The room was wrapped in silence—thick, slow, and silvered by moonlight.
Two figures lay asleep on the bed: Saphine, and the Saintess's daughter, the fragile child whose existence now trembled between legend and danger.
Eris sat in a chair beside them, unmoving. His coat hung from the edge of the bed, the faint glow of his Flare Garment dimmed to a quiet hum. The light from the window cast a pale outline across his face, enough to reveal the distance in his eyes.
He had fought, threatened, and restrained himself in equal measure tonight. And yet, here in the calm, he looked almost… human.
His gaze lingered on Saphine—her breathing steady, her hand resting protectively over the Saintess's daughter's arm.
"So fragile…" he whispered, voice so low it barely broke the stillness. "And yet, she faced it all without fear."
There was a flicker of something—pride, perhaps. Or a feeling long forgotten.
He exhaled, slow and controlled.
The Grand Gaze stirred faintly behind his eyes, threads of ethereal gold tracing through the dim room like veins of light, reflecting echoes that only he could see. A thousand fragments of possibilities, branching and collapsing, danced quietly before him.
He saw futures. He saw ends.
He saw Saphine sleeping beside the Saintess's daughter—and how countless paths would soon revolve around that one fragile moment.
A faint knock broke the silence.
He didn't answer.
The door creaked open regardless. Two women entered—the Headmistress Raukher Myr, her usual calm shadowed by unease, and Valari Ka'tarel, her every movement deliberate, like a serpent slithering through smoke.
Neither spoke at first. Their eyes adjusted to the darkness, tracing the sleeping forms on the bed, then resting on Eris.
Myr spoke first. "You should rest, Shadow. The Resonant Hollow's collapse drained much of your energy."
Eris didn't turn his head. "If I rest, who keeps them safe?"
Valari's tone was measured, but her hands were clasped tightly before her. "You've made quite the impression on the elders tonight. They're not accustomed to being… disobeyed."
Eris chuckled softly, but it wasn't amusement—it was fatigue laced with irony. "They're not accustomed to being challenged by a servant, you mean."
The silence that followed was brittle. The moonlight glinted faintly off his eyes, cold and unblinking.
"Tell me, Lady Ka'tarel," he continued, "if the Saintess's dying wish had been entrusted to you, would you have given her child to men whose loyalty bends with the wind?"
Valari inhaled slowly, as though choosing her next words could determine whether she lived or died.
"I would have followed protocol."
Eris's gaze finally shifted toward her. In that instant, the temperature of the room seemed to drop. Shadows bent subtly toward him; the very air felt dense.
"Protocol," he repeated, his tone thin, dangerous. "You would have delivered a child to vultures because a parchment said so."
Myr moved forward quickly, breaking the tension. "That's enough. You've made your point."
Eris's eyes glowed faintly—a ripple of gold within storm-grey. "No," he said quietly, "I don't think I have."
The floorboards creaked under the weight of something unseen. Aether pressure coiled like mist around him—subtle, yet crushing. Myr's Echo barrier shimmered reflexively, and Valari's composure broke for just a moment as her knees weakened.
It wasn't rage. It was restraint. A suffocating, perfect restraint that said: this isn't even close to what I could do.
Myr raised a hand gently. "Eris," she said, voice calm but firm. "You're scaring her."
"Am I?" His tone softened, almost curious. The mist began to recede, leaving the faint smell of burnt ozone behind.
He leaned back in the chair again, shadows returning to stillness. "Then she should learn to be scared of worse things."
Valari exhaled shakily, though she tried to mask it with poise. "You act more like an heir than the one you serve."
At that, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "That's because the one I serve has yet to learn how to command me properly."
The words held no mockery—only a strange, quiet respect.
Myr took one last look at Saphine and the girl, both sound asleep, before stepping toward the door.
"Whatever you are, Eris Vale," she said softly, "you're not just a shadow."
He didn't answer. The two women left, the door closing with a muted click.
Eris stayed still for a long time.
The night air was cold, carrying the faint hum of the Academy's barriers outside. He glanced once more at the sleeping pair and then toward the moon, its reflection resting on the windowpane.
"I wish," he murmured, "you'd never been dragged into this."
His hand brushed against the armrest—unintentionally leaving behind a faint burn mark from residual aether. The Grand Gaze flickered behind his eyes again, showing threads of fate converging toward the sleeping girl and the young heir beside her.
He exhaled deeply. "It's too late now."
And as the moonlight shifted, the faintest whisper echoed in the air—one that no one else could hear:
"Watcher… are you still pretending?"
Eris didn't answer.
He only smiled faintly at the question, eyes dimming as dawn began to approach.