The bells tolled, low and resonant, their vibrations rattling through the stone corridors of the academy. Each strike pressed against Erevan's chest, heavy and insistent, as if the stones themselves were judging him. He hunched over his desk, fingers trembling around the quill, a fine line of ink trailing unevenly across the parchment. Dawn's gray light crept through the narrow window, highlighting smudges, stains, and scattered sheets that refused to make sense of his thoughts.
He had not slept. Could not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of the courtyard came back—the torches bending, flames flickering toward him, reacting to the pulse of his own power. Cassian's smirk haunted him, sharp and unyielding, pressing like a blade against the side of his ribs. Beneath it all, there was Harrax. Low, coiling, predatory laughter slipping through his mind like smoke curling around a candle flame.
You tasted it, the dark voice murmured, silk dragging over a blade. The moment he faltered, the moment his mockery stilled—you glimpsed what it means to be more than prey. Do you see how fragile their walls are, boy? How easily certainty bends?
Erevan's hand quivered. He pressed the quill too hard, snapping its nib. Jagged ink bloomed across the page, black and threatening like spilled blood. He shoved the parchment aside, chest tight, heart hammering in a rhythm that felt alien, too fast, too large.
Keep your head down. Survive.
The word tasted bitter on his tongue, sharp with warning and promise. Containment.
And yet, the hunger gnawed. Patient, endless, insistent.
By midmorning, Erevan dragged himself through the academy corridors, shoulders slumped, steps uneven. The stone walls seemed closer now, suffocating, etched with faintly glowing runes that pulsed like watchful eyes. Whispers trailed him, never loud, never direct, just persistent—a thousand tiny pinpricks against the edges of his awareness. Dangerous.Broken.Vale.
He slipped into the lecture hall and eased onto the back bench, hood drawn low. Every eye in the room turned, some curious, some openly observing, and he felt their gaze pressing against him like cold hands. Aria sat across the hall, clutching her books to her chest. Her eyes flicked to him, shadowed with worry, and he forced his face toward the wooden desk in front of him.
Mistress Kaelen's boots echoed sharply across the floor, crisp and deliberate, silver-trimmed robes brushing the stone as she stopped at the center. The crystalline pedestals projecting wards at the center of the room cast light that shimmered and pulsed like breathing, pressing against his eyes. Her gaze landed on him with a precision that made his stomach coil.
Today, we test resilience, she said, voice cutting cleanly through the hum of magic and whispers, and every student seemed to flinch at the sheer weight behind the words.
Three larger wards glowed atop their pedestals, intricate spirals of runes layered one atop another. They thrummed a steady, low resonance that pressed against ears and chest, vibrating faintly like a heartbeat of the building itself. Students fanned out across the floor, attempting to reinforce the projections while instructors deliberately destabilized them, testing focus, precision, control.
Erevan lingered for a moment longer, tasting the tension in the room, letting Harrax's silk-dark whispers slither inside him.
They give you scraps. Playthings. Hollow tricks. You have felt the true weave, boy. Why lower yourself to this petty exercise?
He pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing, forcing the voice down into the deep pit of his stomach. He would survive this. He could not let them see. Not the hunger. Not the pulse of power writhing beneath his skin, begging for release.
And then Kaelen's gaze swept over him again, sharp as a hawk's talon.
"Vale."
The single word struck him like a blow. Every whisper in the room seemed to freeze. Every eye turned. Every breath caught.
His name struck him in the chest. Every whisper in the hall seemed to stop, every movement frozen in the weight of her gaze. Every nerve in his body screamed.
Erevan rose slowly, muscles stiff, legs heavy as stone, descending the steps toward the ward that pulsed with light, alive, almost aware of him. The crystalline lattice projected threads that quivered like captive lightning. His palms were slick with sweat, trembling. Heart hammering. Breath shallow.
He laid his hands over the ward, tentative at first. The lines of light trembled beneath his touch. A flicker of stability returned, just for a heartbeat—a fragile, fleeting pulse of success—and then the hunger surged.
Not stabilize. Seize. Control. Bend. Break.
The threads flickered violently under his fingers, twisting, snapping, arcs of light jerking against the pull of his will. His stomach lurched, and the hum thrummed in his bones. Harrax's laughter, soft and coaxing, curled in his mind.
Yes. Taste it. Push further. Let them see what they should fear.
Erevan's jaw clenched until the taste of metal filled his mouth. No. Not now. He could not. He would not.
But the ward did not wait. It responded to the hunger coiling in his chest, to the pulse thrumming through his veins. The hum escalated, resonating through the floor, vibrating along his spine. And then—a faint crack ran across the interlocking circles, sharp and glaring in the quiet.
Gasps erupted. A ripple of whispered astonishment rolled across the benches. Every eye burned into him. Every gaze pressed against him like a weight. Shame flared, hot and biting, spreading through his chest.
Mistress Kaelen's voice cut, sharp and unyielding. Control it, she demanded, every word a whip across the chamber.
Erevan jerked his hands back instinctively. The ward stabilized, but the faint scar lingered across its perfect circles, a silent accusation etched in light. Every eye remained fixed, every whisper a sting, and Harrax purred inside him.
Do you feel it? The taste of their fear, the tremor of certainty? This is yours, Erevan Vale. Not shame. Power.
He pressed his palms to his thighs, jaw tight. Not shame… power. Yet it felt like teeth gnawing at him. He could break it. He could break them. But at what cost?
The lecture continued around him, but he no longer heard the words. The ward's residual hum, the pulse in his veins, Harrax's coaxing—all that remained.
And then the push came, an undeniable surge that clawed up his throat, coiling in his chest. Breath hitched, palms burned, every nerve alight with raw, trembling energy. The ward bucked beneath his touch, arcs of light splintering and twisting, alive in its rebellion. Gasps cut through the hall. Students shielded their eyes. Some stumbled back, some froze, mouths open.
"Vale!" Kaelen's voice rang like steel. Sigils flared from her fingertips, striking toward the ward, stabilizing it with authority and force.
Erevan could not stop himself. Not fully. The hunger had taken him, coiling in his chest and stretching into every limb. He felt the ward not as a fragile lattice, but as threads of raw, living energy waiting to bend entirely to his will.
His lips parted. Words—alien, guttural, raw—slipped past them, carrying the weight of his intent. The lattice convulsed, light fracturing into shards that shot outward like glass. Screams and startled cries erupted across the hall. Students ducked, gasped, and some whispered prayers. The energy rippled, thrumming through stone, wood, and air alike.
And from the fractured silence, something darker rose.
A shadow stretched along the walls, edges writhing like smoke caught in a storm. Its head tilted in something like amusement. Its form too fluid, too wrong. Fear curled in the pit of Erevan's stomach, but beneath it, a deeper, darker thrill pulsed—power, raw and undeniable.
Students froze. Some whispered prayers. Some screamed outright. Aria's gasp cut through the chaos. Her eyes were wide, pale with fear, but in them lingered something else—pleading, begging him not to let the hunger take over fully.
Cassian's smirk had vanished. In its place, sharp, cold calculation. His companions shifted uneasily. The bravado of earlier was gone. They had all seen.
Kaelen's voice cut through the charged air. Enough!
Her sigils flared, bright and pure, slicing across the hall, lancing outward. For a heartbeat, the shadow resisted, twisting, writhing. Then, with a hiss like air escaping a wound, it dissipated. Silence fell, heavy and thick, heavier than any scream.
Every eye turned to Erevan.
He stood at the center, chest heaving, palms still glowing faintly, sparks dancing across his fingers. Breath rattled in his lungs. He could not speak. Could not explain. Could not even move.
Aria stepped slightly forward, then froze. Her expression was not only fear, but sorrow. She had seen the hunger, the pull, the dark thrill that had curled close to consuming him—and how close he had come to letting it loose fully.
Cassian's gaze lingered, sharp and assessing. No mockery remained. Only cold calculation, and perhaps a shadow of awe at witnessing the shattering of control.
Kaelen approached, robes whispering against the stone. Her eyes were icy and calculating, but maybe tinged with something faintly like concern. She gestured sharply.
"Vale. You will come with me. Now."
Erevan's knees buckled slightly. Vision swimming. Harrax's voice curled in his mind, triumphant and silky.
At last. The cage has cracked loud enough for all to hear. Do you feel it? Their fear. Their awe. That is yours, boy. Do not squander it.
He pressed his back to the floor, finally forcing enough breath to step forward, following Kaelen through the stunned, whispering students. Every glance burned. Every whisper traced along his spine. Yet the hunger—the pulse in his veins, the tug at his chest—was louder than all of it.
Soon, Harrax murmured, they will all see. And you will be ready.
Erevan's hands twitched, still alight with the remnants of power. His eyes flicked to Aria one last time before the hall receded behind him. She looked away quickly, unwilling—or unable—to meet the dark thrill in his eyes.
The whispers of the hall lingered, brittle and sharp. And in the echo of the shattering silence, Erevan knew nothing would ever be the same.
The hall was quiet, but it was not peace. The echoes of broken light and shattered wards lingered in the air, thick and humming against Erevan's skin. Every heartbeat felt loud, intrusive, a drum in the cavern of his chest.
His hands still trembled, fingers faintly glowing with residual sparks. The sensation of raw energy coiled beneath his skin, restless and insistent, like a caged serpent shifting, ready to strike. Sweat trickled down his temples, dampening the strands of hair plastered to his forehead.
Aria's eyes found him again, softer now, wide with a mix of fear and sorrow. She took a tentative step forward, and then froze. Her mouth opened, closed. Her hands clutched her books a little tighter. She had seen the hunger, the surge, the thrill—the dangerous pull he had almost let consume him—and it terrified her.
Erevan could not meet her gaze. Every nerve screamed, every breath rattled in his chest. He could feel Harrax's presence, coiled inside his mind, like smoke that whispered in silk and shadow.
You have tasted it. You have shown them the edge of your will. And they have felt it, all of them. Their fear, their awe, all yours. Let it settle… only for now.
A shiver ran along his spine. Harrax's voice was velvet-dark, intoxicating, triumphant. Soon, boy. Soon, they will know how far the shadow reaches.
Cassian and his companions lingered at the edge of the hall, eyes sharp, voices gone, pride and bravado shattered. The smirk that had mocked him earlier was gone, replaced by calculation, unease, and perhaps the faintest tremor of fear. They had seen the taste of what he could do. And they would remember.
Kaelen's eyes bore into him, cool, measured, yet almost imperceptibly different than before—something like awareness, or perhaps restrained approval. She gestured sharply, indicating he should follow. He obeyed, legs trembling beneath him, hands twitching with residual sparks of the power that still hummed in his veins.
Every step toward her felt heavy, like moving through water thick with unease and dread. Whispers followed them—soft, brittle, like glass sliding across stone. Not all were words; some were fragments, gasps, the faint tremor of awe and fear.
Erevan's chest heaved. The hunger had not left. It only coiled tighter, curling like smoke beneath his ribs, whispering: You could unmake them all. One thought. One will. One surge. And none would stand.
But Aria's gaze haunted him, sharp and fragile. He imagined her standing in the center of the hall, witnessing the darkness almost spill over, feeling it brush against her soul. She was a tether, small and delicate, but unyielding. Not now, he told himself. Not her. Not yet.
The corridor outside the hall smelled faintly of cold stone and morning dew seeping through cracks. It was quiet in a way that pressed down on him, suffocating. Each step echoed in the emptiness. The hum of wards faintly threaded through the walls, like distant whispers waiting to call him again.
Harrax's voice slithered, low, silk over steel. They have seen. They will tremble in the memory of tonight. And you… you are only beginning.
Erevan pressed his palms to his chest as they walked, attempting to calm the heartbeat that seemed ready to shatter his ribs. Sweat cooled on his skin, leaving gooseflesh, a reminder that the power still lay coiled beneath, patient, waiting.
Aria would not meet him again, he noticed. Not directly, not fully. And that was enough to anchor him. The thrill lingered, dark and potent, a shadowed ember in his chest that burned with dangerous possibility.
Every whisper, every lingering glance, every flicker of movement in the corridors reminded him of it: the hunger, the cage, the sharp taste of dominance, the pull of the shadowed edge. He had glimpsed it. He had felt it. And he would remember it, always.
And deep down, beneath shame, restraint, and fear, a part of him ached for it again. The dangerous, intoxicating surge that had nearly shattered control.
Soon, Harrax whispered, silk curling into venom. Soon you will stop pretending. Soon you will no longer be the shadow they fear. You will be the storm they cannot stop.
Erevan Vale exhaled, hollow, trembling. Cold stone pressed against his back, the corridor still and silent around him. But somewhere inside, deep and unreachable, the ember stirred, bright and hungry. And he knew, with a certainty that made his blood hum, that he would never forget the taste of what he almost let loose.