The heavy oak door of my dorm room clicked shut, and the sound was like a hammer blow in the suffocating silence. I sagged against the wood, my forehead pressing into the cool, unyielding surface. The air I was breathing felt too thick, too heavy, like it was already saturated with the dark, cold secrets of the Crimson Syndicate.
Heartstone.
The word echoed in my mind, a death knell. My problem was so much bigger than I had ever imagined. I had been training to survive a schoolyard bully, to escape a minor villain's plot. I had been playing a game of checkers, only to be dragged to a grandmaster's chessboard and told that the game was, in fact, chess, and every piece was laced with poison.
Damien wasn't just a paranoid noble. He was a potential monster on a scale the original novel had only hinted at for its final arc. And he was accelerating. His paranoia about Leonidas was a wildfire, and he was actively seeking to douse it with the equivalent of magical gasoline.
And I... I was his confidant. His "trustworthy" associate. The trip to the capital wasn't a reward; it was a branding. I was marked as his, implicated in his crimes, bound to him by the most powerful chain of all: shared guilt. My silence was now my life.
A surge of adrenaline, born of pure, unadulterated terror, banished my exhaustion. I didn't bother to change. I fled my room, not to the library or to bed, but to the one place I could channel this spiraling panic into something useful. I ran to my hidden courtyard.
This time, my training was not a drill. It was an act of desperation. I drew the training sword, and the weight felt good, a solid, real thing in a world of shadows and lies. I didn't just fight the ghosts of Damien's attacks; I fought the phantoms of my new reality. I fought the image of Lady Vesper's cold, appraising eyes. I fought the dark, forbidden knowledge of the Heartstone.
My movements were raw, sloppy, and fueled by a frantic, self-destructive energy. I pushed my body past its limits, the burn in my muscles and the fire in my lungs a welcome distraction from the cold dread in my soul. Every parry was a denial. Every thrust was a desperate scream. I would not be a disposable pawn in his game. I would not be the collateral damage of his ambition.
When my muscles finally gave out, and I collapsed to the stone, my body trembling with a new level of exhaustion, I forced myself into the meditative posture. The Mana Breathing was harder than ever. My mind was a storm of a thousand fears. But I focused on the one, central truth: I needed power. Not just the weak, incremental power to survive a duel, but real power. The kind of power that could stand against forbidden artifacts and shadowy syndicates. The kind of power that could buy me a choice.
The following day was Monday. The weekend, a blur of calculated cruelty and terrifying revelations, was over. The academy's routine returned, but it all felt like a meaningless charade. Students around me were chattering about their weekend excursions, about upcoming exams, about trivial social slights. I walked among them, a man carrying a secret that felt heavier than a mountain.
My first class was Runic History. As I rounded a corner into one of the main, sunlit cloisters, I almost collided with two figures who were standing dead center in the hallway.
It was Leonidas and Mara. They weren't in their practice gear. They were just standing there, as if waiting. Their auras were a tempest. Mara's was a sharp, vibrating spike of pure hatred, her eyes fixed on me like daggers. Leonidas's was a cold, heavy, simmering storm of grief and rage.
I tried to walk around them. Leonidas moved, blocking my path.
"Greyfall," he said. His voice was not the loud, righteous shout of a hero. It was dead. Cold, quiet, and absolutely lethal.
I forced the mask into place, letting my lip curl. "Get out of my way, Aris. I don't have time for your peasant dramatics."
"I just came from the Tower of Healing," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Thomas has been admitted."
I kept my expression frozen, but my blood turned to ice. Admitted? This was far worse than a simple panic attack.
"So?" I sneered. "Did the little weakling faint? I'm surprised it took this long."
Leonidas's hand shot out and grabbed the front of my uniform, slamming me back against the stone pillar. The speed and strength were shocking. Students in the hallway gasped, stopping to watch.
"This isn't a joke," he snarled, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, but his eyes were filled with a desperate, confused pain. "This wasn't just words. The healers... they say his mana flow is in psychic shock. His core is fluctuating. He can't cast a simple spark, Greyfall. He flinches and cries every time he even tries to feel his own magic. They don't know if the damage is permanent."
His grip tightened, his knuckles white. "I don't know what you did. I don't know how you did it. But I will find out. And I will make you pay."
My mind was reeling. Psychic shock. Permanent damage. My subtle act of magical sabotage, my "whisper of shadow," had been a crippling blow. I had done exactly what Damien wanted, with a thousand times the success I had ever intended.
I had to de-escalate. I couldn't fight him, and I couldn't let this scene continue. I put all my effort into a single, cold, dismissive laugh.
"He's pathetic," I spat, my voice dripping with all the venom I could muster. "He was a flawed tool to begin with, and he broke under the slightest pressure. His weakness is not my responsibility." I shoved his hand off my chest. "Now, unless you plan to attack a fellow noble in a main hall and earn yourself an expulsion, move."
I adjusted my uniform, giving him one last look of utter disdain. Leonidas didn't move, but his hand fell to his side. His rage was so profound it was paralyzing him. He was a hero, bound by rules and a code of conduct. He couldn't just attack me. I had used his own morality against him.
I walked past him, forcing myself into a calm, unhurried stride, my heart hammering against my ribs as if it were trying to escape my chest. I didn't look back.
I had done it. I had confirmed the damage. I had reinforced my role as the villain. I had "won" the confrontation.
And as I walked towards my class, I felt a new, hollow dread settle over me. I now had another glowing report to deliver to Damien, a report of a resounding success, a success that would only bring him joy and further prove my undeniable usefulness to his cause.