Chapter 20 – Scarlet's POV
Apparently, the cure for my chaos… is more chaos.
---
"You need to learn how to listen."
That was the first thing Draven said after the awkward silence settled.
I was sitting on the edge of their shared suite's absurdly expensive couch, fingers curled around a steaming mug Devon had practically forced into my hands. The silence around me wasn't empty. It was loud — unspoken tension, twitching tempers, the unacknowledged fact that I was now sleeping in a suite with four wolves who didn't fully trust me.
Draven stood in front of me like a statue carved out of strategy. His voice was sharp — not cruel, but definitive.
"You need to learn how to hear Syraen properly. How to know what's vision and what's madness. Before it consumes you."
"I'm doing fine," I muttered.
"You're not," Damian cut in. "You're twitchy. You almost face-planted into a wall. You flinched at the sound of boiling water."
I gritted my teeth. "Forgive me for not gracefully adapting to post-throne blindness."
"Enough," Draven snapped, but it wasn't at me. "This isn't about emotion."
Which, of course, meant it definitely was.
He turned slightly. "Dexter. Take her."
I blinked. "Take me where?"
Dexter made a weird noise. "Uh, no offense, but are you actually suggesting I babysit the Dragon Whisperer™ while she hears voices and potentially explodes?"
"Yes," Draven said simply.
"Wow. Bold of you to assume I want my eyeballs melted today."
"She needs a translator," Draven continued. "Someone who understands what it feels like to see what others can't. Someone whose brain is already broken enough to keep up."
"I feel deeply honored," Dexter said, clearly not.
I clutched the mug tighter. "I'm not a project. Or a threat."
"No," Draven agreed quietly. "You're a storm."
There was a long pause.
Devon set his cup down gently. "His lair is the underground vault. It's shielded. Soundproof. No one can hear in or out. It's where he trains his Sight when things get... messy."
"Messy?" I repeated.
Dexter grinned. "Think ghost rave meets mental collapse. With snacks."
"Absolutely not."
"Too late," Draven said. "You start tomorrow."
Damian let out a low snort. "Great. Let the seer babysit the blind dragon. What could possibly go wrong?"
Dexter turned to me, sighing dramatically. "Pack your mental helmets, Princess. We're diving into brain soup
I swallowed.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
Except it wasn't.
Because deep down, under the jokes, I felt it — the shift.
This wasn't just a lesson.
This was the beginning of something.
The part of the prophecy no one wanted to touch.
And Dexter Vaughn?
He was about to open a door I might never be able to close.
--Hey let's move it, we've got an extra inconvenience " Devon said.
I didn't ask who decided Damian would be the one to drive us to school — I just knew by the way he tossed me a pair of sunglasses and told me to "hurry up before he changed his mind" that it wasn't his idea.
"Tesla's charged," he grunted. "Let's go."
He didn't say it nicely.
Which, to be fair, was his version of nice.
The drive to Crescent Hollow was tense. Not the kind of tension you could cut with a knife — the kind that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed when no one was looking. Damian drove like the road had personally offended him. Dexter kept humming what sounded suspiciously like a horror movie score.
And I?
I sat in the passenger seat in complete silence, still wearing the crimson uniform.
Still blind.
Still broken, but… walking anyway.
---
When we pulled into the courtyard, the world reacted the way storms do to thunder.
People stared.
No — they froze.
The moment Damian's Tesla slid to a halt, a crowd had already begun forming by instinct. Students in silvers, golds, and greys started whispering before the engine even cut.
Then Damian opened the door.
And I stepped out.
I didn't need to see the expressions. I felt them. Like shards of thought pinging against my skin. The shock. The disgust. The confusion. The… curiosity.
Because I was still in red.
Not gold. Not ranked. Not safe.
Red.
"Is that her?"
"She's back?"
"She's blind now. I heard she lost her mind."
"No, she sits with the Alphas now—"
"I thought they hated her—"
Their voices crashed around me like waves against glass.
But I didn't stumble.
I took Devon's hand, let him guide me forward while the rest walked in silent formation. Damian ahead like a sullen storm. Dexter skipping. Draven — always unreadable — slightly behind me, but close enough that his presence pulsed in the air like a silent sword.
The crowd parted without being told to.
Because they knew.
Something was changing.
Something ancient.
And it wore red.
---
Instead of heading to our usual lecture wing, we turned left — down through a narrow archway most students pretended not to notice.
The stones got older. The light got colder. The magic in the air stopped sparkling and started humming.
"This way," Dexter said with a grin in his voice.
Draven stopped just outside the shadowed corridor. "We'll meet you after the session."
"Try not to set anything on fire," Damian added, less helpful.
Devon squeezed my hand once before letting go. "Call me if… if you feel overwhelmed."
I nodded.
Then Dexter guided me into the dark.
---
The vault was… not what I expected.
It wasn't a dungeon. It wasn't a library. It was something older. A long, stone chamber hidden deep below the main school. The air smelled like copper and prophecy. The walls were inscribed with runes I couldn't see but felt — like heat signatures in the dark.
And at the center?
A single stone chair.
"This is where I scream into the void and hope for answers," Dexter said casually.
"Comforting."
He chuckled. "Take a seat. Don't overthink it. And if you feel your brain cracking in half, that's just your soul syncing with your second sight."
"I'm blind," I said flatly. "Do I really need a second one?"
He didn't answer. Just sat cross-legged across from me, his tone shifting from playful to something strange. Focused.
"Close your eyes," he said. "And listen."
"To what?"
"To her."
I closed my eyes.
And the world unraveled.
Not like falling asleep.
Not like dreaming.
Like drowning in color I couldn't see.
Like someone cracking open the back of my skull and pouring in molten memory.
At first, there was nothing.
Then a hum. A vibration. A ripple in the center of my mind like a thread pulled too tight.
Then—
Flames.
I didn't see them — I felt them. Heat lapping across my skin. A heartbeat that wasn't mine pounding in my ears.
Syraen.
She didn't speak in words.
She existed.
A presence. A shape. A being curled inside my ribs like a second soul made of teeth and prophecy.
I am the first, she said, not aloud but inside. I am the one who watches when you sleep. I am the storm behind your silence.
"Why me?" I whispered aloud, not realizing I'd spoken.
Dexter's voice came faint, far away: "What do you see?"
I didn't answer him.
Because suddenly—
I wasn't in the vault.
I was standing in a burning field.
Sky cracked open above me like a scream.
Blood stained my hands.
And a throne stood before me — empty, cracked, waiting.
A voice echoed.
Mine.
But older.
More certain.
"Let the blood remember. Let the seal be undone."
And then—
A shadow behind me.
A hand.
A blade.
And fire—
---
"Scarlet!"
Dexter's voice snapped me back like whiplash. I gasped, sitting up, lungs convulsing like I'd forgotten how to breathe.
Everything spun.
My head throbbed. My skin burned. My mouth tasted like smoke.
He reached out to steady me. "What did you see?"
I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. The image was still burning behind my eyes like a brand.
"It's starting," I whispered.
Dexter frowned. "What is?"
I turned my head toward him, my voice barely there.
"It's nothing!"