Lucien Astor couldn’t sleep.
He had bathed in warded waters, worn silken linens soaked in moonlight, and recited every charm of rest known to his House. But sleep eluded him, stalked away by silver eyes and the storm they promised.
Kael Virellian.
Lucien rolled over in bed, his gaze fixed on the high arched ceiling of the Astor dormitory tower. The veined marble reflected the flickering glow of candlelight. Even in the heart of the academy’s most powerful stronghold, he didn’t feel safe. Not from Kael. Not from himself.
His blood knew something his mind had not yet caught up to.
The wolf had teeth—and Lucien was already bleeding.
Down in the East Wing, Kael stood in a chamber that had been sealed for twenty years. Dust still hung in the air like ash from an old fire. He ran his fingers along the cracked stone of the hearth, lips twitching in amusement.
They hadn’t even tried to hide their fear. His “room” was a cell—isolated from the other students, lined with binding glyphs and silver-threaded wards. But Kael had seen worse. He had lived worse.
And these fools thought walls could contain him.
He snapped his fingers. The magic flared, wild and black, consuming the sigils in seconds. One of the protective glyphs shrieked as it died.
Kael turned to the small, arched window. The academy grounds below were bathed in the eerie violet haze of Veil-magic. He could feel it breathing, pulsing. This place was alive—and deeply cursed.
Just like him.
A whisper brushed his ear. "Astor…"
Kael didn’t flinch. “I felt it too,” he muttered.
Something about Lucien Astor burned different. He wasn’t just some polished heir or walking prophecy. There was rot beneath that golden skin—something sacred and doomed. The kind of power that begged to be unraveled.
And Kael had always been good at breaking beautiful things.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with energy. Students whispered in groups, eyes constantly flicking toward Kael as he entered. He ignored them all.
He made his way toward an empty bench at the end of House Nocturne’s table—until a voice stopped him.
“You’re sitting with me.”
Lucien.
Kael turned, eyebrow raised.
Lucien stood, his robes midnight-black with gold trim, crest of Astor glowing faintly on his chest. His expression was calm, but his magic sang through the air like a blade in sunlight.
“Why?” Kael asked.
Lucien's answer was maddeningly casual. “Because if we’re going to destroy each other, I’d like a front-row seat.”
A beat of silence. Then Kael’s smirk returned.
He sat beside Lucien.
The hall fell into stunned silence.
“I hope you’re not easily broken,” Kael said.
Lucien poured himself tea without looking up. “Try me.”
Their knees brushed beneath the table.
And somewhere, deep in the bones of Corvenmere Academy, the Veil pulsed like a heartbeat quickening.
.
.
.
.
To be continued
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