Chapter Two : The Mark That Burns
Even after class had been dismissed, Aurelia's gaze lingered over her notes. Her fingers traced the intricate map of Elarion as the room emptied around her. The storm outside had softened to a drizzle, but her mind was still tangled in the fragments of last night's dream the arrow, the dying eyes, the whisper that clung to her ribs like a heartbeat: "My dawn…"
She gathered her things and followed a group of classmates toward the exit, their voices a flutter of giggles.
"Professor Ardyn is so hot!" one girl squealed.
"Those stormy-grey eyes…" another fanned herself. "Unreal! And that voice? I swear I melted."
Aurelia tugged her damp jacket tighter, pretending not to hear. Her skin still prickled from the unspoken spark that had flickered between her and the professor. She shook the thought off and quickened her pace.
That's when she crashed into someone. Her notebooks scattered across the hallway floor.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," a cool voice purred.
Aurelia froze. Lyra.
Tall, elegant, every hair in place, Lyra looked like she'd stepped straight out of an elite magazine spread. Her chestnut waves gleamed under the corridor lights, and her green eyes glinted with practiced disdain. Behind her, a small crowd of girls hovered like obedient satellites.
"Still tripping over yourself," Lyra mused, lips curving. "Or is gravity just obsessed with you?"
The snickers that followed sliced through Aurelia's pride. She bent to pick up her books, voice trembling. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't see you."
Lyra stepped closer, her umbrella dripping deliberately onto Aurelia's shoulder. "Didn't see me? Or were you lost in one of those little fantasies again?" She tilted her head, tone mock-sweet. "Honestly, I'm impressed you survive campus without bumping into walls."
Aurelia's jaw tightened. The hallway felt smaller with every laugh that echoed around her.
Lyra's smirk deepened. "You really know how to make an impression, don't you? Soaked, clumsy it's kind of your thing." She flicked a drop of rain from her sleeve, then added in a low whisper, "Run along, little librarian."
That last phrase stung. Aurelia forced her shoulders straight and muttered, "I'm fine," before brushing past her.
"Of course you are," Lyra said, her voice dripping venom. "You always are… until you're not."
The laughter that followed chased Aurelia down the hall.
Her fingers brushed the outline of the rose mark on her hand. It pulsed faintly beneath her skin, burning. Every encounter with Lyra made it ache, as if something old and cruel stirred between them. Why does she feel so familiar?
Her chest tightened, as if the air itself pressed against her ribs, daring her to remember.
She hurried through the drizzle until she reached her dorm. The door slammed behind her with a hollow thud. Silence. The laughter still echoed faintly in her ears.
Dripping onto the floor, she stood still, the scent of rain and humiliation clinging to her like smoke. "Lyra," she muttered bitterly. "Always Lyra."
Since her first day, that girl had found ways to shrink her a casual remark here, a smirk there, like she was born to bruise other people's pride.
Aurelia let out a shaky laugh that cracked mid-breath. "Maybe I really am pathetic," she whispered, staring at the puddle forming around her boots. She peeled off her jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and ran trembling fingers through her tangled hair.
The ache in her chest wasn't just from embarrassment. It was older, heavier like a wound that had never healed.
She stepped toward the mirror. The air felt denser, as if it was listening. Her reflection stared back: wet hair, pale cheeks, tired eyes.She couldn't recognize the girl in the mirror. Her fingers traced the faintly glowing rose mark.
The world tilted.
The light flickered once, twice, before dimming completely. Her reflection rippled, not like glass, but like water disturbed by breath.
And then she was somewhere else.
A candlelit chamber unfolded around her, draped in crimson velvet. The air shimmered with incense and smoke. She wasn't herself, she was only watching, unseen.
A woman stood before the mirror. Aurelia's breath caught. The woman looked just like her.
The resemblance was undeniable, same golden-hazel eyes, same curve of lips, same heart-shaped face. But her presence was regal. Her long, dark hair flowed down to her waist like black silk, glinting with gold in the candlelight. The velvet robe that wrapped her form accentuated her hourglass figure a mix of strength and vulnerability in the way she carried herself.
Her hands trembled as she turned to a figure standing in the shadows.
"Callum…" the woman whispered. Her voice trembled with urgency. "You swore the guards would change shifts by now. What if they don't? What if they find him before he escapes?"
A figure stepped from the shadows tall, broad-shouldered, his features softened by the haze. He smelled faintly of crushed herbs and smoke, like someone who carried the scent of wild forests and danger wherever he went.
"They will," he said, his tone calm but taut. "You must trust me, Princess. Lysander will make it out. The dagger you gave me, he has it. He knows what to do."
Her breath hitched. "He's weak, Callum. They starved him. If he's caught again..."
Callum's hand brushed near her arm, and Aurelia felt it too. A fleeting warmth ghosted over her skin, impossibly real.
"He'll make it," Callum said softly. "He has you. That's more than most men could dream of."
The princess turned toward the barred window, moonlight spilling over her sorrowful face. "If he doesn't," she whispered, "his blood will be on my hands."
The candles flickered violently. The room trembled.
Aurelia tried to step closer, to reach them, to warn them of something she couldn't even name, but the scene shattered like glass.
She gasped. The dorm light blinked back to life. Her reflection stared at her, pale, shaking, wide-eyed. The rose mark on her hand glowed faintly, its edges pulsing like a heartbeat.
A single name whispered through her mind, fragile and haunting.
Lysander.
It tasted familiar, like a dream she'd woken from too soon.