I walked through the hallowed, sun-drenched halls of the academy, but I saw nothing. The cheerful chatter of students passing by, the magical light that filtered through the high, arched windows, the scent of old parchment and floor polish—it was all a distant, meaningless fog. My entire world had compressed to the three words that echoed in my head, a relentless, sickening rhythm: permanent, psychic, shock.
I had not just bullied a boy. I had, with the precision of a surgeon, slipped a blade of pure, cold shadow into his mind and severed his connection to his own soul. I had taken a fellow magic-user, a boy whose only crime was being weak and having a good friend, and I had possibly crippled him for life.
The mask of Lucian Greyfall, the arrogant sneer, the cold disdain—it didn't feel like a mask anymore. It felt like my skin. An actor who plays a part for too long forgets where the role ends and he begins. I had performed my part so well that I had produced a result even the director, Damien, had not anticipated.
I found him waiting for his next class, holding court with his usual circle of sycophants by the Grand Staircase. He was laughing at some cruel joke Marcus Thorne had just made, the picture of a charming, carefree noble. When he saw me approaching, his smile faltered, replaced by a look of sharp, immediate inquiry. He had not summoned me; my presence was unscheduled.
I nodded curtly, a silent request for a private word. He excused himself from his group with a smooth, effortless grace, following me into a small, shadowed alcove beneath the stairs.
"This is unexpected, Lucian," he said, his voice low. "You look paler than usual. Don't tell me your little excursion has given you a crisis of conscience." His tone was light, but his golden eyes were sharp, probing.
I kept my face a blank, cold slate. "I have an update on the Fell situation," I said, my voice as dead and flat as I felt. "I just had a confrontation with Aris."
Damien's interest visibly sharpened. "Indeed? Did he challenge you? I hope you remembered my orders."
"He was… emotional," I said, forcing a sneer. "It seems our work was more effective than we anticipated. Thomas Fell has been admitted to the Tower of Healing."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Damien's features, quickly followed by a slow, spreading smile of pure, unadulterated delight. It was the look of a scientist who, having mixed two chemicals hoping for a puff of smoke, had just created a massive, unexpected explosion.
"Admitted?" he repeated, savoring the word.
I delivered the final, devastating blow. "Aris claims the healers are diagnosing him with 'psychic shock' to his Mana Core. They are apparently uncertain if the damage will be permanent."
Damien was silent for a full ten seconds. He just stared at me, his smile frozen in place. Then, he let out a low, breathless chuckle. It wasn't a laugh of humor; it was a sound of profound, chilling appreciation.
"Lucian… Lucian, you have truly outdone yourself," he whispered, and the genuine admiration in his voice was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard. He placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that looked like camaraderie to any distant observer but felt like the cold, heavy grip of a manacle.
"To think," he mused, his mind clearly racing, "a simple application of a Shadow Veil, applied with such… precision. You didn't just frighten him. You inflicted a wound directly on his Core, without a single spell, without a single physical blow. No evidence, no messy duel, no grounds for expulsion. Just… a result."
He was praising me for the very thing that was tearing me apart. He wasn't horrified. He was impressed. He saw this not as a tragedy, but as the successful test of a new, devastatingly subtle weapon. And I was its inventor.
"The boy is broken," Damien concluded, his voice filled with the satisfaction of a problem solved. "A wonderful, clean outcome. He is now a permanent burden on Aris, a constant drain on his time and emotions. Far better than I could have planned."
He gave my shoulder a final, firm squeeze before dropping his hand. His expression shifted, the faint delight hardening back into the cold focus of a strategist.
"Your work with Fell is done. It seems you have a true talent for this, Lucian. A talent for finding the precise, unseen weakness in a person. It would be a waste to not cultivate it."
My blood, which was already ice, somehow grew colder. "Damien?"
"You have broken his spellcaster. Now, I want you to focus on his shield. The girl. Mara Stonecroft."
I had been dreading this. My "reward" for a job well done was a new, more difficult target.
"She is not like the boy," Damien said, his gaze distant as he planned. "She is stubborn. Protective. Her loyalty is her defining feature. A frontal assault on her confidence will fail. You must be more clever."
He looked back at me, his golden eyes pinning me in place. "She is the rock for Leonidas. I want you to be the crack in that rock. Find a way to make her loyalty a burden. Make her protectiveness a liability. I want her to become a source of paranoia and frustration, not strength. You have a unique talent for this kind of work. I trust you will find an equally… elegant solution."
The bell for the next class rang, echoing through the grand hall.
"That is your new assignment," Damien said, stepping out of the alcove. "Report to me when you have a plan. You are proving to be my most valuable asset, Lucian. Don't disappoint me."
He turned and blended back into the throng of students, leaving me alone in the shadows.
I leaned against the cold stone, my legs too weak to hold me. I had succeeded. I had proven my worth. I had secured my position, not as a disposable sidekick, but as something new.
I looked down at my hands, the vessels that had channeled the shadow. I wasn't Damien's dog anymore. I was his hidden scalpel, the one he would use for the dirtiest, most precise, and most soul-destroying work. And I was now tasked with dissecting the next victim