A week slithered past, marked by an uneasy truce. Julian Thorne immersed himself in the ancient texts of the Imperial Archives, a façade of diligent scholarship he meticulously maintained. Lord Kaelen Vane, equally adept at projecting an image of indifference, occupied himself with his customary retinue of loyalists and sycophants. Julian pretended Kaelen’s presence—or rather, his calculated absence from Julian’s immediate orbit—held no significance. He frequented the Academy’s quieter alcoves with Lord Lysander and a few minor scions, preserving appearances for the discerning eyes of their peers.
Distanced from Kaelen’s immediate circle, Julian found himself cut off from the direct whispers that had once been his clandestine source of information. The most frustrating aspect was this sudden informational void. Occasionally, fragments reached him through Lysander’s wider network. If Julian needed to know anything of Kaelen, he would discreetly guide the conversation toward the Vane household. His pride, however, remained an unyielding wall. He refused to outright ask, even as his curiosity burned with an almost feverish intensity.
When Julian subtly steered a query toward Kaelen, Lysander would idly manipulate the controls of a polished arcanum scrying orb, its surface swirling with mock battles between spectral warriors. Without lifting his gaze, Lysander would offer a casual, indifferent reply. “Ah, him? He departed for the Capital again.” Such an answer would leave Julian momentarily speechless.
“...Arrogant viper.”
Julian understood the raw, almost primal nature of Kaelen’s emotions. Kaelen was an instinct-driven creature, a force of untamed will, in every sense, a predator.
“Presumably another of the Emperor’s lavish soirées,” Julian mused, feigning disinterest.
“No, this time, a formal introduction,” Lysander corrected, twisting his body as if grappling with an unseen foe on the scrying orb. “Lady Seraphina of House Meridia. They’ve been keen to align. Evidently, the meeting was… effective. They departed together, almost immediately. Quite the spectacle. Though, Lady Seraphina was hardly a shrinking violet. She agreed without a flicker of hesitation. A swift ‘By all means, let us conclude this!’”
“...”
“Truly, both possess an admirable detachment,” Lysander added, his voice laced with a cynical amusement.
It was not admiration. His words dripped with derision, a balm that, for the first time in days, eased Julian’s tension. Julian settled onto Lysander’s study desk, tapping his shoulder with a light squeeze. Lysander glanced up, then leaned back, subtly granting Julian more space. A silent acknowledgment, a shared understanding.
Lysander was the only one who openly dared to criticize Kaelen’s unapologetically opportunistic social maneuvers. For that alone, Julian found him tolerable.
“They are disgustingly efficient,” Julian remarked.
“Indeed. I, alas, possess no such efficiency.”
The way Lysander said it, almost a boast, drew a small, involuntary laugh from Julian.
“Shouldn’t you be less efficient? You are a scholar of the arcane, not a courtier.”
“There is no ‘should’ to it, Julian. One cultivates such things through… observation. Human folly dictates it,” Lysander countered, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes still fixed on the swirling orb.
“Is that why your family has yet to arrange a suitable match?” Julian teased.
Lysander finally deactivated the scrying orb. He turned, an incredulous smile spreading across his face, and tapped Julian’s hand where it rested on his shoulder.
“I shall register a formal complaint of harassment against you.”
“How is this harassment?”
“If the recipient experiences discomfort, it constitutes harassment.”
“Lysander, you possess a mind truly singular.”
“And you, Julian, are a libertine.”
Julian’s polished boot slipped from the desk as he swung his foot idly. He ignored it, nudging Lysander’s leg with his sock-clad foot. Lysander feigned being pushed back, then casually raised a hand in an impudent gesture. His raised wrist revealed a braided cord of the Solace Seekers, a simple, unadorned charm he always wore.
“That cord of the Solace Seekers ill-suits you,” Julian said, nudging him again.
“Why not?” Lysander asked, his tone suddenly serious.
Why grow solemn now?
“It simply does not align with your… disposition.”
“Does not align? Peculiar. Do I not strike you as a devout follower of the Path of Stillness?”
“No. It appears merely a fashionable accoutrement.”
“...It is not, however.”
Julian, upon reflection, should have realized it when Lysander first mentioned his family’s ancient, reclusive faith. But Julian had dismissed it as an eccentricity, a noble’s affectation. Yet, Lysander’s family had indeed followed the Solace Seekers for generations. More astonishing, Lysander himself claimed a sincere devotion. Julian found it difficult to reconcile with Lysander’s sharp wit and cynical worldview.
Julian spent the week meticulously avoiding Kaelen Vane. Whenever their paths intersected in a lecture hall or the Academy’s sprawling gardens, Julian would cast a fleeting glance, then swiftly turn his head. He still lacked the courage to address Kaelen directly. Perhaps he feared losing, a pathetic notion, this idea that the one who cares more, loses more. Yet, even acknowledging its absurdity, Julian could not bring himself to speak.
In stark contrast, Lord Valerius, Kaelen’s half-brother, often sought Julian out, likely because Julian was the only one who offered him a moment’s time. But the fresh, faint crimson marks on Valerius’s face each day, the subtle tremor in his arcane aura, spoke volumes. Kaelen was still applying his peculiar form of persuasion somewhere out of Julian’s sight, like a beast marking its territory.
Julian frowned, his gaze lingering on a new, almost invisible bruise beneath Valerius’s left eye. Valerius noticed the scrutiny, turning his head abruptly to shield the injury.
Another four days passed. One quiet morning, alone in an empty lecture hall, Julian buried his face in his hands. He wanted no part of the grim play unfolding around him. The subtle chasm between him and Kaelen Vane had widened. What had begun as a mere crack in their rapport had now become an unbridgeable rift of despair. Opening his eyes felt like the abyss might swallow him whole. The lingering exhaustion in Valerius’s arcane signature was as glaringly obvious as a sealed decree. It made Julian even more reluctant to face either brother. He wished to avoid everything.
Then, as if fate had granted a small, twisted mercy, Valerius ceased attending the Academy. Head Magister Elara cited a sudden, debilitating illness. The hesitant tremor in her voice, however, betrayed the truth: it was a forced retreat, perhaps even truancy. Julian almost allowed himself a cheer.
Kaelen, on the other hand, spent his classes fidgeting with a communication amulet, snapping irritable commands to his retainers, or even delivering a sharp, wordless burst of arcane energy that sent a nearby acolyte sprawling for a minor infraction.
A part of Julian felt a perverse satisfaction. Another part reveled in a strange sense of intellectual superiority. He convinced himself that soon, once Valerius officially transferred to a lesser institution or disappeared for good, Kaelen would lose interest and return his attention to Julian. Confident in that thought, Julian waited patiently for the inevitable.
A few more days bled into the next.
“Kaelen seems… subdued,” Lysander remarked offhandedly. Julian’s heart gave a heavy thump against his ribs. He longed to turn his head and scrutinize Kaelen’s face, but he dared not. In matters of such intricate power dynamics, Julian was a coward. All he could do was absorb Lysander’s words, conjuring an image of Kaelen’s altered demeanor.
But nothing shifted, even as the day wore on and all the arcane lectures concluded. Julian rationalized that tomorrow would bring another chance. Affairs of this delicate nature rarely resolved themselves with haste. He continued to wait. As the final chime for dismissal echoed through the halls and Julian was slinging his satchel over his shoulder, Lysander spoke, his tone oddly direct.
“You quarreled with Kaelen Vane, didn’t you?”
Julian spun around reflexively at the words.
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell me you still haven’t resolved that… incident in the Grand Refectory?”
“...”
“Remarkable. This endures longer than I anticipated,” Lysander said, shrugging, his hands shoved into his pockets. Julian averted his gaze, muttering an excuse.
“To be frank, Kaelen overstepped. I detest seeing such… unrefined coercion. It’s simply… unsettling, you understand?”
“What is?”
“...Well, Valerius is a Vane, a noble of considerable standing, is he not?”
“He is.”
“The manner in which Kaelen treats Valerius is… I do not know. They are both brothers, and it feels… profoundly inappropriate. I wish he would cease.”
“Indeed.”
“...”
“You are destined for the Celestial Spires, Julian.”
The response to Julian’s carefully chosen words was saturated with sarcasm.
Annoyed by Lysander’s malicious tone, Julian glared. But Lysander remained unperturbed, a faint smirk lingering. At that expression, Julian felt as if some hidden vulnerability had been laid bare, and his face burned. He quickly turned his back, ignoring Lysander’s mocking grin, and strode out of the classroom.
As Julian hurried down the hallway, intent on reaching his private study, a hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder. Assuming it was Lysander, Julian spun around, irritation bubbling, and pulled his arm free. But it was not Lysander. It was Head Magister Elara. Startled, Julian swiftly composed his expression.
“My apologies, Julian. Did I alarm you?”
“Oh, no, Magister. It is quite fine. I was merely… surprised.”
“I see. I am truly sorry, but… might I have a moment of your time?”
“Magister?”
“Only for a second. Please.”
The young Magister’s face was unusually grave. Julian nodded.
“Today, Lord Kaelen requested Lord Valerius’s private estate coordinates,” the Magister stated cautiously.
“Lord Kaelen?”
It was clear that, as a Head Magister, Elara could not be ignorant of the festering tension within her cohort. Yet, she lacked the authority or the courage to confront Kaelen Vane directly. Still, she was not so cold-hearted as to entirely ignore the plight of a student. The fact that she had sought Julian out to discuss Valerius proved that.
“I am not accusing or placing blame upon Lord Kaelen, but…”
“No, Magister, I understand. I find the request… unsurprising,” Julian replied quickly.
“Well, given your consistent counsel to Lord Valerius, I wondered if you might… accompany Lord Kaelen to his estate. Do you comprehend my meaning?”
Julian could not answer immediately. His jaw tightened, teeth clenched. The unsettling currents of emotion Kaelen held for Valerius now seemed to flow toward Julian, threatening to engulf him, holding him captive. Julian clenched his fists, knuckles white. He could not merely stand there, passive.
“Could I… procure Lord Valerius’s direct communication rune, then?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Here, allow me to retrieve it for you. Perhaps try to establish contact first.”
“Certainly. I shall speak with him. Do not overly concern yourself, Magister.”
“Alright. I am counting on your discretion, Julian.”
“Yes, Magister.”
Outwardly, Julian appeared composed. Internally, a frantic panic seized him. Head Magister Elara handed him Valerius’s private contact rune, etched onto a small, lacquered slate from the Academy’s enrollment records. She offered an awkward nod before departing the hallway. Julian had to prevent Kaelen Vane from meeting Valerius. He absolutely had to prevent Kaelen’s strange obsession from escalating into something irrevocable. The moment the Magister was gone, Julian pulled out his own communication amulet and immediately activated Valerius’s rune. His leg jittered nervously. He kept clenching and unclenching his hand as he awaited connection. Surprisingly, the rune glowed, and Valerius’s voice answered quickly.
“Hello?”
“It is Julian Thorne. This is Lord Valerius, correct?”
As soon as he heard the voice, Julian rushed to speak. There was a sudden clatter on the other end of the line—something metallic striking a hard surface, followed by a rustling sound. After a brief pause, Valerius’s voice returned, strained.
“J-Julian? Lord Thorne! W-why… How… how did you obtain my contact? Do you… already possess it?”
“No. I learned from Head Magister Elara that Lord Kaelen requested your family estate coordinates today. So I asked for your personal rune.”
“...”
“I merely wished to caution you, to be vigilant.”
“W-what of you, Julian? Are you safe? Even though you attempt to deter him…”
“Do not concern yourself with my safety. Focus on your own. If you require further time away from the Academy, contact me through this rune. I will intercede with the Magisters on your behalf. I hold a certain standing, believe it or not.”
“...Thank you.”
“If Kaelen attempts to coerce or physically intimidate you at the Academy, inform me immediately. If you cannot speak outright, merely tap me on the shoulder or offer a discreet nod. It is often more difficult to mend what is already broken.”
“Understood…”
“Honestly, seeking a transfer to a lesser arcane institution might be your wisest recourse.” Julian slipped that in, hoping Valerius would take it to heart.
“...”
“At any rate, reflect upon it. For now, either ensure you are not at your estate or absent yourself to a more distant location.”
“O-okay…”
“Very well. I am concluding this communication.”
“W-wait.”
“...?”
“Thank you, Julian.”
After a long hesitation, Valerius’s voice came softly, trembling slightly. What in the Abyss was that? Honestly, it made Julian profoundly uncomfortable.
“T-thank you for always… aiding me…”
“It is nothing.”
“I merely… wished to express it. Thank you. S-farewell for now.”
“Indeed.”
“...Farewell.”
What “farewell”? Julian did not bother responding to Valerius’s parting words, ending the connection. Simply hearing Valerius’s voice, imbued with that unsettling gratitude, was enough to send a shiver down Julian’s spine and leave him thoroughly disquieted.
What transpired for Valerius that night, Julian did not know. All he knew was that from the next day onward, Valerius returned to the Academy. And within a week, the faint, unnatural marks that had shadowed his face began to fade, his youthful arcane signature regaining its vibrancy. Valerius also ceased abruptly approaching Julian to speak, his demeanor shifting dramatically, becoming more self-contained.
This abrupt change in Valerius’s behavior planted subtle seeds of suspicion in Julian’s mind. Yet, when all physical signs of Kaelen’s coercion finally disappeared from Valerius’s face, Julian could not help but feel a faint, unlikely surge of hope.
Then, two weeks later, Lord Kaelen Vane approached Julian out of nowhere.
“Thorne.”
“...”
“Julian Thorne.”
“...”
Julian did not look at him, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, upon the intricate patterns of the hallway’s enchanted flooring. But his lips felt as though they might part in a gasping inhalation at any moment.
Could it be that Lord Kaelen Vane was finally sated, finally tired of Lord Valerius?