The academy felt colder these days—and it wasn't just the wind.
Raiven walked the halls with practiced calm, but he felt it in the way people looked away too quickly. In the quiet that trailed behind his footsteps. In the silence that passed between him and Senya like a ghost.
They still spoke—but something was fraying at the seams.
They had grown too close, too fast—and now, both seemed to be pulling back, unsure what the next move might cost them.
Senya barely met his eyes in public. She smiled in small bursts, but never fully. As if afraid someone might catch the warmth between them and crush it.
Nyra, meanwhile, had become a shadow.
She no longer waited for Raiven at the sparring grounds. No more teasing during drills. No strategic debates. If anything, she avoided him entirely.
But it was Senya who caught the weight of Nyra's stare.
A stare too sharp. Too lingering. And too full of something Raiven couldn't name.
Training sessions turned quiet. Focused. Tense.
No one said what they were all thinking.
But the silence spoke for them.
Night had fallen like a velvet curtain over the Valemir Estate. The garden shimmered under pale light, the Moonwell pool reflecting the stars like a living mirror.
Raiven found her there—Nyra—standing still, arms folded, gaze distant.
He didn't call out to her. Just stepped beside her, voice low.
"You've been avoiding me."
Nyra didn't move.
"It's not like that."
"Then tell me what it is," he said, voice rougher than intended. "I've known you my whole life. You don't shut down unless something's wrong."
Her expression didn't falter. But her voice—when it came—was soft, tight.
"It's not you, Raiven. It's what you might become."
He blinked, stunned.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She looked at him then. Her eyes unreadable—holding sadness… and something like fear.
"Doesn't matter," she murmured. "See you at the dining hall."
She turned and walked away, her cloak whispering behind her, vanishing into the dark.
Raiven stood alone, staring at the Moonwell.
Two fractured reflections shimmered beneath the surface—one real, the other broken by ripples.
Senya noticed the shift before she could explain it.
Even Sera, once warm and open, had grown… cautious. Like someone stepping carefully through a room full of unseen traps.
She still smiled. Still laughed. But there was a distance in her now—subtle, but cold.
Raiven hadn't changed outwardly. But his words were more measured. His gaze harder to read.
Then came the moment that twisted something in her chest:
She rounded the corner near the Echo Spire and froze.
Raiven and Sera were standing close. Their heads bowed. Their voices hushed.
Sera's hand touched his arm—just for a second.
Senya didn't need to hear the words.
She turned before they could see her.
But the sting stayed.
That night, she lay staring at her ceiling, silent questions unraveling like thread.
Had she ever truly belonged here?
Or was she just something waiting to be cut loose?
Morning brought no clarity.
Azryn stood tall in the central courtyard, his voice echoing through the cold air.
"Raiven. Nyra. You are summoned to undertake the Whispering Vault Trial."
Gasps rippled through the assembled students.
Of course—it was tradition. A rite of passage for Zyres of ancient blood.
Senya said nothing. This had nothing to do with her.
But then Azryn's next words cracked the silence like lightning.
"There will be a third."
A wave of murmurs followed. Confused glances. Whispered names.
"Who would that be?" someone called out.
Azryn didn't answer.
"The Vault reveals what must be revealed," he said. "You will know soon enough."
Raiven's chest tightened.
Who was the third?
And why did this feel less like a trial… and more like a trap?
The wind carried whispers through the trees that night.
Senya sat at the edge of the academy's stone bridge, legs swinging off the side, the sky above streaked in silver.
A rustle behind her.
She turned—but found no danger.
Just a Wair Cat in human form. A face she didn't recognize.
He said nothing. Only extended a folded note.
Then vanished into the mist.
Senya unfolded it slowly.
A single sentence. Ink dark and sharp as a dagger:
"He will choose loyalty or you.When he enters the Vault, a blade will be drawn.Choose if it's yours… or meant for you."
Her hands trembled.
Above her, the stars twisted into strange shapes.
Senya stood at the edge of the academy gates, the wind tugging at her cloak, night pressing in like prophecy.
"If I stay, someone dies.If I leave… it might be me."