The corridor stretched long and silent, carved from pale stone.
The light here was soft and slanted, not from torches or sun, but from hovering orbs of condensed starlight, floating just beneath the arched ceiling.
Seravyn kept pace beside Lamia, her boots echoing too loud against the polished floor.
It felt like walking through the inside of a cathedral.
If cathedrals trained killers.
Hollow-eyed statues of the 12 Gods lined the walls, each bearing a weapon.
Lamia didn't speak for a while. She walked with hands folded neatly behind her back, head high, braid swinging with every step. Her eyes still that wet, glowing red flicked toward Seravyn occasionally. But she said nothing.
Until she sniffed audibly .
Seravyn stopped. "Did you just—" She turned toward her. "Did you just smell me like a fucking hound?"
Lamia arched a brow, "I was confirming a theory." You're unmarked, no beast signature. No arcane trail. But your scent gives you away. Mortal, mostly. Argent Path, then."
Seravyn blinked. "Okay?"
Lamia tilted her head, then nodded once to herself. "Argent. It's the only Path you'll qualify for."
"The only what?"
Lamia sighed, as if she'd been forced to speak to something beneath her. "There are five Paths in the Sanctum. Four officially, if you believe the administration. Five if you believe history."
They turned down another hallway. This one opened wider, windows carved floor-to-ceiling. Beyond the glass, Seravyn glimpsed distant towers and bridges suspended in air, glowing platforms that ferried students from one wing to another.
Five Paths, Seravyn repeated silently.
Lamia continued, "Crimson is for vampires and their kin. Obsidian for demons, voidborn, anything corrupted or cursed. Ashen is for the fae and changelings, illusionists, oathbinders. Argent belongs to the mortal-blooded. Elementals and divine-touched. Anyone without an ancient bloodline, or too diluted to count."
Seravyn tried to keep up. "And the fifth?"
Lamia's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. "Whispered only."
They descended a marble stairwell lined with silver vines. As they reached the final step, the air shifted.
Seravyn glanced sideways. "What about you? Obsidian?"
Lamia gave her a sharp smile. "Level Two. Upperclass demon."
Ahead, a wide courtyard opened. Its far wall carved with twin silver swords beneath a star. The symbol glowed faintly, set into dark stone veined with blue light.
Students crossed in and out, all clad in silver and midnight blue. The crest was stamped on every shoulder.
Some bore weapons strapped openly. Others had beasts at their heels, sleek panthers, glowing hounds, winged cats made of starlight.
They hadn't taken more than three steps into the Argent courtyard before a voice rang out,
"Lamia, you bring me another stray?"
A boy leaned against one of the stone arches, a midnight blue uniform jacket with the Argent crest in silver embroidery slung loose over his shoulders. Tall, sun-warmed brown skin, dark curls falling into his clear gray eyes. A longsword strapped to his back and two daggers sheathed at both arms.
"That her?" he called lazily.
Lamia rolled her eyes. "Obviously."
He pushed off the wall and strolled toward them. "Welcome to Argent," he said, voice easy. "You look like you're either going to pass out or set something on fire."
Seravyn blinked. "That's...accurate."
He smiled, a real one. "Good. Means you're not pretending."
Lamia made a soft sound of approval. "This is Rowan. Don't let the face fool you. He's irritating when bored. But top of his class, somehow."
Rowan made a dramatic bow. "Lamia loves me."
"Lamia will gut you," she replied sweetly, then turned to Seravyn. "I'll be back at midbell. Don't get kicked out. Or killed."
And with that, she turned and walked off, braid swaying, before vanishing up the stairs.
Rowan turned to Seravyn again, studying her a beat too long. "She likes you. She only threatens people she plans on seeing again."
Seravyn muttered, "Comforting."
"You'll get used to it." He gestured toward a path branching off the main courtyard, where students sparred on floating platforms. "Come on. I'll show you where we eat, sleep, and occasionally cry."
"Wow. Warm welcome."
"Come on," he said, already turning.
She didn't move.
He glanced back. "You coming?"
"…I'm thinking about it."
Rowan grinned. "Cool. Let me know when the thinking part's over. I've got like seven more awkward silences to get through today."
The doors to the main building sealed behind them with a soft, hiss.
Inside, pale light slanted through arching windows, brushing across silver-tiled floors and the four curving staircases that spiraled toward the upper wings, the corridor opening into a sweeping hall shaped like a cross, each wing stretching out into different quadrants of the citadel.
"Argent's split in four," Rowan said. "South wing's girls' dorms. That's yours. North's boys'. I'm there, obviously, lucky you."
She didn't even glance his way. "Obviously."
He smirked. "East is for training and assessments. West's for staff offices and trial courts. Avoid both."
Seravyn kept pace but didn't look around much. Her eyes darted, but didn't linger.
"You're not gonna ask anything?" he asked. "Where the library is, where they hide the chocolate or something?"
She gave a small shrug. "I figured you'd tell me."
"True. I do love the sound of my own voice."
They turned right, passing under carved beams and high arched windows. Students passed them, some in uniform, some in regular clothes, most armed.
"This is common access," he said quietly. "Mini café's to the left. Lounge is across it. Study nooks near the far wall. Library's through the glass doors ahead."
"Games room's tucked past the lounge. You'll hear it before you see it."
They reached the girls dorms floor via the south wing staircase. The dorm corridor was quiet, warm, lined with silver-edged doors marked by nameplates.
He stopped in front of hers.
S. VALE
She stared at it. "That's… weird."
"What, seeing your name?"
"Sort of."
"…Right." He stepped back. "Your uniforms are in there. I'll drop your tabs later. It includes communications, lectures, all of it.
"You're still not gonna tell me your first name?" he asked, nudging the plate. "I can't keep calling you Miss Vale. That sounds like I should be bowing."
"It's Seravyn."
He said it once under his breath. "Seravyn."
"I don't like the way you say it."
"That's fair."
"Thanks. For not… asking stupid questions."
Rowan shrugged. "You're welcome. For the record, I'm still full of them. I'm just saving them till you stop looking like you'll stab me."
She turned toward the door.
Rowan said, "I'll get your access tag sorted later. For now, mine works."
He lifted it, tapped the scanner beside the handle. "Access tags unlock your room, path gates, training halls and basically anywhere you're cleared for. Lose it, and you'll be locked out of your own life."
A soft click, and the door slid open.
She was already half inside when he added, quieter, "I'm dorm master, by the way. If you need anything, Seravyn," he continued, "you can come to me."
For a moment, she just looked at him, then gave a small nod. "Okay."
He didn't push it. Just smiled and stepped back as the door shut between them.
The door of her new room clicked shut behind her
It was... bright. Gentle sunlight spilled through the tall window, casting long streaks of warmth across the floor. Everything inside was still and untouched.
A single bed sat against the right wall, tucked beneath a soft-glowing orb. The sheets were a deep blue, the blanket folded at the foot. One pillow, neatly fluffed. It looked too perfect
The window framed a side view of the Argent courtyard below. At its center rose a grand, three tiered fountain carved from pale stone. Water spilled gracefully from each level, catching the sunlight in glittering arcs before pooling in a wide basin.
To her left, a tall black wardrobe stood slightly open. Everything inside was neatly arranged. Rows of folded sleeveless vests and corset style tops in deep midnight hues.
Short pleated skirts hung beside them, each identical in length and shade. Matching jackets lined the upper rack, her name stitched in glittering silver thread just above the heart.
Seravyn Vale.
She ran a finger over the embroidery, as if to test if it would vanish.
Beneath, shelves held boots, simple sandals, and neatly rolled leggings in the same dark blue. The fabric felt light and fitted, perfect for movement. Gym wear was folded beside them, slim shirts and sleeveless tanks with the insignia of Argent.
Another section revealed sleepwear and underwear; silky shorts and sheer tops so soft they slipped like water between her fingers. She ran her hands over the lace underwear and her heart twisted when she remembered Orion.
She shut the drawer a little too quickly, as if that would stop the ache from settling deeper.
A tall silver-framed mirror stood beside the wardrobe, catching the light from the window.
Seravyn caught her reflection by accident.
The girl staring back wore clean clothes, her skin scrubbed raw of blood and dust. No shackles. No bruises. No screaming.
She looked… normal. Her throat tightened because she wasn't.
She turned away before she could start crying again.
The bathroom lit up as she stepped inside. Everything gleamed, smooth white tiles, polished counters, a rainfall shower sealed behind a crystal glass door .Another mirror hung above the sink, and folded towels rested on a shelf beside soap and neatly arranged bottles of shampoo.
She leaned closer. The scent of lavender rose faintly from the soaps.
Her lips twitched into the barest smile.
"Was this you, Orion?" she murmured.
Seravyn reached for the hem of her cloak and shrugged it off, letting it slide from her shoulders. Her fingers found the edge of her sleeveless top next pulling it over her head, slow and careful. She kicked off her boots, then peeled the leggings down her legs.
Steam was already curling against the inside of the shower glass door as she turned the dial.
She stepped into the shower.
Heat kissed her skin first. Then came the water, falling in gentle sheets, soaking her hair, running down her back in steady rivulets. She tilted her head up and closed her eyes.
For a moment, she didn't move. Just stood there, breathing.
Then she reached for the soap. She lathered it slowly over her arms, her shoulders, her chest, down to her legs, scrubbing gently.
Her mind drifted unguarded to Orion's hands in her hair. The gentleness of it. The way he'd rinsed the blood out like she was something precious.
To the way he'd looked at her before they almost—
She bit down on the thought. Hard.
She washed her hair, working the shampoo in with fingers still trembling a little. The scent rose with the steam, lavender again. Clean, soothing, too soft for the way her chest hurt.
She rinsed the soap off slowly, water sluicing down her skin in warm ribbons. The ache in her spine flared when the stream hit it dull at first, then sharp, tugging at the edge of her breath. She braced a hand against the glass wall and let it pass.
When the last of the water had swirled down the drain, she reached for the towel hanging by the rail, wrapped it around her body and padded back to the room.
The mirror was fogged, but her reflection still glared back at her blurred in steam. She wiped the glass clean with the flat of her palm.
And stared.
Her hair clung to the towel in damp waves. Her cheeks were flushed, skin raw from scrubbing. And her eyes looked like they burned from a fever.
She pulled her hair sideways and dragged the towel down her back carefully, avoiding the healing cuts along her spine. They throbbed now, angry and fresh. Her gaze dropped to the slim iron band clamped around her ankle, still there like a mark of ownership.
Still a prisoner.
She stepped away from the mirror with the towel wrapped high around her chest, water still glistening along her collarbones as she padded barefoot to the wardrobe.
Her fingers skimmed the shelves, finding a set of black lace underwear. She slid them on before pulling out the dark leggings. It was smooth and snug, the fabric hugging her hips, smoothing over the curve of her thighs.
Then the silver tank top that cut low enough to kiss the tops of her breasts. The fabric clung where it needed to, soft over the swell of her chest, snug and stopping just below the curve of her stomach.
She raked her fingers through her damp hair, wincing as they caught on a tangle. A carved ivory comb caught her eye on the corner shelf. She picked it up and worked slowly through the knots, dragging it down from root to end.
By the time she was done, her hair hung in soft, wet waves down her back, clinging faintly to her shoulders. She didn't bother twisting it up. She let it fall.
The boots Orion gave her sat by the bed. Still new, but broken in just enough to move with her. She stepped into them, tugged the laces tight, and stood.
She stepped back from the mirror one last time as a knock jolted through the silence.
She stilled, every part of her tensed.
She moved to the door and cracked it open.
Lamia stood on the other side, flanked by Rowan.
"Not bad," Lamia said, her gaze trailing deliberately from head to toe. "Not bad at all."
Rowan gave a low whistle,"You sure you're not trying to kill someone?"
Seravyn arched a brow. "Would it work?"
Lamia snorted. "You ready for lunch, or should we let the mirror finish clapping?"
"I'm ready," Seravyn said.
Rowan leaned forward and tapped his tag against the scanner. The door hissed shut behind her.
She frowned. "You locking me out?"
He shrugged. "You don't have your own tag yet. Relax, I'll open it when we're back."
They started down the stairs.
Seravyn glanced sideways at him. "You're actually coming?"
Rowan snorted. "Why, you gonna miss me if I don't?"
Lamia cut in, "He's escorting you so you don't punch anyone."
Rowan nodded solemnly. "Public relations."
Seravyn blinked. "So...you're friends?"
Lamia didn't miss a beat. "Gods, no. He just won't stop following me."
"She says that, but she texts me at midnight," Rowan said.
Seravyn blinked again. "What is happening."
Lamia sighed. "Anyway, when are you giving her a tag and a proper tab?"
"When the system decides she's not a threat to national security," Rowan said, flashing her a grin.