The academy never truly slept.
Even at night, when the lanterns dimmed and the spires loomed like shadowed titans, you could still hear it breathe. The wind that circled the towers whispered secrets in a language older than kingdoms. The stones beneath your feet remembered every step you took. And the portraits along the corridor walls—they watched.
I knew this because I listened.
And lately, the academy had been whispering my name.
Ael Everdusk. The anomaly. The boy who wouldn't kneel. The villainess's nephew.
But tonight, I wasn't interested in titles. I sat near the edge of the spire's balcony, legs dangling over a void so deep it swallowed sound. One slip, and I'd be nothing but a rumor. The sky was black velvet stretched too tight, and the stars above blinked like they knew something I didn't.
My hands rested on the cold stone rail. For once, they weren't trembling. The last week had been quiet. No duels. No punishments. No new "tests." It felt wrong.
Like the world was holding its breath.
Like something was coming.
Behind me, a door opened with a sigh.
I didn't need to turn.
"I told you not to follow me," I said.
The footsteps paused. "I didn't," said Caidros. "I waited. Then I walked in the same direction."
A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. "Creative loophole."
"It's what I'm good at."
He stepped beside me, crossing his arms, his silver hair catching the moonlight like strands of starlight. He didn't sit. He never did. Caidros was always prepared to move, to fight, to vanish if needed. Trust didn't come easy to him.
I understood. It didn't come easy to me either.
"Why are you out here?" he asked after a moment.
"Can't sleep," I replied.
"Nightmares?"
"No. Just… thoughts."
He didn't press. That was the thing about Caidros. He never asked more than you were willing to give. Maybe that's why I hadn't pushed him away yet.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The wind howled below, scraping against the cliffs like a beast too large for the world.
Then I said, "Do you ever wonder why we're chosen?"
He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For this. Power. Pain. Legacy. Whatever this is."
He was quiet for a beat. Then, "No one chooses us, Ael. We just survive long enough to look like we were meant to."
I let that sit for a while.
He was probably right.
Still, the question haunted me.
⸻
Back inside the spire, I lit a single lantern and returned to the desk stacked with old spellbooks. None of them helped. Every tome I'd read on magical affinity told me the same thing—bloodline magic doesn't lie. But mine refused to tell the truth either.
Fallen angel blood. That was the theory.
Ravianne hadn't confirmed it. Not exactly. But she'd dropped enough hints. She'd once told me, "We Everdusks were never meant for Heaven. That doesn't mean we belong in Hell either."
Cryptic. Poetic. Dangerous. Like her.
I touched the edge of the silver ring on my index finger. A gift. Or a curse.
It pulsed sometimes, usually when I was angry. Or scared. Or dreaming.
Lately, it pulsed more often.
I had no idea what it meant.
⸻
The next day, I attended Advanced Histories with Professor Selwin. A bitter old scholar with ink-stained hands and a voice that dripped contempt.
Today's topic: The Shattered War.
The war that divided the Continent.
The war Ravianne was said to have ended… by betraying both sides.
"She sold out the Everdusk line," Selwin said with theatrical disgust. "Burned her own bloodline's crest to gain favor with the enemy. A woman of beauty, yes, but no honor. No loyalty."
I didn't blink.
I didn't speak.
I just watched him.
He didn't look at me, but he knew. He always knew when I was in his class.
That day, he went too far.
"She should have been executed for her crimes. A shame the executioner lost his nerve."
I stood up.
The entire room froze.
Professor Selwin didn't flinch.
I walked toward him, slowly. Controlled.
He didn't move.
When I was two steps away, I spoke.
"Is it bravery that makes you say her name like that?" I asked softly. "Or cowardice that you only say it when you know she won't walk through that door?"
His smirk wavered. Just slightly.
But it was enough.
I left the room. Didn't look back.
No one stopped me.
⸻
Later that day, a letter arrived.
Not by raven.
Not by servant.
It appeared on my pillow, bound in wax and sealed with an unfamiliar symbol—three thorns wrapped around a star.
I broke it open.
Ael Everdusk,
You've been invited to the gathering beneath the library. Midnight.
Do not speak of this.
Bring nothing. Leave nothing.
Beneath the library?
That was supposed to be sealed. Restricted to faculty only. Rumors said it held relics from before the war. Forbidden magics. Echoes of the gods.
This wasn't an invitation.
It was a test.
Or a trap.
Maybe both.
And yet, at midnight, I went.
Of course I did.
⸻
The passage beneath the library smelled like damp stone and secrets.
Torches flickered as I descended, casting shadows that moved too slowly. I counted twenty steps. Then thirty. Then lost count.
I reached a chamber shaped like a circle, where six others waited.
All in hoods.
All silent.
One of them stepped forward.
"We are the Forgotten House," she said. A woman's voice. Sharp, clear. "You were not born one of us. But you are not unlike us."
Another spoke, this one younger. "You bend rules. You break tradition. You wake up the dead magic."
A third: "You don't belong. That's why you fit."
I said nothing.
They waited.
Then the woman asked, "Do you want to know the truth about your blood?"
My breath caught.
They knew.
How?
I nodded.
And she smiled.
"Then bleed."
From her cloak, she handed me a small dagger. Silver. Ancient. Etched with words I couldn't read.
I took it.
And without hesitation, I dragged it across my palm.
The blood that spilled wasn't red.
It was gold.
⸻
They stared in silence.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Then the youngest of them whispered, "He really is one of them."
The woman leaned forward, her hood falling back.
Her eyes were black. Not like void, but like glass. Reflective. Timeless.
"You don't know what you are," she said. "But we do."
I clenched my fist, gold blood dripping onto the stone.
"And what am I?"
She smiled, not cruel, but not kind either.
"A prophecy that never should've been written."
⸻
That night, I returned to my tower with a bandaged hand and a hundred more questions.
And for the first time in weeks, the shadows in the corners didn't wait for my poems.
They moved on their own.
They watched me.
Waited.
And somewhere, deep in the bones of the academy, something old had woken up.
And it knew my name.