A septnight dragged its slow, measured pace across the Arcane Imperium. Lysander Thorne, with practiced precision, distanced himself from Valerius Vesper. He immersed himself in the labyrinthine scrolls of the Grand Scriptorium, feigning an absolute absorption in ancient glyphs, as if Valerius's presence, or lack thereof, held no sway over his carefully cultivated world.
His true companions for this period were the hushed rustle of parchment and the faint scent of aged ink. He spent time with Kael, a junior acolyte with a keen wit and an even keener eye for the political currents of Aethel, and a few other scholars whose company provided a plausible distraction.
This deliberate distancing, while outwardly successful, brought its own particular torment. The currents of information about Valerius, once readily accessible, now flowed through indirect channels. Lysander found himself reliant on Kael's casual observations, a dependence that chafed at his pride.
Burning curiosity warred with his refusal to betray his carefully constructed indifference. The internal struggle left a bitter taste on his tongue.
He sought Kael out in the Academy's central atrium, where the acolyte was idly tracing intricate runic patterns onto a small scrying tablet, a faint magical hum emanating from its surface.
Lysander leaned against a polished obsidian pillar, affecting nonchalance. "Any... unusual developments amongst the elder acolytes?" he queried, his voice smooth, even.
Kael glanced up, dark eyes glinting with a flicker of understanding Lysander despised. He tapped a finger against the tablet. "Valerius? Oh, him. He departed the Academy grounds again." A casual dismissal, spoken without true interest.
The answer struck Lysander like a cold draft. "Damn him," he muttered under his breath, the words a raw, involuntary hiss.
Valerius moved with a primal force, a creature of instinct and fierce, untamed emotion. Lysander understood the violent wellspring of his temper all too well.
"Another visit to the Pleasure Wards, I presume," Lysander guessed, the thought sour in his mind.
Kael twisted slightly, adjusting his posture. "No, this time a formal introduction. A meeting of families, as it were." He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Serena arranged it. You know, the scion of House Solara who has pursued him for cycles. Apparently, they found common ground almost immediately. Departed together, without a second glance. Truly, the lady was no less eager. 'Why not?' she likely thought."
Lysander’s breath hitched.
"Remarkable, their shared lack of conventional decorum," Kael added, his tone dripping with derision. The subtle venom in his words brought a strange, illicit lightness to Lysander's chest. He pushed off the pillar, moving to perch on Kael's workstation, a subtle gesture of gratitude.
Kael, without looking up, leaned back slightly, granting Lysander space. His open criticism of Valerius's disregard for social niceties was, for Lysander, Kael's most tolerable quality.
"Disgustingly unburdened by propriety," Lysander remarked, the words carefully chosen.
"Precisely. Though I, for one, find myself rather burdened."
Kael's mock-boastful sigh drew a short, sharp laugh from Lysander. "Are you not meant to be? You are still an acolyte, after all."
"There is no 'meant to be' in matters of the heart," Kael said, not looking from his tablet. "Such knowledge accumulates through arduous experience. Human impulse knows no academic curriculum."
"Is that why your scrying-crystal remains so silent?" Lysander teased, a fleeting smile touching his lips.
Kael finally deactivated his scrying tablet. He turned, his gaze incredulous, and tapped Lysander’s hand, which still rested on his shoulder. "I shall report this as an act of magical harassment."
"How is a simple observation harassment?"
"If the recipient feels discomfort, it is harassment. An elementary tenet of Conclave law, Lysander."
"Kael, you are truly a menace."
"And you, a provocateur."
Lysander's foot swung idly, his boot slipping from his heel. He ignored it, nudging Kael's leg with his sock-clad foot. Kael feigned a dramatic push-back, then, with a flourish, presented him with an upraised hand, his middle finger extended. His wrist bore an intricately carved aetheric charm, always present.
"That charm," Lysander observed, a frown creasing his brow. "It hardly suits you."
Kael lowered his hand, suddenly serious. "And why not?"
Lysander blinked. A curious shift in mood. "It simply does not align with your... temperament."
"Does not align? Peculiar. Do I not project an aura of devout piety?"
"No," Lysander stated flatly. "It appears merely a decorative trinket."
"...It is not, though."
Lysander remembered then. Kael's name, derived from a patron Archon of the Celestial Choir, spoke of a long lineage devoted to ancient faith. Kael's house, surprisingly, had maintained its observances for generations. Even more surprising, Kael himself professed to be a devout adherent, though he struggled to recite even the simplest incantation of blessing.
---
Lysander continued his careful avoidance of Valerius for the remainder of the septnight. Their paths would occasionally cross in the lecture halls, a fleeting exchange of glances before Lysander would swiftly avert his eyes.
The courage to address Valerius directly eluded him. A part of him recoiled from the prospect of 'losing' – the pathetic, ingrained fear that the one who desired more was the one who inevitably surrendered. Ridiculous as the notion was, it held him captive.
Cassian, in contrast, frequently sought Lysander out. Lysander suspected he was the only one who bothered to offer any form of acknowledgement. Each day, however, new contusions marred Cassian's face – a clear, brutal declaration that Valerius continued his savage marking, just beyond Lysander's sight. Like a beast staking its territory.
A frown tightened Lysander’s features. Cassian caught his gaze, quickly turning his head to conceal the fresh injuries.
Four more days crawled by. A quiet morning found Lysander alone in a corner of the scriptorium, his face buried in his hands. He wished to close his eyes to the unfolding drama, to deny its existence.
The chasm between Lysander and Valerius widened with each passing moment. What began as a subtle fissure now threatened to swallow him whole. Cassian's swollen eyes, etched with bruises like official seals, served as constant, painful reminders. Lysander craved utter oblivion from both of them.
Then, by some twist of fate, Cassian ceased attending the Academy. Magister Aulus, in hushed tones, spoke of an absence, but the tremor in his voice whispered of truancy. Lysander felt a thrill of illicit triumph.
Valerius, in turn, grew more volatile. He fidgeted with his scrying-crystal during lessons, snapped irritable commands at junior acolytes, or unleashed minor bursts of unrestrained magic at any who dared to speak out of turn.
A strange smugness bloomed in Lysander's chest. A fleeting sense of superiority. He assured himself that with Cassian's permanent departure, Valerius's singular obsession would wane, and his attention would inevitably return to Lysander. He waited, patiently, for this moment to arrive.
Several more days passed in this fragile expectation.
"Valerius seems... diminished," Kael remarked one afternoon, his voice barely a murmur. Lysander's heart gave a heavy lurch. He yearned to turn, to assess Valerius's face with his own eyes, but his ingrained caution held him fast. When it came to matters of the heart, Lysander was a profound coward. He could only listen to Kael's words, imagining the truth of them.
Nothing shifted, however, as the day waned and the final lectures concluded. Tomorrow, he convinced himself, would bring the change. Such profound shifts rarely occurred so abruptly. He continued to wait. As he slung his satchel over his shoulder, Kael spoke, his voice carrying an unexpected edge.
"You still have that rift with Valerius, don't you?"
Lysander turned, an involuntary reflex. "Yes."
"Don't tell me it persists, even after the Hall of Feasts incident?"
A tight silence stretched between them.
"Remarkable longevity," Kael observed, shrugging, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes. Lysander avoided his gaze, offering a hurried, prepared excuse.
"Truthfully, Valerius exceeded all bounds. I find such casual cruelty... distasteful. The treatment of another acolyte, regardless of station, is simply... irregular."
"Irregular?"
"Indeed. Cassian is a person, after all. The manner in which Valerius... interacts with him. It is distasteful. He should desist."
"Astounding."
Lysander remained silent.
"You are destined for the highest Celestial Choir, Lysander."
Kael's reply, a honeyed sarcasm, pricked Lysander's skin. Annoyed by the malicious undercurrent, Lysander glared. Kael merely offered a slight, mocking smirk. Lysander felt a sudden, sickening exposure, a flush of heat creeping up his neck. He spun on his heel, turning his back on Kael’s knowing grin, and hurried from the lecture hall.
As he navigated the bustling corridor, intent on returning to his private chambers, a hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder. Assuming it was Kael, Lysander spun, irritation bubbling, and roughly pulled his arm free. It was not Kael, but Magister Aulus. Lysander's surprise was immediate, and he hastily smoothed his expression.
"My apologies, Thorne. Did I startle you?"
"Oh, no, Magister, not at all. Merely... surprised."
"I see. Forgive my abruptness, but... might I impose upon your time for a moment?"
"Magister?"
"Just a breath. Please."
The young Magister’s face was etched with an unusual gravity. Lysander nodded his assent.
"Today, Valerius sought Cassian's private chambers address from the High Conclave registry," Magister Aulus said, his voice cautious.
"Valerius Vesper?"
Magister Aulus, as head of their cohort, could not have been ignorant of the unrest brewing within their ranks. Yet, he lacked the fortitude to confront the toxic atmosphere directly. Nor was he so unfeeling as to completely ignore it. His approach to Lysander regarding Cassian was proof of that.
"I make no accusations, Thorne, nor do I lay blame, but..."
"No, Magister, I comprehend. I find nothing strange in your concern," Lysander interjected swiftly, seeking to reassure the man.
"Well, given your consistent, if quiet, support of Cassian, I wondered if you might... accompany Valerius to his residence. Do you understand my meaning?"
Lysander could not respond immediately. His jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing at his temple.
Valerius’s peculiar currents of emotion, once directed solely at Cassian, now seemed to creep towards Lysander himself, a cold touch at his feet, anchoring him. He clenched his fists, knuckles bone-white. He could not permit this.
"Could I... obtain Cassian’s scrying-crystal frequency, then?"
"Ah, yes, of course. Here, allow me. Endeavor to contact him first."
"Certainly. I shall speak with him. Do not overly concern yourself, Magister."
"Very well. I place my trust in you, Thorne."
"Indeed."
Outwardly, Lysander remained composed, but within, a fierce panic surged. Magister Aulus, looking rather awkward, handed him Cassian's private scrying frequency from the cohort's records, then departed the corridor.
Lysander had to stop Valerius. He absolutely had to prevent Valerius's strange, obsessive focus from escalating further. The moment the Magister was out of sight, Lysander drew his own scrying-crystal and immediately initiated a connection to Cassian's frequency. His leg jittered nervously, and he clenched and unclenched his hand, awaiting a response. Surprisingly, the connection established swiftly.
"Greetings?"
"It is Lysander. Is this Cassian?"
As soon as he heard the voice, Lysander spoke in a rush. A sudden clatter erupted on the other end of the line – something falling, striking another object, followed by a soft rustling. After a strained pause, Cassian's voice returned, faint and breathy.
"L-Lysander? Lysander! W-why... How... how did you acquire my frequency? Did you... already possess it?"
"No. I was informed by Magister Aulus that Valerius sought your private chambers address today. I then requested your frequency."
Silence.
"I merely wished to caution you. Be vigilant."
"W-what of you? Are you well? Even as you endeavor to halt him..."
"Do not concern yourself with my welfare. Focus on your own. Should you require further absence from the Academy, communicate with this frequency. I possess some influence with Magister Aulus; I can make explanations."
"...Thank you."
"Should Valerius attempt to harass you or employ compulsion within the Academy, notify me instantly. If direct communication is impossible, a simple touch on my shoulder will suffice. It is always harder to mend what is already broken."
"Understood..."
"Honestly, a transfer to another ward would be the optimal course."
Lysander slipped the suggestion in, hoping it would resonate.
Silence.
"In any case, consider it. For now, either feign absence from your chambers or depart to a distant location."
"O-okay..."
"Very well, I am terminating the connection."
"W-wait."
"...?"
"Thank you, Lysander."
After a long, strained hesitation, Cassian's voice came, soft and slightly trembling. A peculiar unease prickled Lysander's skin.
"T-thank you for your continuous assistance..."
"It is nothing."
"I merely... wished to articulate it. Thank you. A-until later."
"Indeed."
"...Farewell."
Farewell? Lysander did not bother to respond to the odd parting. He severed the connection. The lingering echo of Cassian's voice, unsettling and cloying, sent a shiver down his spine.
What transpired with Cassian that night, Lysander never learned. All he knew was that from the next morn, Cassian returned to the Academy. Within a single septnight, the faint, peach-like flush characteristic of his youthful complexion began to reappear. Cassian also ceased his abrupt approaches, his demeanor shifting dramatically, becoming more circumspect.
The abrupt alteration in Cassian's conduct planted subtle seeds of suspicion in Lysander's mind. Yet, when all the bruises on Cassian's face finally faded, Lysander found himself harboring a faint, unlikely sense of hope.
Then, two septnights later, Valerius Vesper approached him, without warning or preamble.
"Thorne."
Lysander's breath caught.
"Lysander."
He did not look, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, but his lips felt as though they might part with an involuntary gasp at any moment.
Could it be? Had Valerius finally tired of Cassian?