The cafeteria doors closed behind us with a soft thud, sealing away the lingering whispers and stares. The corridor outside was quieter now—mid-morning classes had started, leaving only the occasional footsteps of late students or professors hurrying to their next lecture. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, turning the stone floor into a patchwork of gold and shadow. The air smelled faintly of polished wood, old mana, and the distant kitchen—bread, herbs, something sweet that made my stomach growl despite everything.
Elara walked on my left, her short brown hair catching the light, uniform crisp and authoritative. Lyra on my right, red hair loose and wild, amulet dangling like a talisman. They flanked me without making it obvious, but it was there—a protective formation born from last night's chaos.
We turned a corner, leaving the main thoroughfare. The path to Elara's private study led upward—into the high noble area, narrower corridors, older stone, fewer students. The walls here were etched with more complex runes, glowing softly in patterns I couldn't read. The air grew cooler, the mana thicker, like walking into a storm cloud.
My mind was still stuck in the cafeteria.
I'm causing trouble again.
The thought looped, heavy and familiar. Draven's smirk. The way the whispers had followed us out. The stares. He'll spread rumors. Everyone will know I'm hanging around with third-years. F-Class kid with no bloodline, no rank, weird hair — and now he's got protection? They'll think I'm scheming. Or weak. Or both.
Guilt settled in my chest like wet stone. They stood up for me. They didn't have to. And now they're stuck with the fallout.
Lyra tilted her head, catching my expression. "You okay? You're quiet."
I forced a small shrug. "Just thinking. About Draven. He knows my name now. And he saw me with you two."
Elara's expression darkened slightly, but her voice stayed calm. "He'll talk. Low nobles love gossip. But he won't do anything stupid—not yet. He's all bark until he thinks he can win."
Lyra snorted. "And he thinks he can win against us? Please." bumping my shoulder again—lighter this time. "But—Draven's face when you told him to walk away—priceless. Did you see how red he got? I thought he was gonna explode." she glanced sideways at me "But even i couldn't believe what you said there" ruffling my hair
I almost smiled despite myself. "He really looked like he wanted to explode."
Elara glanced sideways at me. "He'll be back. Low nobles hate being embarrassed. Especially in public."
I looked down at the stone floor. "I don't want to make enemies."
Lyra laughed — short, warm. "Too late. You already have one. Lucky for you, you have two bodyguards now."
Elara's lips curved — just a tiny, almost hidden smile. "More like two very annoyed babysitters."
I exhaled, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction.
They stood up for me.
The gratitude was quiet, but it was there — real, unfamiliar, and strangely heavy.
We kept walking. The corridor narrowed further, the runes on the walls growing brighter, more intricate. The air felt charged, like the moment before a spell ignites.
Elara slowed. "We're almost there. My study is warded. No one gets in without permission. We'll be safe."
Lyra grinned at me. "And if Draven tries to follow? We'll let the wards handle him. Might be fun to watch."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Maybe… maybe this isn't the worst thing that could happen.
We climbed a spiral staircase—narrow, worn, lit by small mana-lanterns set into the walls. The steps were uneven, forcing me to watch my footing. My legs still felt weak from last night. The poison might be gone, but my body remembered.
At the top, a single door—iron-bound, rune-carved, no handle. Elara placed her palm against the center rune. Silver light flared. The door clicked open.
"Welcome," she said, stepping aside.
The private study was a narrow tower room tucked high in one of the academy's older wings. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, every shelf groaning under the weight of leather-bound tomes, rune-etched scrolls, and crystal vials filled with faintly glowing liquids. A single tall window overlooked the academy grounds—snow-dusted towers, distant training fields, the faint red glow of the Aschenmoon already rising low on the horizon even though it was barely past noon. The air smelled of old paper, incense, and the sharp bite of warding runes carved into every doorframe and floorboard.
A heavy oak desk dominated the center, covered in neatly stacked parchments, quills, and a small crystal orb that pulsed softly. Two armchairs sat beside it, worn but comfortable. A low couch hugged one wall, blankets folded at one end—someone slept here sometimes.
Elara closed the door behind us. Three wards snapped into place—silver, green, and that strange indigo one. The room felt… sealed. Safe.
Lyra dropped into one of the two armchairs by the desk, legs thrown over the armrest. "Cozy. Feels like a trap, though."
"It is," Elara replied. "Just not for us."
I stood in the middle of the room, still feeling out of place. My arms ached under fresh bandages. The poison was dormant, but every time I moved too fast, the black veins flared like embers under ash. I kept my sleeves down, hiding the scars. The book in my ring felt heavier than it should have—like it was listening.
Elara gestured to the desk. "Put it here. Carefully."
I summoned Forbidden Runes of the Abyss from the ring. The cover landed on the wood with a dull thud. The runes were quiet for once. No glow. No heat. Just… waiting.
Lyra leaned forward. "We do this slow. Page by page. If anything feels wrong—close it immediately."
Elara nodded. "I'll anchor the runes. Lyra, you monitor the mana flow. Eryndor… you read. It reacts to you most."
I swallowed. My throat was dry. I opened the book.
The first few pages were the same as before—warnings about the Abyss, the void, the watchers. We skimmed them. Nothing new.
Then the pages turned on their own.
Not fast. Not frantic. Slow. Almost careful. Like the book was choosing what to show us.
It stopped on a spread near the middle. No title. Just a single block of text, written in ink that looked wet, like it had been spilled moments ago.
The words were sharp. Clear. Unmistakable.
"The unwritten extra will rise in the shadow of the Aschenmoon.
Betrayed by those he dared to trust.
Left bleeding on the frozen ground.
Abandoned while the Abyss-lord descends.
His blood will open the final rift.
His death will seal the prophecy."
Silence.
Heavy. Sudden. Suffocating.
I stared at the page. My heartbeat was loud in my ears.
Lyra's voice was small. "That's… specific."
Elara's hands were clenched on the desk edge. Her knuckles were white. "It's not a warning. It's a script."
I couldn't speak. The words stared back at me like a death sentence written in my own blood.
Betrayed.
Left behind.
Abandoned.
Death.
I felt Lyra's hand on my shoulder—light, hesitant. "Hey. It's just words. It doesn't mean it's going to happen."
But her voice trembled.
Elara reached out, almost touching the page, then pulled back. "The book is alive. It's reacting to you. To us. It's… writing itself around you."
I closed my eyes. The room spun.
Betrayed by those he dared to trust.
I looked at Elara. At Lyra.
They looked back—worried, angry, determined.
Lyra squeezed my shoulder. "We're not going to let that happen."
Elara's voice was steel wrapped in velvet. "The book is showing us a possible future. Not the only one. We change it."
I opened my eyes. The page was still there. The ink still looked wet.
I reached out—slowly—and turned the page.
The next spread was blank.
Completely blank.
No runes. No text. Just empty parchment.
But in the center, a single drop of ink had fallen.
Fresh.
Red.
Like blood.
The drop quivered.
Then it began to spread.
Forming a single word.
"Soon."