A chill settled in Elian’s chest. Cassian’s disdain, now openly flung, felt like a branding iron. No longer did Cassian even feign civility, not after the excursion. Rhys Alaric occupied the seat beside Cassian in the lecture hall, a stark tableau that mirrored the raw ache in Elian’s ribs.
That spot had always been Elian’s, a silent testament to a bond he’d cherished. Now, it was a hollow space in his memory, filled instead by Rhys’s unassuming presence. Rhys, whose bruise-marred face still haunted Elian's periphery, whose very existence seemed to amplify Elian’s guilt.
He might appear composed, a diligent scholar lost in scrolls, but shame gnawed at him. Elian could not feign ignorance, nor hold his head high when his internal world crumbled. The thought of confronting Cassian, of pretending ease, was a poison he couldn’t swallow.
A melancholic ennui settled over Elian’s days. Sometimes, a petty, vengeful spark would flare, envisioning Cassian’s grand facade cracking. But always, Elian endured.
Cassian, usually so controlled, now flared with a childish resentment towards Elian. The reason, chillingly clear, was Rhys Alaric.
Regardless of intent, Elian found himself hating Rhys more with each passing day. Rhys was never ‘his’ to begin with, yet he hadn’t merely stolen Cassian’s attention; he had ignited Cassian’s animosity towards Elian. The thought that Rhys was a malevolent force, an unwitting saboteur, clung to Elian’s mind.
Even if Rhys acted without malice, it mattered little to Elian’s turbulent feelings. Emotion defied logic, a truth Elian understood too well. Blaming Rhys offered a strange, bitter solace, a scapegoat to navigate his own misery.
Yet, Elian prided himself on rational choices. He knew Rhys was merely adrift in Cassian’s orbit. Therefore, no flicker of hostility ever marred Elian’s interactions with him.
Partly, Elian was too mortified to expose his raw jealousy. Partly, he knew that to lash out at Rhys would only diminish him further, confirming the whispers of his inadequacy. Cassian would only despise him more. Peers might label him pathetic, unworthy of his lineage.
“...This is intolerable.”
He hated it. A suffocating loathing, deeper even than Cassian’s scorn. The image of Kael flashed unbidden into his mind. Elian couldn’t pinpoint why, perhaps because Kael was the irritating constant in his increasingly isolated routine. What would Kael say if he knew Elian’s secret yearning, his shame?
‘Turns out Vance is just a pathetic, weakling heir, eh?’
Kael’s imagined sneer made Elian’s fists clench. Such a horrifying prospect, it nearly made him gag. He absolutely could not let anyone discover his true vulnerability, his emotional mess.
Connections within the Collegiate could be brittle. When Cassian’s open animosity towards Elian became undeniable, Elian’s peripheral ties to Cassian’s social sphere naturally frayed. Amusingly, Lord Finnian, a perpetually overlooked student from a minor house, struck up an uncharacteristically verbose conversation yesterday.
“Elian. Kael was looking for you, earlier.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He simply was. Didn't say.”
“...”
Always something like this—trivial exchanges devoid of genuine substance. Already, Elian sensed a shift. He was being subtly re-categorized, now perceived as belonging to Kael’s eccentric orbit rather than Cassian’s dominant one.
Of course, the threads with Cassian’s former adherents weren’t entirely severed. Occasionally, during physical drills in the training grounds or by chance in the refectory, polite, strained greetings were exchanged. Though this was mostly limited to minor lords like Finnian.
“Elian! Good morning.”
“...Good morning, Finnian.”
Elian recalled one of those awkward mornings, Finnian muttering under his breath.
‘Cassian acts strangely these days. His manner with Alaric... it’s rather unsettling, isn’t it?’
Elian must have grimaced, for Finnian seemed to take it as agreement. He then elaborated on Cassian’s possessiveness, how he insisted Rhys sit beside him, how he would grip Rhys’s arm, not letting go.
Elian’s fists clenched, teeth gritted. He forced out a response.
‘I have no interest in such unseemly displays.’
Finnian instantly fell silent.
Lately, Finnian had been attempting to curry favor with Kael and his associates. He resembled a lesser creature, sensing a shift in the food chain, seeking refuge from Cassian’s lengthening shadow. Perhaps his candid observations were a clumsy attempt to bridge a new alliance.
Today, as usual, only Elian and Kael remained in the deserted study chamber after the lectures dispersed.
Kael leaned against an ancient, carved archway, regarding Elian with an inscrutable gaze. Whether he ignored Elian, or merely assessed him, Elian could not tell. Annoyed, Elian turned his head, choosing to return the silent treatment.
“Vance.”
“What?”
“Later, let’s procure some frosted sorbet. That amethyst flavor we sampled recently was quite potent.”
Kael ignored Elian’s deliberate coolness. He lazily tossed a small, polished stone orb across the chamber. It rebounded erratically, threatening to strike a shelf of scrolls, but no one dared address him.
Kael held no regard for the Collegiate’s solemn atmosphere, nor for minor regulations. He was indifferent, selfish even. Elian frowned, watching the orb’s unpredictable trajectory, finally breaking his silence. His irritation at Kael’s blithe presumption sharpened his tone.
“You refer to the one you consumed entirely yourself? You acquired it solely for your own indulgence, did you not?”
“Well, not precisely. I merely favor the purple hue.”
“So my preference held no consideration whatsoever?”
“How was I to ascertain your desires? You vocalized nothing.”
By then, the orb had rolled to a stop near a junior apprentice, polishing a grimoire. Kael extended a hand, motioning for it. The apprentice hesitated, then awkwardly retrieved the orb, placing it into Kael’s palm. Kael casually twirled the stone, then addressed the retreating student.
“Appreciated, scullion.”
Such an irritating disposition.
‘Scullion this, novice that.’ Every utterance from Kael’s lips grated on Elian’s nerves.
Honestly, it defied logic that someone as obnoxious as Kael now clung to Elian instead of Cassian. Kael habitually dined with him, sat with him during lectures, walked with him through the cloisters. True, Cassian was often elsewhere, but Kael could easily send a messenger or seek him out if he wished.
The thought materialized, unbidden, and Elian voiced it without much deliberation.
“Why do you not frequent Cassian Alaric’s company these days?”
Kael, mid-toss-and-catch of the orb against the ancient wall, froze. He then turned to Elian with a genuinely puzzled expression.
“You had a fracas with him,” Kael stated.
“I?”
“Indeed. You and Cassian Alaric.”
“I am aware. I was the one involved. Why does that bear relevance to you?”
“You utter the most peculiar things. It is because you are my companion.”
Kael’s gaze swept over Elian, an oddly blatant appraisal. Feeling discomfited, Elian averted his eyes and retorted.
“You were also companions with Cassian Alaric, though.”
“Hah. You are truly amusing. What, do you imply you are not my companion?”
Kael’s tone was now incredulous, his finger pointing accusingly at Elian.
“No, I am your companion. But you also numbered among Cassian Alaric’s companions. Why do you side with me?”
“Well, because I have known you for a longer span.”
“What utter nonsense do you speak? Our acquaintance originated through Cassian Alaric, did it not?”
“Preposterous. We were quite close during our first year!”
“When?”
“Truly, you are an insolent wretch. Unbelievable. Back in the refectory, we constantly exchanged glances!”
“Oh... at that juncture.”
“So, what, was I the sole individual who perceived us as companions? You deceiver. That is why, upon finding ourselves in the same academic cohort, I approached you first! And you do not even acknowledge that? Unconscionable. I am profoundly disappointed.”
“Ah.”
“Utterly unbelievable. Truly... astonishing. How could you inflict such an affront upon me?”
“Fine, I offer my apologies. I am sorry, do you hear?”
Elian mumbled a hasty apology, recalling those awkward, yet strangely frequent, encounters from their first year. So that had been within Kael’s “companion category.” Elian felt cheated. How could anyone interpret those hostile stares as amicable? They were unequivocally filled with resentment. Wait, did that imply the first individual to propose joint meals wasn't Cassian Alaric, but... Kael?
The realization struck Elian like a physical blow, leaving him stunned. It was unsettling, even shocking. Still, he wished to avoid further entanglement, so he feigned comprehension and nodded.
“Alright, alright. I grasp it. My apologies.”
“I was genuinely quite vexed just now.”
Kael glared at Elian briefly. Sometimes, Elian truly could not fathom the workings of Kael’s mind.
“And furthermore, Cassian Alaric’s conduct is frankly bizarre.”
“...”
“That lord is utterly unbalanced at present. He has always possessed a certain eccentricity, but this? This is merely... yes.”
Kael gripped the polished orb with four fingers, lazily spinning it around his temple with his index finger. The sight brought to mind Lord Finnian and the other junior students who had awkwardly attempted to relay observations about Cassian.
From that alone, Elian gleaned a single truth: Cassian Alaric’s reputation was in precipitous decline.
“Unnatural.”
The word – the most feared and damning stigma within the insulated world of noble heirs – sent a shiver through Elian. His body trembled imperceptibly at the thought. Simultaneously, a cold relief washed over him, that no one knew his own hidden eccentricities. Did that relief signify he valued his own preservation above Cassian’s public downfall?
Uneasy, Elian met Kael’s eyes, feeling like a heretical scholar concealing forbidden lore before the Grand Magisters. “Truly, me,” he murmured.
Then he let out a laugh – a strange, brittle sound, a mixture of fear and self-derision.
It was almost comical that, to others, he was Kael’s closest companion. In truth, Elian was no different – a potential criminal, branded with an unholy stigma of inadequacy and obsession. Only a few moons prior, he had been Cassian Alaric’s favored companion. And yet, here he was, hiding in a filthy trap from which he had barely escaped.
He had merely avoided being ensnared. That was all.
---
It was the deep hours of pre-dawn. A faint shimmer, a subtle arcane summons, arrived from an unknown source. A summons at 4 a.m. Half-asleep, Elian briefly wondered if his current reality was merely a dream. Though he had carefully avoided seeking out Cassian to shield himself from further hurt, his heart nonetheless leaped at the thought that the subtle summons might, impossibly, be from him.
He rubbed his eyes, the memory of Cassian’s cold dismissal still fresh. His feelings were conflicted. Part of him hoped it was merely some errant magical surge, a minor academic anomaly. But as soon as the faint traceries resolved into a coherent message, he knew it wasn’t from Cassian Alaric.
“Elian. My sincerest apologies for this untimely intrusion. Could you convene outside the Grand Collegiate’s eastern gate for a brief moment? I am truly sorry. Profoundly so.”
“Just this once. I beg you.”
There was no conceivable way Cassian Alaric would ever proffer such abject apologies to Elian.
Among his peers, only two individuals addressed him without his full title, and of those two, only one could be so utterly pathetic. How had Rhys Alaric even known Elian’s private chambers’ precise location? The moment Elian perceived the summons, his face twisted into a scowl. He wished never to see Rhys – never. Rhys always brought an unpleasant air.
But despite his internal rebellion, Elian rose from his cot. He donned his robe over his sleepwear, then stood. He reached the threshold of his chambers but paused, resting his forehead against the cold, carved stone of the frame with a profound sigh.
“...Damn it.”
An overwhelming knot tightened in his stomach. That was the only descriptor. He clutched his chest. He had always prided himself on his superlative academic performance, on his extensive vocabulary gleaned from countless ancient texts, yet none of his collected words could adequately express this intricate, tangled mess of emotions.
It was simply... complicated.
The resentment Elian felt for Rhys Alaric, the vivid memory of Rhys’s face bruised purple that day, and the desperate days Elian had spent attempting to distance himself from Cassian’s orbit – all swirled into a nauseating vortex. Biting his lip, he fiddled with the door handle, then closed his eyes and turned it with a decisive twist.
Outside, the cold pre-dawn mists clung to the ancient stones of the Collegiate, heralding the arrival of an early autumn. To avoid the damp cobbles, Elian stepped carefully onto the cool, polished marble pathways between the towering spires. The chilly morning air made him pull his heavy study robe tighter around him. His bare toes, peeking from the front of his worn slippers, carried him all the way to the eastern gate, a rarely used, minor entrance.
He paused there for a moment, clicked his tongue lightly in exasperation, and gripped the heavy iron handle. The low groan of the hinge made him flinch, and he opened the gate even more slowly, drawing out the inevitable.
Beyond the gate, illuminated by a flickering arcane streetlight on the damp asphalt, stood Rhys Alaric in his Collegiate uniform. His head was bowed low as he idly traced invisible shapes on the ground with the scuffed tip of his boot.
“...Rhys Alaric.”
At Elian’s voice, Rhys’s head snapped up like a startled raven.
“Elian, Elian!”
“What is it?”