The corridors of the academy felt narrower with each passing day.
Erevan Vale moved through them as if the walls themselves had begun to close in, carved stone breathing faintly in the lamplight, the runes along them pulsing like quiet heartbeats. They glowed softly, but their light felt watchful. Each pulse whispered a word he could almost hear:
We are aware of you.
He kept his eyes forward. The air carried faint echoes — soft laughter, rustles of parchment, a cough somewhere distant — but all of it felt aimed at him.
The whispers of his peers trailed him like smoke.
Not loud.
Not cruel, not yet.
But sharp enough to prick at the edges of his thoughts.
They no longer brushed past him in the halls as they once did.
Now they moved around him, like he carried something contagious.
A few would glance when they thought he wouldn't notice, eyes darting away when he turned. Others whispered in voices soft enough to barely reach his ears — just enough that he couldn't tell if the sound was real or imagined.
Erevan wasn't a boy in a crowd anymore.
He was a presence.
A disruption.
A warning.
The memory of the lecture still burned beneath his ribs — that sound, the crash of light and shattering wards, the gasps, the scramble of students pulling away. Every time he blinked, he saw it again. The light bursting like a scream.
And then Cassian.
That smirk.
Golden hair catching the light, voice dripping with that unbearable confidence. A single curve of his mouth sharper than Mistress Kaelen's entire fury.
The humiliation burned, coiling deeper every time Erevan remembered it. What he hated most wasn't the fear — it was the pity that had followed. The way the others had looked at him like he was some fragile, broken thing that might explode again if they spoke too loudly.
By the end of the week, everything had changed.
Students didn't just avoid him anymore. They tested him.
Small jabs. Mutters as he passed. Laughter that always died too quickly when he turned his head.
Cassian's little circle had grown braver. He could feel their amusement follow him across the courtyard like a thread — always out of reach, always close enough to sting.
And beneath it all, something else stirred.
A hum beneath his skin.
A quiet, pulling sound that only he could hear.
At first it came only when he was angry.
Then it came when he was tired.
Now it came all the time.
It pulsed faintly at the base of his throat, a rhythm that didn't belong to him.
He had tried to drown it out. Tried to sleep through it. Tried to bury it beneath the dull noise of the library's pages. But every night, when the halls went quiet and the moonlight spilled like pale smoke through the windows, he felt it again.
That calling.
And then came the voice — not aloud, not entirely within either. It slithered between the two, a presence made of honey and ash.
(Harrax whispered:)"Why endure their mockery when you could silence it? One lash of will. One breath. One taste of what you already hold. They laugh only because you allow it, boy. Their laughter is yours to end."
Erevan froze in the middle of the corridor, his fists clenching so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. The hum beneath his skin answered that whisper — eager, hungry.
He took a slow breath, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
The air itself seemed to listen.
He walked on, head bowed, the whisper still curling like smoke behind his eyes. Each step grew heavier than the last. The walls pulsed faintly, as if alive, and he could swear that the runes brightened in time with his pulse.
He tried not to look at them.
He tried not to listen.
But deep down, a thought stirred — quiet, dangerous, and honest:
What if he's right?
The library should have been a refuge.
Erevan had hoped the hush of parchment and candlelight would still the hum in his veins, but the silence only made it louder. The runes carved into the reading tables flickered faintly, their light skimming over pages like cautious fingers.
He tried to focus. Words blurred. Letters twisted. His pulse filled the gaps between each line.
Steady, he told himself. Breathe.
But his hands wouldn't stop trembling. Every night since the lesson, he'd gone back to the rune in secret, pressing his palm to it until warmth slid up his arm, sweet and dangerous. He told himself it was just to understand it better — just to control it — but the truth tasted different.
He liked the way it made him feel alive.
When the candles burned low and the librarian began snuffing them out, Erevan packed his books with shaking fingers and stepped into the courtyard.
Cool air met him, sharp with dew and stone. The moon drifted between clouds, and the walkways glistened faintly, slick with night moisture. For a moment, everything was quiet enough that he could almost believe he was alone.
Then came the laughter.
Low, careless, deliberate.
He froze.
Cassian leaned against the balustrade ahead, moonlight catching the edge of his smile. Two others lounged beside him, their ease practiced, their eyes bright with something cruel.
"Vale," Cassian called, voice smooth as glass.
Erevan's breath hitched. He should walk away. He should turn, pretend not to hear.
Instead, he stopped.
Cassian's smile widened. "Out late again? What do you do in the dark, I wonder? Whisper to your shadows? Practice breaking things you don't understand?"
One of the boys beside him chuckled, miming a rune cracking between his hands. The other muttered, "Careful, he might blow up the courtyard next."
The heat rose fast and sharp in Erevan's chest. His fingers clenched around his books until the leather spines bit into his palms.
"Move," he said quietly.
Cassian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Move? That's all? No excuses this time? You're slipping, Vale. Used to be you'd at least pretend not to lose control."
That smirk again — bright, cutting, beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful.
Something inside Erevan cracked.
The hunger he'd been burying all week surged up his throat like fire. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to a single pulse that matched his heartbeat.
"Enough," he hissed.
The word didn't just leave his mouth — it shook.
The air around him rippled, torches flaring as though gasping for air. The flame nearest Cassian bent toward Erevan, drawn by a pulse no one else could see.
For one heartbeat, the courtyard held its breath.
Cassian's smirk faltered. His friends stiffened, eyes darting to the torches that now flickered wildly, flames trembling as though caught in a wind that didn't exist.
Erevan could feel the power clawing up through him — that raw, exquisite heat begging to be released. His books shook in his hands, and the night itself seemed to hum.
(Harrax whispered:)"See how easily they would bow? One strike, boy. Just one taste, and they will choke on their laughter. They are yours to bend."
Erevan's body went still. His breath came shallow, ragged. For a heartbeat, he wanted it — wanted to see Cassian's eyes widen in fear, wanted the silence that would follow.
His fingers twitched.
But then, like ice through smoke, another image cut in: Aria.
Her eyes. The sorrow in them. The plea she hadn't spoken aloud.
Don't let it own you.
The echo was enough.
Erevan staggered back a step, clutching his books tight. The power recoiled, hissing through him like a struck chord. The torches steadied. The air went still again.
Cassian blinked, confusion flickering before the sneer returned. He pushed off the balustrade with a careless shrug. "Pathetic," he muttered, though his voice had lost its ease. "Come on."
The three of them walked away, laughter trying — and failing — to sound natural as it trailed into the archway.
Erevan stayed where he was.
His knees felt weak. Sweat slicked his temples. The hum still lingered under his skin, softer now but alive.
He pressed a shaking hand to his chest. His heart was a hammer.
(Harrax's voice coiled, soft and satisfied:)"You see how close you were? Deny it, and it will only grow hungrier. Hide it, and it will devour you from within. It will not stay buried forever."
Erevan slid down the cold stone wall until he sat in the dust, breath trembling. His books spilled across the flagstones, pages fanning open like wounded birds.
He buried his face in his hands.
He had almost done it.
Not against wards. Not against runes.
Against Cassian.
And the thought — the forbidden, dangerous thought — thrilled him.
It should have horrified him.
It didn't.
It felt good.
The courtyard had gone still.
Only the torches remained, their flames breathing softly in the silence, painting restless gold across the flagstones.
Erevan stayed slumped against the wall, his head buried in his hands, breath trembling in the hollow quiet. His palms were damp. The stone was cold against his back, grounding and cruel all at once.
The echoes of laughter were gone, but they lingered anyway — faint ghosts in his ears. Every sound felt sharper now. The rustle of leaves. The flick of fire. The slow throb of his pulse.
His body ached.
His chest burned.
His veins still hummed.
He drew a ragged breath, the night air biting down his throat like frost.
(Harrax whispered:)"Do you feel it, boy? The taste of what you could do? You almost made the air itself kneel to you."
Erevan squeezed his eyes shut. "No… not like that." His voice broke, small, barely a whisper. "Not him."
But the denial sounded thin, even to his own ears.
His hands trembled harder. He could still feel the way the energy had moved through him — the rhythm of it, the pulse of something vast and ancient responding to his call. It had been beautiful in its danger, intoxicating in its weight.
He pressed his hands flat against the cobblestones, trying to anchor himself. The rough surface bit into his skin, but it didn't quiet the storm inside.
The thought replayed again and again — Cassian's smirk faltering, his friends paling, that moment when the air itself seemed to bow.
He should have been horrified. Instead, he felt the faintest shiver of satisfaction coil up his spine.
And that terrified him more than anything.
The night air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked stone and night flowers blooming unseen. The shadows stretched long across the courtyard, dancing faintly as the torches flickered.
They almost looked alive.
Erevan's gaze drifted toward them — toward the way they moved, the way they seemed to reach for him. A soft vibration thrummed through the ground beneath him, answering the quiet call that still pulsed under his skin.
They know you.
They remember.
He flinched and tore his gaze away.
I am not a monster.
I am not.
His whisper cracked, barely a breath.
He tried to focus on the small things — the weight of his books scattered beside him, the moonlight touching the edges of their pages, the cool sting of sweat sliding down his neck.
But the hunger didn't fade. It never faded. It only shifted, curling tighter, quieter, waiting.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. The courtyard emptied, the moon sank lower, and still Erevan sat there, half-shaking, half-still, afraid to move in case the world around him changed again.
When he finally pushed himself to his feet, his legs nearly gave out. The dust clung to his robes, pale against the dark fabric. His fingers brushed the spines of his fallen books — familiar weight, fragile comfort — before gathering them close.
The academy's windows glowed faintly in the distance. Some rooms were still lit. Most were dark.
He wondered which one belonged to Aria.
Whether she was awake.
Whether she still thought of him the same way — or if she now looked at him like everyone else did.
A dangerous thought stirred at the edge of his mind, soft as a sigh: If she saw what I almost did tonight, would she still reach for me?
His chest tightened.
He shook his head hard and started walking, each step slow, unsteady. The air felt too heavy, the silence too aware.
When he reached his chamber, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it, eyes closed, breath shallow.
The rune on the far wall pulsed once, faint and patient.
It didn't call to him yet — not fully — but he could feel its awareness, like a beast watching from the dark.
Waiting.
(Harrax's voice unfurled, silk and venom intertwined:)"Soon, boy. Soon you will no longer be the shadow they fear. You will be the storm they cannot stop."
Erevan's eyes fluttered open, heart hammering. The air shimmered faintly around him, responding to a heartbeat that wasn't just his own.
He slid down against the door, books falling from his hands. His fingers trembled as they touched the floor, tracing faint patterns in the dust without meaning to.
The night was utterly still.
He could feel it in his blood — that quiet, restless hum. The ember of power still alive beneath his skin.
It frightened him.
But gods, it felt so alive.
And as the rune gave a soft, answering pulse in the dark, Erevan Vale exhaled a shivering breath, knowing that no matter how hard he fought it, the hunger would come again.
And next time…
he wasn't sure he'd stop it.