The wards never slept.
Even in the dead of night, when the academy lay draped in silence, the soft hum of magic throbbed through the stone walls of Erevan's chamber. Lines of runes traced the edges of his door, glowing faintly blue. Veins of light pulsed like the heartbeat of some enormous, watchful creature. He could feel them under his skin, down to his bones—a reminder as unyielding as iron: you are caged.
Erevan lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Darkness pressed in thick and suffocating, yet it could not hide the weight of unseen eyes. The masters, the wardens, the currents of the academy itself—they were all there, watching. And then there was Harrax, curling around his thoughts like smoke, sly and patient.
You cannot rest because they do not wish you to, Harrax whispered, silk laced with venom. They keep you penned like an animal. They gnaw at your dignity until nothing remains. Is this what you wanted, boy? Chains? Scrutiny? A cell of glowing light?
Erevan pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, trying to shove the voice away, but Harrax had grown bolder since the Council's judgment. Each word slid beneath his skin, sharp and thin, burning like ice beneath flesh.
"I can't," he muttered, voice fragile in the stillness. "I can't fight them. If I try… if I show them… they'll see. They'll destroy me."
They will destroy you anyway, Harrax murmured, intimate and curling around him like a velvet dagger. Or worse. They will cut you open, study what writhes beneath your skin. Do you not hear it in their voices? Fear pretending to be authority, concern masquerading as duty. Chains are only the beginning.
Erevan's chest tightened. Breath came in short, shallow bursts, ragged and uneven. He rolled onto his side, curling slightly, hands brushing over his eyes. Shadows pooled in the corners of the chamber, twitching with the faint, mocking laughter of the spirit.
The cot felt smaller, colder, a coffin he could not leave. Every sound—the faint crackle of the wards, the pulse of light in the runes—was amplified, pressing against him, urging panic forward.
He rose slowly, boots scraping the stone floor, pacing. Each step made the runes flare slightly, as if sensing his agitation. The wards weren't just protections—they were shackles. They breathed with him, confined him, pressing closer with every restless motion.
"What do you want me to do?" Erevan whispered to himself, hollow, shaking. "Break them? That's impossible. They'll crush me before I even touch them."
Harrax chuckled low, indulgent, mocking. Not break, boy. Taste. Test. Stretch your fingers against the bars and feel what lies beyond. You have not yet dared to call me fully. You fear me. You fear yourself. But beneath your fear… beneath it all… lies hunger. Did you not come here to seize power, to claw at what was always denied to you?
Erevan clenched his fists, nails biting crescents into his palms. He wanted to deny it. He had come here for knowledge, for safety, for a place among equals. And yet… beneath the shame, a spark of something else curled, persistent and dangerous—a thrill he dared not name aloud.
The thought teased him, electric and forbidden: what would it feel like to touch that power again—not in panic, not in desperation, but by choice? To hold it like a blade in his hands rather than something that cut him without consent?
His eyes flicked to the glowing runes. They shimmered softly, alive, attuned to the tension coiling through his muscles. Every instinct screamed to stay back. Every nerve trembled with warning.
Closer, Harrax whispered, low and enticing. Do not fear. These chains are illusions to one who wears me. You will not break the wards. You will not die. But you will feel.
Erevan's heart hammered, pulse loud in his ears. One tentative step. Then another. The cold, electric light of the runes washed over his fingers, tingling against his skin. His breath came shallow, uneven. Sweat prickled the back of his neck.
Do not hesitate. Reach. Taste the pulse of what is forbidden, Harrax urged, smooth and indulgent. You have not yet called me fully, and yet… you crave it. You crave me. Admit it.
Erevan froze for a heartbeat, mind spinning. Fear, shame, and desire tangled, coiling together like a live thing inside him. He closed his eyes, trying to anchor himself to something solid, something human.
"You can do this," he whispered. "I… I can do this… just once. Just enough to see."
Harrax purred, dark and approving. Yes. Do it. Let them feel it. Let yourself feel it. You are more than what they dare to name. More than the golden boy, more than the cages, more than the whispers.
Erevan's fingers twitched over the glowing lines. The wards hummed faintly, aware of him, sensing his intent. The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath. Every heartbeat, every tremor in his limbs, stretched taut between fear and anticipation.
Erevan's pacing grew frantic, the stone floor cold under his boots. Each step made the faint hum of the wards thrum louder, pulsing through the air and into his chest. The glow along the edges of the runes seemed to ripple, almost watching, almost waiting.
What are you afraid of, boy? Harrax whispered, velvet and venom. The cage is your friend. It marks you. It knows you. And yet… you tremble like a mouse.
"I'm not afraid," Erevan muttered, though his voice cracked, betraying him. "I… I just… I can't…"
You can, Harrax hissed, curling inside his mind. You want it. Don't lie to yourself. You came here for power, and power is not given—it is taken.
The words coiled around him, seductive and dangerous. Erevan's chest ached with the tension of his longing, shame, and fear. He glanced at the glowing runes again. The light washed over him in pulses, electric and alive, tugging at something deep within him.
Do you feel it? Harrax teased. That thrill? That pulse in your veins that cries out for more? You are starving for it. Admit it.
Erevan pressed his palms against his face, inhaling sharply. "I don't… I don't want to hurt myself," he whispered. "I just… I want to see. Just… once. Just enough."
Exactly, Harrax cooed. Once is all it takes to taste. Once, and everything will change. Fear is a leash, boy. Desire is the key.
He took a hesitant step forward. The hum of the wards thrummed beneath his feet, vibrating through the floor, through his boots, into his bones. The blue glow wrapped his fingers in cold fire. The energy pulsed, alive, resonant with every quickened heartbeat.
Erevan's breath hitched. Sweat prickled his skin. The tug of something forbidden—the call of the wards, the tease of power—was unbearable. Every instinct screamed retreat, every nerve screamed warning. Yet a flicker of exhilaration licked at the edges of his fear.
Closer, Erevan. Harrax's voice slithered in, silk and steel. Reach. Hover. Feel it. Taste the scent of what is denied to you. You are not ordinary. You are more.
His hand hovered above the glowing line. The air between palm and sigil pulsed with electricity, vibrating against his skin, alive and aware of him. Every nerve in his body screamed. The chamber seemed to shrink, the shadows curling, the light throbbing, waiting for his next move.
You could call me fully, Harrax whispered, low and coaxing. You fear it. You fear yourself. But beneath the fear… desire coils, aching, impatient. Let it breathe.
Erevan's pulse raced. The taste of temptation was sharp in his throat. His hand twitched involuntarily. The fear of pain warred with the pull of exhilaration. Could he risk it? Could he touch what the Council forbade? Could he claim, even a fraction, of the power that called to him like a living thing?
He inhaled, chest tight, every heartbeat a drum of warning and longing. "Just… once," he whispered again, trembling. "Just enough to feel."
The wards flared faintly in response, pulsing like a heartbeat of their own. The blue light licked the edges of his fingers, cold and electric. Harrax purred in approval, curling around his mind like warm shadow. Yes. Feel it. Hover. Taste it. The cage is strong, but you are stronger still.
Erevan froze, poised between retreat and surrender, the energy humming under his skin, waiting, daring him to act. Every nerve screamed, every muscle tensed, and yet… beneath the fear, a spark of something dark and thrilling began to coil in his chest.
Do it, Harrax breathed. One step closer. Touch it. Feel the pulse. Taste the power.
The glow of the wards seemed almost sentient, almost teasing, almost challenging. It was alive beneath his fingers, responding to his presence, daring him. His hand shook violently, heart hammering, breath catching.
For the first time since the Council's judgment, Erevan felt that electric spark of exhilaration—not fear, not despair, but the sharp, dangerous thrill of something forbidden, something alive, something that could be his.
He lingered there, hovering at the edge of action, knowing every second counted, knowing every heartbeat was a step toward change… or destruction.
Erevan's fingers quivered as they hovered above the glowing rune. The air was thick, almost liquid with energy, humming against his skin. His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths, each inhale tasting of ozone and tension.
Yes… Harrax whispered, silk and fire, curling around his mind. Reach. Feel it. Taste it. You have longed for this since the moment you walked these halls.
He let his palm brush the rune. Electric fire ripped through him—sharp, searing, cutting through flesh and bone alike. A cry tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. The wards flared violently in response, smoke curling faintly from the burn, the tang of magic and singed stone filling the room.
"Ah!" Erevan gasped, teeth gritted against the shock. "It hurts…"
Yes, it should, Harrax purred, indulgent and triumphant. Pain is the proof of life. Pain is the proof of power.
The searing pulse of the rune intertwined with his veins, threading energy through every muscle, every nerve. Shadows in the corners of the chamber thickened, stirring, drawn to the surge. The wards fought him, resisting—but he held firm, trembling, alive, electric.
Feel it, Harrax cooed, voice low and almost tender. They think they can cage you. They think they can bind what they do not understand. They are fools. And yet, you… He paused, voice curling like smoke around Erevan's thoughts. You are awake.
A tiny hairline crack split the perfect glow of the rune. Barely perceptible, jagged, rebellious. A thrill licked at Erevan's spine, mingling with the pain, sharp and raw. I touched it, he realized, awe and fear coiling together. I actually touched it.
"I… I can feel it," he whispered, voice trembling. "I can… I can control it—just a little."
Harrax laughed, soft and dark, every note vibrating through Erevan's mind. Not just a little, boy. You are more than they dare to name. You are beyond their chains, beyond their fear. You are mine, yet you are yourself. Understand that power.
The glow of the wards dimmed slightly, settling into a steady hum, but the crack remained—a scar upon the magic. It was a mark of rebellion, of acknowledgment, of awakening. His palm throbbed, raw and burning, yet beneath it coursed a pulse of exhilaration, intoxicating and alive.
See? Harrax murmured, velvet and danger. Even their strongest chains bend for you. Even their wards fear you. You are not a prisoner, Erevan Vale. You are both gaoler and beast, and this… He let the word linger like smoke. This is only the beginning.
Erevan sank to the cot, collapsing as though the energy had drained every muscle. His chest heaved, sweat slicked across his skin, hair damp against his forehead. The scent of burnt magic and ozone filled the chamber, sharp, intoxicating, alive.
A shiver ran down his spine, equal parts fear and triumph. Shame pressed down—he had broken the rules, defied the Council, flirted with disaster. And yet… and yet, power pulsed through him, a stubborn ember that would not be snuffed.
"I… I touched it," he breathed again, softer now, awe coating every syllable. "And it's… mine, somehow. Just a little."
Yes, Harrax purred, voice lowering to a lullaby of silk and danger. This is the taste you crave. Never forget it. Power waits for the bold. And you… He trailed off, curling through Erevan's thoughts like smoke. You are bold.
Erevan curled onto his side, knees drawn to his chest, staring at the ceiling. His hand throbbed, burning, but beneath it, a hum lingered, alive in his veins, a pulse of what he could not yet name. The wards had not fallen, not truly. Yet he had reached through, and in that reach, he had felt… everything.
Even in the darkness, beneath the oppressive glow of the magical cages, Harrax's voice slithered around him, coaxing, intoxicating.
Sleep if you can, child. But remember this: power does not wait. It waits for you. Always.
Erevan shivered, exhausted, trembling, heart racing—but alive, electric, and aware. For the first time since the Council's judgment, he knew something undeniable: he could touch what they could not cage. He could reach beyond their scrutiny. And once tasted, the ember of power would not be snuffed.
He closed his eyes. His body ached. His mind whirled. But the spark remained, stubborn, alive, waiting.
And he wanted more.