The silence in our dormitory room stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap at the slightest touch. Finn, no, I had to stop thinking of him as Finn, sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair, a gesture I'd seen a thousand times before but had never connected to the person I thought I knew better than anyone.
Gavril remained by the window, arms crossed, his usual gentle demeanor replaced by something harder. The afternoon light streaming through the glass cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel more dramatic, more final.
"Tell us everything," I repeated, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest. "And I mean everything, Lance."
The name hit him like a physical blow. His head snapped up, eyes wide with a mixture of relief and terror. For a moment, his features seemed to flicker, like a candle flame in a breeze, and I caught a glimpse of something familiar beneath the stranger's face he'd been wearing.
"How long have you known?" His voice was different now, stripped of the careful modulation he'd maintained as Finn Thorne. It was Lance's voice—my best friend's voice—and hearing it from this stranger's mouth made my stomach churn.
"Since the Identity Blender," I said, watching his face crumple.
Lance, because that's who he was, had always been, closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. "The distraction enchantment must have weakened when our consciousnesses were scrambled. I was hoping... God, I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"Distraction enchantment?" Gavril's voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air. "You've been using mind magic on us?"
"Not mind magic!" Lance protested, his hands rising defensively. "It's more like... a perception filter. It doesn't change your thoughts, just makes certain connections harder to form. The Academy provided it as part of my admission conditions."
"Admission conditions," I repeated, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Right. Let's start there. From the beginning, Lance. And don't you dare lie to us again."
He flinched at the venom in my voice, but nodded slowly. "The letter came three hours after you left for the Academy. Three hours, Asher. If it had arrived any earlier, if the Academy's owl hadn't gotten lost in a probability storm caused by—" He gestured helplessly at me. "—your departure, we could have traveled together. You would have known from the start."
"But it didn't," I said coldly. "So what happened next?"
Lance stood up abruptly, pacing to the opposite wall before turning back to us. "The letter wasn't just an acceptance. It was a challenge. The Academy knew about my... situation. About the bounty, the noble families who want my head on a pike. They said if I could successfully infiltrate the student body and maintain a false identity for the entire first year without being discovered, they'd consider my admission legitimate."
"Bounty?" Gavril's eyebrows shot up. "What in the seven hells did you do?"
A bitter laugh escaped Lance's throat. "You remember the Goldmere Incident from two years ago? When Lord Goldmere's heir was found guilty of trafficking rare magical creatures and his entire estate was seized?"
I felt the blood drain from my face. "That was you?"
"I found evidence of what he was doing and reported it to the authorities. Didn't think much of it at the time, seemed like the right thing to do." Lance's voice was hollow now, stripped of its usual warmth. "Turns out, half the noble families in the eastern provinces were involved in the trafficking ring. When everything came to light, a lot of very powerful people lost a lot of money and influence."
"Holy shit," I breathed.
"The bounty isn't for my death," Lance continued, his pacing becoming more agitated. "They're not stupid enough to put a kill order on someone who exposed their crimes. But they want me discredited, humiliated, driven from any position where I might gain influence or power. The Academy of Arcanis would have been the perfect place for their revenge."
Gavril had gone very still by the window. "I think... I think I heard my father mention something about this. The Goldmere Scandal, he called it. Said it sent shockwaves through the noble circles for months."
"So the Academy made you hide," I said, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with sickening clarity. "They gave you a new face, a new name, and sent you to spy on your own best friend."
"It wasn't spying!" Lance protested, turning to face me with desperate eyes. "Asher, you have to believe me. They assigned me to your room at random, probably one of your probability fluctuations at work."
"Random," I repeated flatly. "Right. And you just... went along with it? Decided to pretend to be someone else rather than trust me with the truth?"
"I was going to tell you!" The words burst out of him like a dam breaking. "Every single day, I planned to tell you. Do you have any idea how hard it's been, watching you struggle with your powers, helping you through your worst moments, and not being able to be myself? Not being able to remind you of all the times we got through impossible situations together back home?"
"Then why didn't you?" My voice was rising now, weeks of confusion and hurt bleeding through my careful control. "Why, Lance? We've been friends for more than a decade. We've shared everything, every secret, every fear, every stupid dream about becoming mages. And you chose to lie to me for months."
"Because I was terrified!" The admission tore out of him like a physical wound. "I was terrified that if you knew the truth, if you knew about the bounty and the noble families hunting me, you'd become a target too. Your probability field already makes you enough of a magnet for trouble. I couldn't bear the thought of adding my enemies to your list of problems."
The room fell silent except for the sound of our breathing, harsh, uneven, like we'd all been running. I stared at this stranger wearing my best friend's voice, feeling something crack inside my chest.
"So you decided for me," I said quietly. "You decided what I could and couldn't handle. You decided that I was too weak, too unreliable, too chaotic to be trusted with your real problems."
"That's not.."
"That's exactly what you did!" I exploded, jumping to my feet. "You looked at me, your supposed best friend, and decided I wasn't worth the risk. That your safety was more important than our friendship."
"Asher, please…"
"And the magic!" I continued, my voice getting louder with each word. "Your precise wind magic that I admired, that I wished I could control half as well as you did, it was all fake. You were using wind magic to mimic water techniques because you always claimed your real water magic was nothing but average."
Lance's face went white. "How did you…"
"Because I'm not stupid!" I shouted. "After a freakin decade of friendship, I know how you cast spells, how you move, how you think! Even with your face-stealing magic and your perception filters, pieces of the real you kept bleeding through. The way you sorted components, the way you positioned your feet, the way you unconsciously hummed when concentrating on difficult spells. You could change your face, Lance, but you couldn't change your soul."
Tears were running down his cheeks now, cutting tracks through the illusion that had hidden his true features. "I know I hurt you. I know I broke your trust. But I was trying to protect…"
"Don't." The word came out like a whip crack. "Don't you dare say you were protecting me. You were protecting yourself. You were taking the easy path, the coward's path."
"That's not fai…"
"Fair?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You want to talk about fairness? Let me tell you what's not fair, Lance. What's not fair is having your best friend look you in the eye every day for months and lie to your face. What's not fair is doubting your own instincts, your own memory, because the person you trust most in the world is gaslighting you into thinking you're crazy."
Gavril stepped forward, his usual diplomatic nature warring with his own hurt. "Lance, I need to understand something. When we became friends, when we shared our fears and dreams and secrets, was any of that real? Or was it all just part of your cover?"
Lance turned to him with desperate eyes. "Every moment was real, Gavril. Every conversation, every laugh, every time I helped patch you up after a difficult training session, that was me. That was Lance, not Finn. The only thing that was fake was my appearance."
"But not your name," I said coldly. "Not your history. Not your family. Not your magic. Just your appearance. Just ninety percent of who you claimed to be."
"The personality was real," Lance insisted, taking a step toward me. "My friendship with you both, my loyalty, my care for your wellbeing, all of that was genuine."
"Was it?" I asked, and my voice sounded strange even to my own ears, flat, emotionless, like something had died inside me. "Because the Lance I knew, my Lance, would never have let me go through the hell of the past few months alone. He would have found a way to tell me the truth, no matter the risk. He would have trusted me to handle it."
"I was planning to tell you after the tournament," Lance said desperately. "I had it all worked out. I was going to explain everything, show you my real face, prove that despite everything, I'm still your best friend."
"After the tournament," I repeated. "When I'm too invested in our fake friendship to walk away? When the hardship is over and you've successfully completed your little spy mission?"
"It wasn't a spy mission!"
"Then what was it?" I demanded. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you infiltrated my life, manipulated my emotions, and collected information about my powers and my vulnerabilities for the Academy's files."
"That's not…" Lance's voice broke. "Asher, please. You know me. You know I would never…"
"I thought I knew you," I said, and the words felt like glass in my throat. "But apparently, I don't know you at all. The Lance I grew up with would have found a way to contact me after getting his letter. He would have told me about his plan, asked for my help, trusted me to keep his secret. The Lance I knew would never have watched me struggle with loneliness and self-doubt while sitting three feet away, pretending to be a stranger."
"I couldn't risk…"
"You couldn't risk trusting me," I finished. "Your oldest friend, the person who's stood by you through everything, who's saved your life more than once and would do it again without hesitation. You couldn't risk trusting me with the truth."
Lance collapsed back onto his bed, his face in his hands. "You don't understand the position I was in. The Academy made it clear that if I revealed my identity to anyone, even you, they'd expel me immediately. And if they expelled me, I'd have nowhere to go. The noble families would find me within a week."
"So you chose your own safety over our friendship," I said. "You chose the Academy's approval over the person who's been your brother in everything but blood since we were four years old."
"I chose wrong," Lance whispered. "I see that now. I chose wrong, and I've hurt the most important people in my life because of it."
Gavril moved away from the window, his expression troubled. "Lance, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly. During the coordinated attacks, in the Identity Blender, during other tournament challenges, did you know they were coming? Were you warned?"
Lance looked up sharply. "What? No! Gavril, I swear to you, I had no idea about any of those attacks. When those students came after Asher and Valentina, I was just as surprised and terrified as everyone else."
"But you were one of the first to identify where we were during the body swap," I said, a new suspicion forming. "You found us pretty quickly for someone who was supposedly as confused as the rest of us."
"Because I know how you move!" Lance protested. "Even in a different body, you have tells, habits. I've been watching you for thirteen years, Ash. I could probably identify you in a crowd of a thousand people just by the way you unconsciously shift your weight when you're thinking."
The casual use of my childhood nickname hit me like a physical blow. Hearing it now, from this stranger's mouth, felt like desecration.
"Don't," I said quietly. "Don't call me that. You lost the right to call me that the moment you decided to lie to my face for months."
Lance's face crumpled completely. "Asher, please. I know I hurt you. I know I betrayed your trust. But we can work through this. We're friends, we're brothers. We've been through worse."
"Have we?" I asked. "Because I'm trying to remember a time when you looked me in the eye for months and lied about your fundamental identity, and I'm coming up blank."
"The friendship is real," Lance said desperately. "Everything between us, the late-night conversations, the way we helped each other with homework, the way you both helped me through my panic attacks after nightmares about the noble families, all of that was genuine."
"Built on a foundation of lies," I said. "How am I supposed to know what was real and what was performance? How am I supposed to trust anything you've ever said or done when you've proven you're willing to deceive me about something this fundamental?"
Gavril cleared his throat softly. "Asher, Lance, I think we all need to take a step back. This is clearly a complicated situation.."
"Complicated?" I turned to him, surprised by the edge in my own voice. "Gavril, he lied to us both. He's been lying to us every single day since we got here. He's been studying us, analyzing us, pretending to be our friend while gathering information for the Academy."
"That's not what happened," Lance said firmly. "I was never gathering information for the Academy. My only contact with them about my identity was through weekly check-ins to confirm I was maintaining the illusion successfully. They never asked me about you, about your powers, about anything."
"Then why didn't you trust us with the truth?" I demanded. "If your mission was just to maintain a false identity, why couldn't you tell your closest friends who you really were?"
"Because I was afraid!" Lance shouted, jumping to his feet again. "Because I've spent two years looking over my shoulder, wondering when one of those noble families would finally track me down. Because I've had nightmares about being dragged back to face trumped-up charges or convenient accidents. Because for the first time in years, I felt safe here, and I was terrified of doing anything that might jeopardize that safety."
"So you jeopardized our friendship instead," I said. "You decided that was the acceptable sacrifice."
"I thought I could have both," Lance admitted, his voice breaking. "I thought I could keep you safe while keeping myself safe. I thought I could find a way to tell you the truth eventually, when the danger had passed. ButI kept putting it off, kept finding excuses, kept telling myself I'd figure it out tomorrow, next week, after the next challenge. I was a coward, and I know that now."
The admission hung in the air between us like a confession before an executioner. I stared at this stranger who claimed to be my best friend, feeling the last threads of our childhood bond snapping one by one.
"You were a coward," I agreed quietly. "But that's not the worst part, Lance. The worst part is that you made me doubt myself. You made me question my own instincts, my own memory. You made me think I was losing my mind when I caught glimpses of familiarity in your behavior. You made me feel crazy for thinking I recognized something in you."
"I never meant…"
"It doesn't matter what you meant," I interrupted. "It matters what you did. And what you did was torture me with half-glimpses of the friend I'd lost, while lying to my face about who you were."
Gavril moved closer, his voice gentle but firm. "Lance, I think you need to understand the position you've put us in. We trusted you with our vulnerabilities while you shared nothing real about yourself."
"I did share real things," Lance protested. "My fears about not being good enough, my worries about fitting in here, my gratitude for your friendship, all of that was genuine."
"But filtered through a lie," I said. "How are we supposed to know what's real and what's performance when you've proven you're willing to maintain an elaborate deception for months?"
Lance was crying openly now, his composure completely shattered. "I know I can't undo what I've done. I know I've broken something between us that might never heal. But please, Asher, please don't let this destroy everything we've built together. I'm still me. I'm still your best friend."
"Are you?" I asked, and my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. "Because he would never have done this to me. He would have found a way to trust me with the truth, no matter the cost."
"I told you, I was trying to prot…"
"You were trying to protect yourself," I said firmly. "And I understand that, Lance. I really do. The situation you were in was impossible, and you made the choice you thought would keep you safe. But you made that choice at the expense of our friendship, and now you have to live with the consequences."
Lance took a step toward me, his hand outstretched. "Asher, please. We can work through this. We're stronger together, we always have been. Don't let my mistakes destroy what we have."
I looked at his hand for a long moment, remembering all the times those same hands had helped me up after falls, had steadied me during difficult spells, had offered comfort during my darkest moments. But they weren't the same hands, were they? They were Finn's hands, a stranger's hands, shaped by magic and deception.
"I need time," I said finally, not taking his offered hand. "I need time to figure out what's real and what's not. I need time to decide if there's anything left of our friendship worth salvaging."
"How much time?" Lance asked desperately.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe a lot. Maybe forever."
Lance's hand dropped to his side, and I saw something die in his eyes. "What does that mean for us? Here, at the Academy?"
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger wearing my best friend's voice and mannerisms like an ill-fitting costume. The realization that I might never again see Lance's real face, might never again know for certain when he was being genuine, settled over me like a burial shroud.
"It means we're colleagues," I said, each word carefully measured. "Roommates. Fellow students. But we're not friends anymore, Lance. Not until I can figure out how to trust you again, if that's even possible."
The silence that followed was deafening. Lance stood frozen in the middle of the room, tears streaming down his borrowed face, while Gavril looked between us with obvious distress.
"Asher," Gavril said softly, "maybe we should all sleep on this. Emotions are running high, and…"
"No," I said, not taking my eyes off Lance. "There's nothing more to discuss tonight. Lance made his choices, and now I'm making mine."
I turned toward my bed, then paused. "For what it's worth, Lance, I hope you understand why I can't just forgive and forget. I hope you understand what it feels like to have the most important relationship in your life revealed to be built on lies. And I hope that understanding helps you make better choices in the future."
"Asher…"
"Good night, Finn," I said deliberately, using his false name like a weapon. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."
I heard him draw in a sharp, pained breath, but I didn't turn around. I climbed into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and tried to pretend that my world hadn't just shattered into irreparable pieces.
Behind me, I heard the soft sounds of Lance—Finn—whoever he was now—collapsing onto his own bed. I heard Gavril moving quietly around the room, probably trying to process everything he'd just witnessed.
But all I could focus on was the aching emptiness where my certainty used to be. My best friend was gone, replaced by a stranger wearing his voice and his memories like stolen clothes. And I had no idea if I'd ever be able to find my way back to trusting anyone completely again.