A peculiar yearning stirred, a whisper from the depths of my quietude. I found myself wondering, one crisp morning, about the path Elara Sterling took with Cassian Thorne after their study sessions. It was a simple curiosity, born from a jealousy I barely dared acknowledge, a gnawing ache.
From what I’d observed, Elara always followed a respectful distance behind Cassian once their lessons concluded. They never walked shoulder-to-shoulder, yet an image persisted: Elara, a fully-grown acolyte, trailing Cassian with an unspoken devotion. Even as this notion consumed me, a cold dread coiled in my gut. It felt like prising open a sealed vault, not just to despair, but to a cruel, shimmering hope that promised greater ruin. And yet, the lure was irresistible.
“...This is madness.”
My mind raced, thoughts tangled and frantic. I knew better. Still, the pull was too strong. I followed Elara after the day's final lecture.
My pursuit did not last long.
Moving cautiously, careful not to draw Cassian’s sharp eye, I watched Elara’s gaze fixed on his back. The ancient, weather-beaten stones of the Outer Reach, scarred by centuries of wind and spellfire, surrounded them. Faded arcane sigils etched into crumbling walls, rusted iron grates guarding forgotten conduits, pathways worn smooth by countless footsteps—a tableau of neglected history. Two figures moved through it: Cassian in the lead, Elara a shadow behind him. And I, a silent sentinel, observing from a distance.
The entire scene felt wretched, profoundly foolish. A knot tightened in my chest. I turned back.
Later, in my small, shadowed study alcove, the air cool against my skin, I revisited the moment. A strange satisfaction settled over me. Curiosity gnawed, yes, but who knew what grim truths I might have unearthed? Better this way. Better not to know. I would not be the fool to unseal a cursed relic out of base desire.
Elara’s quiet devotion to Cassian only intensified, a pressure palpable in the great halls. Cassian, in turn, seemed to fear her, or perhaps detest her outright.
No, it was certainly detestation. And rightly so. How could he feel anything but disdain for someone who had, during her initial apprenticeship, openly challenged his lineage, his very authority? A sliver of smugness warmed me. I had not intervened when Elara had spoken her mind early on. Perhaps, in some twisted way, that had been for the best.
Fingers laced behind my head, I leaned back against the rough-hewn stone wall, gazing at the single, pulsating lumin-orb fixed to the ceiling. Its soft glow illuminated my quarters, a constant reminder of my humble origins, my lineage a stark contrast to the Arcane Citadel’s grand magi. I was born to intellect, not power, to dusty scrolls, not shimmering auras.
“...Damn it.”
I once believed that given enough study, enough insight, there was nothing I couldn’t unravel, no secret I couldn’t pierce. Until I fell into the shadow of Cassian Thorne. That arrogant, captivating magus had unveiled a cruel truth: not every puzzle yielded to intellect, not every desire could be controlled. And I was certain Cassian himself was learning that bitter lesson too.
Ah, the threads of fate could be so mercilessly knotted.
At least I had learned restraint, to mask my true yearnings. Cassian, on the other hand, was so consumed by his own turbulent emotions that he remained oblivious to the hungry, unsettling way he looked at Elara. That sudden, abnormal intensity must have disquieted him deeply.
I understood his turmoil. I had felt it myself, that desperate, illogical pull. But while I endured, Cassian succumbed. Rather than seeking to win Elara’s respect, he acted in ways that only garnered her aversion. For me, this suited my hidden agenda perfectly.
“Please, remain so beautifully clueless,” I murmured into the echoing stone.
Or better yet, let Elara grow weary and depart from his orbit. I harbored no hope that Cassian would ever turn his gaze upon me. If anything, this kind of love, this relentless, consuming need, terrified me.
I wanted only one thing: for a day to dawn when I no longer loved Cassian, and for Cassian to find solace elsewhere. That was all. But, of course, the intricate weave of the cosmos rarely grants such simple wishes.
To exacerbate matters, Cassian shifted his study station to sit directly beside Elara. Of all the places in the Grand Scrying Chamber, he chose the one nearest the central runic projection, a terrible spot given his imposing stature. He completely obstructed the view of the Elder Runes. Elara’s former study partner, a slight acolyte named Torvin, offered Kaelen Varr and me an awkward greeting, his expression caught between embarrassment and resentment.
“Greetings, Lysander, Kaelen.”
Kaelen and I exchanged a fleeting glance. I offered a curt nod. Kaelen merely raised a brow.
“Heh...”
The nervous chuckle hung in the air, unanswered. We offered no further response. It held no interest for us.
Cassian sat beside Elara without a word, a silent, brooding presence. I hoped—no, desperately wished—that we could persist like this, frozen in this awkward tension, for another year and a half. That someday, this fraught moment would fade into nothing more than a vague, forgotten dream.
Another shift in the pattern. Cassian, who had once spent his free nights indulging in illicit arcane pursuits and reckless displays of power, had seemingly curbed these habits. From the hushed whispers among Kaelen’s companions, he hadn’t ceased entirely. But at least he no longer boasted of his dangerous exploits in the common halls, nor did the faint, acrid scent of volatile reagents cling to him.
For me, that was a small mercy. I no longer had to endure the stench of his recklessness up close.
“Cassian, not going to stir up some chaos tonight? Like this?”
Joric, a burly acolyte with a leering grin, mimed casting a volatile spell, hands gesturing obscenely near his crotch. Cassian’s face twisted in disgust at the crude display. Glancing quickly in Elara’s direction, he snarled.
“You oaf! I told you not to flaunt such filth in public!”
“Why the sudden modesty, huh?”
“Bring that up again, Joric, and you’ll find yourself in the infirmary.”
“But Cassian—”
“I said silence!”
“...Fine, fine.”
The others were clearly disappointed. Cassian, with his imposing presence and raw, untamed power, had once been the perfect conduit for the restless curiosity of young acolytes brimming with unspent arcane energy.
The acolytes in Cassian and Kaelen’s loose association were not novices; they had all fumbled through clumsy attempts at forbidden lore and dangerous enchantments before. Compared to those cloistered in pure theory, they were more easily swayed by a taste of chaos. With Cassian no longer sharing his exploits, their attention drifted to Kaelen. But Kaelen only bared his teeth, a flicker of pure disgust in his eyes.
“You uncultured heathens.”
“Ah, there he goes again! Kaelen with his disdain!”
“He’s just a zealous purist. Honestly, what a waste of potential.”
Laughter rippled through the hall, loud and fleeting.
Most of the young magi in the group had ventured into forbidden territories at least once, but for some reason, Kaelen Varr hadn’t. While they teased him as a jest, calling him “The Cloistered,” no one truly disrespected him. He was Kaelen Varr, after all. At the same time, Kaelen possessed a lighthearted, almost flippant attitude about everything, which made his cutting remarks seem casual, his blunt words easy to absorb. People found that either charming or approachable, often remarking that his demeanor didn’t match his formidable gaze.
“You imbecile, stop glaring at me. You’ll make me lose my focus.”
“Yeah, Kaelen’s got such a chilling stare.”
“Do you all possess a death wish?”
Kaelen scowled, and the group burst into laughter, though nothing was truly humorous. Some acolytes lingering in the back of the chamber, perhaps his friends—or less than that—joined in with their feigned mirth and chatter, adding to the growing din. As I sat amongst them, I stared blankly at my lap, lost in thought.
“...”
If my memory served, I had never felt true arousal for a woman’s form. Perhaps that made me inclined towards my own gender by default, a predisposition woven into my very essence. Certainly, I had felt stirrings watching illicit scryings with both men and women, but I had never once fantasized about a woman’s body while lost in private contemplation. The former seemed more about the raw intensity of the situation, while the latter felt like a fundamental absence of desire.
I’d been to a clandestine ritual once, dragged along by Cassian Thorne, but I hadn’t even made it past the warding spell at the entrance. I lacked the necessary lineage sigil. Instead, I waited outside until Cassian reappeared. Secret covens? Disgusting. I couldn’t bear the thought of such places. It made me wonder why anyone would.
Because of all this, the acolytes in the group jokingly called me “Lysander the Averse,” but in truth, my aversion was more or less forced by an inherent lack of interest.
A small sigh escaped my lips.
The others were too preoccupied, laughing at Kaelen’s dry wit, to notice. Seizing the moment, I glanced at Cassian, who sat in silent intensity. He was staring at the back of Elara Sterling’s head as she diligently studied a luminous scroll across the room.
And, as always, regret twisted my gut. Why did I look? Why did I remain curious? To distract myself, I posed a pointless question to Kaelen.
“So, are you truly going to remain uninitiated until you bind yourself in a formal oath?”
Kaelen, who was sprawled in his chair with an air of careless dominion, suddenly fixed his gaze directly at my lap. His stare was so persistent that I instinctively crossed my legs, as if to shield myself. What in the Outer Reaches was that?
“You’re not my sworn partner, so why concern yourself? What, are you offering?”
“...”
Of course. This infuriating man always found a way to deliver a malicious jest. The others laughed, and I discreetly kicked Kaelen in the shin.
That was how my days unfolded—a cycle of observation, longing, and veiled emotions, repeated over and over again.
---
Alone in my quarters, thoughts often spiraled, contemplating endless scenarios. Inevitably, those meditations sometimes drifted into strange, dangerous fantasies.
Today, I found myself wondering what it would have been like if I had fallen in love with Kaelen Varr instead of Cassian Thorne. It seemed a far less treacherous path. If I had loved Kaelen, I wouldn’t have had to endure the heartbreak caused by Cassian’s entangled attachments to Elara.
Even so, heartbreak would still be my companion.
Neither Cassian Thorne nor Kaelen Varr would ever truly love me, after all. But at least my heart wouldn’t ache with such intensity over Elara Sterling.
That line of thought eventually led to familiar feelings of inferiority and a simmering anger. In the end, I simply wished I could complete my studies quickly and become a stranger to Cassian Thorne.
---
At some point, I started unconsciously resting my hands under my study desk whenever I settled in. This habit truly took root in my second year of junior acolyte training, and the cause was always the same—men.
As my fingers idly traced the ancient carvings on the desk’s edge, my mind drifted. Should I? Or shouldn’t I? The faint scrape of my nail against the rough wood filled the quiet room. Just as I applied a slight pressure with my thumb, a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Lysander? Are you immersed in your runes?”
“...Ah, no! I mean, yes! I am!”
My heart nearly leaped from my chest. Today was clearly not the day for such indulgence. Mortified, I buried my face in my arms, a flush creeping up my neck. Damn it.
---
Lately, Cassian Thorne had been a particularly grating presence.
Sometimes, when Elara glanced my way, Cassian would deliberately initiate a conversation with her. Elara, caught in the middle, would flick her eyes toward me, her lips parting as if to speak, only to press them together again. Then, as if wary of Cassian’s scrutinizing presence, she’d lower her head and answer in the faintest whisper.
“Y-yes...”
Just like that.
Elara subtly sought me out more, and began calling me “Ly.” Aside from a select few senior scholars, almost no one addressed me so informally, so the change was remarkably noticeable. She seemed to think she was being discreet, but she wasn’t. The worst part was how Cassian couldn’t mask his discomfort whenever Elara dared such familiarity.
“Elara Sterling, cease distracting Lysander while he studies.”
“What?”
“Stop bothering him. Is that not clear?”
“Oh... uh, y-yes...”
When Elara stammered and averted her gaze, Cassian immaturely slammed his fist against the leg of his own study desk beside him. I pretended not to notice. Annoyingly, oblivious Elara seemed to believe no one cared about her calling me “Ly” anymore. She grew bold, using it casually as if it were perfectly normal.
“Uh, Ly... apologies for disturbing your focus.”
I stiffened, staring at her in disbelief. Was she truly so blind? Cassian was sitting directly there.
Sure enough, Cassian pounded his fist on the desk again, the sound echoing sharply. Damn it.
“Hey! Elara Sterling!”
“...Huh?”
The atmosphere instantly turned brittle, charged with unspoken fury.
“I warned you.”
Cassian’s anger was blatant, a raw, uncontrolled burst of arcane energy that pulsed around him.
“I told you not to call him ‘Ly,’ did I not?”
“...W-well...”
“Call him Lysander. That is his name—Lysander.”
His gaze turned sharp, almost predatory, as he fixed it upon me. I hated that look, and instinctively lowered my head, my shoulders hunching. At that precise moment, Kaelen Varr, seated beside me, casually draped his arm over my shoulder. His low, distinctive voice murmured near my ear, a quiet ripple through the tension.
“Cassian Thorne, keep this up, and you’ll truly regret it.”
“What in the Void-touched realms are you implying?”
“I’m saying your hubris will be your undoing.”
Kaelen’s lips curved into a smirk, and I felt a complex flicker of irritation. For one reason only.