Saturday brought no classes, but it offered no respite. I awoke late in the morning to a body that had been brutalized into a state of dull, persistent agony and a mind that felt frayed and raw. The memory of Thomas's panicked cry, of the terror I had personally and precisely inflicted, had haunted my short and fitful sleep. I felt unclean, as if a fine layer of grime coated my very soul.
My first duty was to the architect of my misery. I presented myself to Damien, who was already dressed in an immaculate, non-uniform attire—a tailored doublet of black velvet with silver threading. He was in an unusually pleasant mood, a fact that immediately set me on edge.
I delivered my report in the same cold, clinical tone as the day before, detailing the successful magical interference and its devastating effect on Thomas Fell's confidence. Damien listened, his expression one of deep, intellectual satisfaction, as if a complex and gratifying experiment had just yielded the desired results.
"Superb," he said when I finished, his voice smooth as silk. "A truly elegant application of your affinity, Lucian. You see? Even the darkest tools have their refined uses when wielded with precision and control." His praise felt like a fresh splash of filth on my conscience, a deliberate framing of my corruption as a virtue.
He rose from his chair and walked to the window, gazing out at the academy grounds. "Your work has been exemplary. And since it is the weekend, a time for leisure that this institution so dreadfully neglects, I've decided we are overdue for a small excursion."
He turned to me, a magnanimous, yet wholly unnerving, smile on his face. "You will accompany me and a few others into the capital city today. Consider it a small reward for your diligence."
The words hit me like a physical blow. A trip to the capital? The last thing I wanted was to be paraded around the opulent heart of the Aldren Empire, forced to play the part of Damien's sycophant for an entire day. I craved the solitude of the library, the punishing honesty of the training yard. I needed time to process, to train, to find some way to live with the person I was being forced to become.
But an invitation from Damien was never a choice. It was a summons wrapped in the thin veneer of courtesy.
"I would be honored," I forced myself to say, the words a bitter lie.
"Excellent. Be ready in an hour," he commanded, before dismissing me with a wave.
As I walked back to my room to change, my path took me across one of the grand, open-air plazas that connected the academy's various wings. And then I saw them. Across the wide, sun-drenched expanse of marble, a small, somber procession of three was walking in the opposite direction.
It was Leonidas and Mara. Between them, they were supporting a pale, hollow-eyed Thomas, whose feet were shuffling as if they were made of lead. They were not in practice gear, but in their formal uniforms, and their path was leading directly towards the gleaming white spire of the Tower of Healing, the academy's infirmary.
I stopped in the shadows of an archway, watching them. Even from this distance, I extended my Soul Resonance. The worry and deep, frustrated concern radiating from Leonidas and Mara was a palpable force. But the feeling from Thomas was what truly twisted the knife in my gut. It was a hollow, fearful void. His magical aura, the innate energy of a Weaver, was dim and listless, flickering weakly like a dying ember. The damage I had done was not just to his confidence; I had hurt his very connection to his own magic.
The sight of their grim journey to the healers, a direct consequence of my actions, was a far harsher punishment than any my own training could inflict.
An hour later, I was seated in a luxurious, magically-cushioned carriage, the sigil of House Vrael emblazoned on its doors. The carriage glided through the air, having departed the floating island of the academy for the mainland. I was trapped inside with Damien and two of his other chosen followers, including Marcus Thorne, the arrogant noble Leonidas had bested in a duel weeks ago.
The atmosphere was suffocating. The conversation was a venomous stream of high-society gossip, complaints about the rising influence of commoners, and casual, cruel jokes at the expense of less powerful noble houses. I had to play my part, offering a cold smirk here, a dismissive sneer there, my few contributions to the conversation feeling like betrayals of my own humanity.
Soon, the sprawling, grimy outskirts of the capital gave way to the breathtaking opulence of the Noble District. Soaring, elegant towers of white stone and polished marble touched the sky. The streets were impossibly clean, lit by hovering globes of soft, magical light. The people here wore silks and velvets, their fingers adorned with enchanted rings. It was a world away from the common districts, a city of immense power and wealth.
The carriage slowed, coming to a stop not in front of a theater or a restaurant, but before a discreet, yet incredibly exclusive-looking building made of dark, polished obsidian. There was no sign, only a single, silver rune etched on the door that pulsed with a quiet, powerful magic.
As the door was opened by a silent, uniformed attendant, Damien turned to me, his charming smile returning, but his eyes holding a new, conspiratorial gleam.
"The real reason we are here, Lucian," he said, his voice low. "This isn't merely a social call."
He leaned closer, his intent a sharp, exciting secret. "We have a meeting. There is someone of consequence I want you to meet."
My blood ran cold. The reward was a lie. The excursion was a pretext. This was another part of Damien's shadowy plans, a layer of the plot the novel had never mentioned. And I hadn't just been invited to a party; I had been brought into the viper's nest.
.
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[Author's Note- Next Chapter is also coming out in next 10-15 minutes, stay tuned. Thank You Very Much. ]