look around. He didn't need to. The space opened for him automatically, like the room itself understood who mattered.
His uniform was worn the same as everyone else's but it looked different on him. Cleaner. Sharper. Like it belonged to him.
Oh, Alaric thought distantly.
That must be someone important.
The boy's presence pressed against the room, heavy and quiet. No smile. No expression. Just control.
People whispered his name under their breath.
Silveren.
Alaric didn't recognize it. It meant nothing to him.
He looked away.
And that was his first mistake.
When Silveren reached the middle rows, his steps slowed.
Stopped.
Alaric felt it before he understood it the sudden tension pulling tight around him, like the air had been drawn thin.
A shadow fell across his desk.
"Move."
The voice was calm. Even. Not loud.
Alaric looked up.
Silveren stood beside him, eyes pale and unreadable.
"For what?" Alaric asked.
That was his second mistake.
The silence deepened.
Someone behind him inhaled sharply, like they were witnessing a slow accident.
Silveren tilted his head slightly. "You're sitting in the wrong place."
Alaric glanced around. No signs. No names. No markings.
"I didn't see anything that said it was reserved," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Silveren studied him not with anger, not with curiosity but with the detached focus of someone deciding how much effort something was worth.
"This seat," Silveren said, "is not for you."
Something in Alaric's chest tightened. He hated the way those words landed. Not because they were cruel but because they were said like a fact.
"I'll move when the lecture starts," Alaric answered. "If there's an issue, the faculty can handle it."
That was his third mistake.
Around them, people froze. No one moved. No one breathed.
Silveren's gaze sharpened.
He leaned down just enough that only Alaric could hear him.
"You think this is about rules."
Alaric met his eyes. "Isn't it?"
For the first time, something flickered across Silveren's expression.
Not anger.
Interest.
Silveren straightened slowly. His voice carried now soft, controlled, unmistakable.
"Alaric Rowan."
Alaric's stomach dropped.
He hadn't introduced himself.
Silveren continued, unbothered by the shock spreading through the room.
"Scholarship student. Transfer. No family ties worth mentioning." His eyes didn't leave Alaric's face. "You should learn to observe before you speak."
The room felt impossibly small.
Alaric stood.
"I don't know who you think you are," he said quietly, "but you don't get to decide where I sit."
Silveren smiled.
It was faint. Cold. Dangerous.
"You'll learn," he said. "Everyone does."
Then he turned and walked away.
The noise didn't return right away.
Alaric remained standing, heart pounding, every instinct screaming that he'd just crossed a line he couldn't see.
Somewhere inside him, fear stirred.
But beneath it burning low and stubborn was something else.
Defiance.
And as Silveren took his seat at the front of the hall, he glanced back once.
Just once.
His eyes met Alaric's.
And this time, they didn't look bored.