Elias Thorne understood the intricate dance of self-preservation better than most. His existence within Aethelgard Collegium, a place where bloodlines often dictated more than intellect, demanded a meticulous regulation of self. An inherent vulnerability, an emotional tremor, was a luxury he could not afford. Thus, a shell of quiet composure had solidified around him, forged from countless instances of endured slight and ambition suppressed. This cultivated stillness often led tutors to describe him as exceptionally focused, and peers to deem him merely unobtrusive. Beneath this placid exterior, however, churned a constant undercurrent of feeling—anger, envy, fear—each disturbance absorbed and transmuted into another layer of that protective casing. Over time, genuine provocation felt almost impossible; his reactions were always measured, his thoughts analytical, even when his core trembled. This was the trait that anchored him, however tenuously, to Alaric’s orbit, ensuring his continued, if peripheral, position within the Collegium’s volatile social hierarchy. He had painstakingly built this delicate equilibrium, and preserving it was paramount. “Thorne,” Alaric’s voice, a casual murmur, sliced through the quiet contemplation of the morning's Arcanum lecture. Elias, meticulously transcribing glyphs from the celestial charts, paused, his quill hovering. “Yes, Alaric?” He kept his tone even, deferential. “Your voice, Thorne. Stiff as starched linen.” Alaric’s chuckle was light, yet carried the familiar edge of a blade. “Perhaps a touch more… vivacity?” Kaelen, seated beside Alaric, merely grunted, his gaze fixed on a complex diagram. “Better than your face, then.” “Oh, you’re hilarious, Kaelen.” Alaric merely laughed off the jibe, completely unbothered. Kaelen’s bluntness often cut through Alaric’s grandiosity, a dynamic Elias observed with clinical interest. It was a privilege of birth and intellect Kaelen possessed, one that Elias, despite his own academic brilliance, lacked. “Kaelen, don’t you ever tire of such drab company?” Alaric continued, ignoring the retort. “There must be someone more… interesting amongst your acquaintances.” Kaelen’s fingers idly tapped a loose rune on his desk, sending a faint hum through the aged wood. “Interesting how?” “Someone with spirit, a little spark. Not these academic stoics.” Alaric’s gaze drifted past them, lingering, as it often did, on a solitary figure at the far end of the lecture hall. Valerius Finch, head bowed over his texts, seemed to shrink further into the shadows. Alaric possessed a brutal impulsiveness, an unthinking cruelty masked by a veneer of charm. Since their days in the lower forms, his casual harassment of Valerius had grown more blatant, fueled by an insatiable, almost primal, need for dominance. Elias understood it; he’d merely been a silent observer, a complicit shadow. By this late point in the Collegium’s autumn term, Valerius Finch was an island. Yet, even this complete isolation never seemed to sate Alaric. Though Alaric’s favored companions—the scions of lesser noble houses like Torvin, Lysander, and Gareth—often aped his behaviors, their loyalties were fickle. They might linger after the bell, waiting for Alaric’s command, but others, students from the Collegium’s more obscure houses, often bolted the moment the midday bell tolled, escaping to the Refectory before Alaric’s group could descend. In his first year, Elias had been part of Alaric’s immediate group. Yet, by his second year, that privilege had dissolved. It began with a dismissive comment from Torvin: “Elias eats with Kaelen, doesn’t he? Gods, Thorne, you’re glacial at your meals.” Without any input from Elias, he was unceremoniously, quietly, excluded from their informal dining arrangements. The sting of humiliation had been acute. Yet, the most bitter part was Alaric’s indifference. His presence or absence mattered not a whit to the charismatic noble. Elias had simply ceased to be a consideration. He recalled glancing at Alaric then, his voice barely a whisper. “Am I truly so… deliberate in my eating?” “Of course. You always sit there, pondering each morsel, while the rest of us finish our midday repast in minutes.” Alaric had waved a dismissive hand. “We’re always late for drills because of your… scholarly pace.” “Oh.” The single syllable felt like a lead weight on his tongue. “We have an exhibition match with the Scholars of the Silver Quill today. Best you dine with Kaelen.” His pride, a fragile thing, kept him from pleading, from arguing. Besides, the chronic indigestion that had plagued him throughout his first year was likely due to rushing meals to keep pace with Alaric’s boisterous group. And honestly, the thought of clinging to Alaric’s coattails, like some discarded refuse, sickened him. So, he hadn't protested. He hadn't pleaded. He had simply been out. His will, his desires, were utterly irrelevant. Attempting an air of indifference, Elias had found his gaze meeting Kaelen’s, the only other student remaining in the deserted lecture hall. Kaelen, sprawled across his desk, idly bouncing a small, leaden ward, had merely raised an eyebrow, a question in his eyes. “When do you intend to break your fast?” “…” Elias hesitated. “I usually proceed in about ten bell-rings.” “Yes. That… that works for me too.” In truth, Elias had never eaten at that hour. But survival instincts, sharp and compelling, had surged. If he wished to remain associated with *anyone*, even a rival like Kaelen, he had to adapt. The first time he’d eaten with Kaelen alone, Elias had left half his food untouched, feigning a sudden lack of appetite. Kaelen had merely observed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “What are you, a third-year and still particular about your sustenance?” “What concern is it of yours?” Elias had retorted, a flash of irritation piercing his composure. Kaelen’s judgment, even in jest, always grated. “Frankly, you’re rather like an undeveloped fledgling.” “Even adults do not consume spiced lark with sweetened jellies.” He’d shot back petulantly, glaring. Kaelen’s presence, annoying as it was, became a strange constant. In their first year, Alaric and Elias had been almost inseparable. By the second, those moments had dwindled, and much of it, Elias knew, was due to Kaelen. Yet, Elias had no right to complain. Kaelen, by lineage and academic renown, outranked him. Kaelen and Alaric’s social circles often overlapped, though Kaelen held a distinct, independent position. Kaelen’s own peers were often those who cared little for the Collegium’s strictures, forging false leave-slips, slipping out of lectures, exploiting the lax indifference of certain masters who chose not to verify their whereabouts. Alaric, ever mindful of his family’s scrutiny, usually remained in class until the final bell. As for Kaelen, whose reputation was almost as infamous, Elias had once asked him why he bothered to adhere to the Collegium’s routine. Kaelen’s response had stuck with him. “Do you truly deem me so… pathetic?” “No, but your associates often eschew their duties.” “Associates? What absurd cant. They are not my associates. They are dregs.” “What?” Elias had been genuinely surprised. “A student’s duty is to attend his lectures and pursue knowledge, is it not?” “That is true.” “Then do not conflate me with such dregs. It offends me.” “My apologies.” “I was not soliciting an apology.” His words, though logical, felt absurd coming from Kaelen, whose so-called ‘dregs’ skipped Collegium at least once a week. Regardless, Elias had spent most of his second year in this peculiar, detached alliance with Kaelen. It became a sacred, if unacknowledged, space that few others dared intrude upon. It would have been perfect without Kaelen’s grating presence, but surprisingly, they functioned well enough. Elias did not like him, but Kaelen was not so intolerable that Elias would abandon the arrangement. He was simply… an irritant. Today, however, felt subtly different from the usual rhythm of the Collegium. “Damnation. Torvin and Lysander, those craven fools,” Alaric muttered, pressing a hand to his brow as the fourth period neared its close. The midday sun, filtered through the high, leaded windows, cast long, dusty rays across the ancient stone floor. Hearing his voice, Elias instinctively turned, a thread of anticipation coiling in his gut. “They have absented themselves again?” His tone, though he tried to mask it, betrayed a tremor of hope. “Fools, the lot of them.” Alaric’s sigh was theatrical, an audible pronouncement of his annoyance. “Unfortunate. With whom, then, will you take your midday meal?” Elias’s fingers, unseen beneath the desk, tightened around the back of his chair. A foolish hope, a treacherous longing, fluttered within him. Alaric let out a heavy sigh and turned to Kaelen, who remained impassive beside him. “I shall dine with you two today.” “Do not. No invitation was extended,” Kaelen replied, blunt as ever, without looking up. “Continue with such impertinence, Kaelen, and I shall see it silenced.” Alaric’s voice dropped, a silky threat. “Gods, today truly inspires a profound desire to strike you, Alaric.” Kaelen’s voice was devoid of real heat, merely weary. “Attempt it, imbecile.” “Grand words for one who would otherwise break fast alone.” Elias could hold back no longer, his carefully constructed neutrality dissolving. He interjected, his voice perhaps a touch too eager. “Come, let us all take our repast together. We cannot allow Alaric to dine in solitude.” His desperation must have been evident, for Alaric’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. He glanced at Kaelen, a sly glint in his eyes. “See? I possess loyal companions.” “…” Kaelen merely scowled, sweeping Alaric’s elaborate quill-case from the desk with a casual flick, sending it clattering to the flagstones. Whether Kaelen approved of Elias or not was inconsequential. What mattered was Alaric’s agreement to join them. A surge of almost childish elation filled Elias, a rare, uncomplicated joy. It had been an age since they had dined together. Elias felt so thrilled that he even forced himself to sample spiced vegetables, a side dish he typically abhorred. The Collegium Refectory buzzed around them, a grand hall filled with the clamor of voices and the scent of warm bread and savory stew. Light streamed from high windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cool air. Alaric, however, paid little attention to his food. His eyes, keen and predatory, scanned the bustling Refectory like a falcon searching for prey. Elias, too engrossed in the rare pleasure of Alaric’s proximity, barely registered Kaelen nonchalantly pilfering a few of the spiced vegetables from his tray. Then, without warning, Alaric’s silver chopsticks clattered onto his plate, and his free hand shot out, seizing the arm of someone passing by. Elias looked up, his breath catching. It was Valerius Finch. “Sit here,” Alaric commanded, nodding toward the empty seat beside him. The words, though seemingly a gesture of inclusion, were laced with a chilling intent. “You have no one else with whom to eat, in any case.” Valerius’s face flushed scarlet. His eyes darted around, lingering briefly on Elias, a flicker of bewildered hope or perhaps fear, before he bit his lip and slowly, reluctantly, sank into the seat Alaric indicated. Elias felt stunned. Dumbfounded. Since when did Alaric feign concern for Valerius’s solitude? The very reason Valerius had no companions was entirely Alaric’s doing. Alaric despised any who showed even a sliver of kinship toward Valerius. A bitter, metallic taste rose in Elias’s throat, sharper than the spiced vegetables. Unconsciously, Elias slammed his heavy pewter spoon onto his tray. The sound, loud and jarring, echoed through their immediate vicinity, though it seemed to be swallowed by the general din of the Refectory. The only one who reacted to the noise was Valerius, who flinched violently, his eyes widening as he looked at Elias with a fresh surge of anxiety. Alaric, however, remained fixated on Valerius, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Damn it. At that precise moment, the protective shell Elias had so carefully constructed over the years began to crack, a hairline fracture appearing in its seamless surface. He tried to halt it, to reassert control, but found he could not. Perhaps, he mused with a detached corner of his mind, he was nearing a breaking point he hadn't known existed. His composure was fraying at the edges. Desperately clinging to a denial he knew was futile, Elias snapped at Valerius. “Valerius. You must leave.” “H-huh?” Valerius stammered, his eyes wide. “Do not heed Alaric. Simply go. It is… it is quite permissible.” “Elias,” Alaric’s voice, dangerously low, cut through the clamor. It was a tone Elias had learned to dread. When Elias told Valerius he could leave, Alaric, who had ignored the jarring sound of the spoon, finally ground his teeth, his gaze burning with a familiar, chilling intensity. That glare, far from intimidating, only solidified Elias’s burgeoning resolve. He fixed his eyes stubbornly on Valerius. “I will intercede. You are free to depart.” “Uh, o-okay.” Valerius’s voice was barely a whisper. “And Alaric, cease this charade already.” Elias knew the defiance in his voice was unprecedented, a dangerous gamble. “Yes, I concur,” Kaelen chimed in, his voice muffled by a mouthful of stew, his words barely intelligible. His sudden interjection, though typically annoying, felt oddly out of place amidst the rising tension. He chewed and swallowed with deliberate slowness before glancing between Elias and Alaric, a faint, irritating smirk playing on his lips. “What are you staring at? You quite ruin my appetite.” As always, Kaelen’s unnecessary provocations grated on Elias’s nerves. The man was insufferable, no matter how Elias viewed him. Ignoring Kaelen, Elias turned his gaze back to Alaric. “Leave Valerius be.” “Who in the blazes are you to dictate my actions?” Alaric shot back, his voice now sharp with genuine anger. “It is tiresome for the rest of us to witness.” Elias did not blink, holding Alaric’s furious gaze. Alaric, his jaw tight, slammed his fist onto the ancient wooden table. The sudden impact made Valerius, who sat awkwardly, flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. Kaelen, on the other hand, chuckled lazily, raising a hand as if in surrender. “Count me out of this particular skirmish.” He licked a bead of water from his lips, his gaze still holding a flicker of amusement. “Let us decide by simple majority. I am neutral. Thorne wishes him gone. Alaric insists he remains.” Kaelen, for reasons Elias had never fully comprehended, often addressed him as “Thorne” rather than “Elias.” The familiarity, coming from a rival, always pricked at Elias’s carefully cultivated detachment. That irritation now slipped into his tone. “Cease your meddling. Your vote possesses no weight.” “Why ever not? There is another individual right there.” Kaelen, unfazed, merely smirked and pointed at Valerius, a casual flick of his hand. “What? Is Valerius not a person?” “You are absurd.” Elias found himself gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “Why is he silent? Let him voice his own preference.” As if Valerius could possibly articulate a preference in this suffocating atmosphere. Elias sighed at Kaelen’s thoughtless antics, picking up his spoon and idly stirring his cooling stew. That was when Alaric tapped his finger on the table, a slow, deliberate rhythm. “If you depart, Valerius, your life within these halls ceases to be your own. Consider yourself dead, from this moment forth.” Tears began to well in Valerius’s large, brown eyes, which glimmered as he looked at Elias, a silent plea for help. Damn it. Elias pressed his lips together, his own heart thrumming with an unwelcome sense of responsibility. “It is fine. I will prevent him,” Elias said, his voice softer than he intended, trying to offer reassurance to Valerius. “Elias,” Alaric growled, his voice tight with barely suppressed fury. The use of Elias's given name, from Alaric, felt like a dangerous intimacy, a precursor to violence. Elias forced himself to meet Alaric’s gaze, projecting a calm he did not feel, struggling against an overwhelming urge to flee. To suppress it, he looked up at the intricate patterns of the Refectory ceiling for a brief moment before lowering his head, replying nonchalantly. “What is it?” “You…” Alaric clenched his fist, glaring at Elias with an intensity that felt like it could incinerate him where he sat. Still, Elias had to endure. His instincts screamed that he could not, *would not*, leave Valerius to Alaric’s cruel mercies. The fragile shell holding his composure was cracking, not shattering, but cracking nonetheless. But then, Alaric’s focus, with a terrifying swiftness, shifted back to Valerius. “I-I will go,” Valerius stammered, his voice trembling, utterly broken. “…” Elias’s breath hitched. “Th-thank you, Elias.” Valerius hurriedly pushed himself away from the table, his footsteps unsteady, a faint scrape of his chair echoing in the suddenly heavy silence. He practically fled the Refectory, vanishing into the stream of departing students. As soon as Valerius was gone, Alaric turned abruptly, his icy gaze falling fully, completely, on Elias.

A Crack in the Veneer