A week slunk past, each day a careful choreography of avoidance. Alistair Finch moved through Solstice Academy’s polished halls with practiced indifference. Callum Blackwood occupied a different orbit, yet his presence felt like a constant, subtle pressure. Alistair pretended it held no sway, a shadow unworthy of his notice. He spent his leisure hours with Kaelen Thorne, and a shifting coterie of lesser acquaintances, maintaining the facade of his re-stabilized social standing. Most vexing, this new distance from Callum’s usual circle meant the direct currents of rumor had dried. Alistair could no longer passively glean details of Blackwood’s movements, his latest conquests, or his fleeting interests. He relied instead on Kaelen, a circuitous route that pricked Alistair’s raw pride. He burned with curiosity, yet steadfastly refused to reveal it. When he risked a subtle query, Kaelen would be engrossed in his arcane texts, perhaps polishing an ancient, silver-bound compass. He would offer a dismissive wave, eyes still fixed on the intricate mechanism. “Blackwood’s off again,” Kaelen might murmur, a casual exhalation that always left Alistair speechless. “...Arrogant cur,” Alistair would mutter under his breath. He understood the primal force behind Callum’s appetites. A creature of raw impulse, unburdened by the niceties of their world. “Another one of his sordid revels, I presume,” Alistair ventured, the words carefully neutral. Kaelen lifted his gaze, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “No, not this time. A formal betrothal viewing.” He continued, polishing the compass face with a silk square. “Lady Isolde, from the Ravenwood line. You know the one—she’s been angling for him for cycles. Apparently, they bypassed the whole tedious meet-and-greet. Simply departed. Straight from the receiving chamber. Both quite blasé about it, from what I heard.” “...” “Truly, such effortless disdain for convention,” Kaelen added, a dry, sardonic edge to his voice. It was not admiration. His words dripped with an elegant derision. Alistair, for the first time in days, felt a flicker of lightness in his chest. He leaned against the carved oak of Kaelen’s study desk, nudging his friend’s shoulder lightly with an elbow. Kaelen glanced up, then shifted, allowing Alistair more room on the broad surface. A silent gesture of camaraderie. Only Kaelen Thorne openly ridiculed Callum Blackwood’s dissolute social life. For that alone, Alistair found him tolerable, almost indispensable. “They’re disgustingly unaffected,” Alistair observed, a mirroring cynicism in his tone. “Right? My own affectations are far too strenuous.” The way Kaelen said it, almost a boast, drew a short, sharp breath of amusement from Alistair. “Are you not meant to be, as a student? There are certain expectations.” “There is no ‘meant to be.’ One acquires these things over time. Human pretension is quite like that,” Kaelen replied, eyes returning to his compass, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. “Is that why you remain unwed?” Alistair teased, poking at a sore point in Kaelen’s carefully cultivated detachment. Finally, Kaelen set down the compass. He turned to Alistair, an incredulous smile on his face, and tapped Alistair’s hand resting on his arm. “I shall lodge a formal complaint against your person for harassment.” “How is this harassment?” “If the recipient experiences discomfort, it constitutes harassment, Alistair.” “Kaelen, you are utterly preposterous.” “Lecher.” Alistair’s foot, still encased in its fine leather slipper, swung idly. He ignored it. Instead, he nudged Kaelen’s leg with his sock-clad foot. Kaelen feigned being shoved backward, then casually offered a hand gesture of utter disdain. His raised hand revealed a small, intricately carved wooden charm, always visible just beneath the collar of his tunic, resting against his throat. Alistair kicked his leg again, a fraction harder. “That trinket does not suit you.” “Why not?” Kaelen asked, suddenly serious, the flippancy draining from his voice. Why the sudden gravity now? “It just... doesn’t match you. It seems too earnest.” “Doesn’t match me? Curious. Do I not seem like a man of ancient, solemn traditions?” “No. It looks like a relic you tolerate out of habit, not reverence.” “...It is not, though.” In hindsight, Alistair should have discerned it earlier. Kaelen’s lineage, though outwardly unorthodox for a Solstice scholar, traced back to houses deeply steeped in forgotten practices, almost superstitious in their devotion to their specific ancestral lore. Kaelen himself, despite his cynicism, claimed to honor these traditions. Alistair, however, found it hard to reconcile with the man who often mocked all forms of inherited belief. --- Alistair spent the remainder of that week meticulously avoiding Callum Blackwood. Whenever their paths intersected in the lecture halls or refectories, Alistair would offer a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance, then turn his gaze sharply away. He still lacked the courage to directly address Callum. Perhaps he feared a loss, the pathetic, unspoken decree that whoever cared more, lost more. Still, even acknowledging its ridiculousness, he could not bring himself to engage. Callum, in stark contrast, often attempted to engage Alistair, perhaps because Alistair was the only one who met his gaze without fawning. But observing the subtle signs of continued distress on Elias Vance each day – a drawn pallor, a nervous twitch, an overly cautious glance – made it clear Callum still exerted his unsettling influence. Elias, a marked territory, even when not overtly present. When Alistair’s brow furrowed in a flicker of concern, Elias would sense the scrutiny, quickly averting his eyes, attempting to conceal his disquiet. Four more days crawled by. Then, one hushed morning, Alistair sat alone in his lecture chamber, burying his face in his hands. He wished to unsee the unfolding drama, the cruel play that continued. His unspoken chasm between himself and Callum widened. What had once been a slender fissure now felt like an unbridgeable abyss of despair. Opening his eyes felt like the rift would simply swallow him whole. Elias’s subdued demeanor, the shadowed circles under his eyes, were as glaringly obvious as a house seal pressed into wax. That made Alistair even more reluctant to encounter either of them. He wanted only to retreat. Then, as if a fleeting favor from the Fates, Elias Vance stopped attending the daily curriculum. Master Elara, their tutor, referred to it as an extended absence, but the hesitance in her voice betrayed the truth: truancy. Alistair almost cheered aloud, a silent, desperate exultation. Callum Blackwood, on the other hand, spent classes fidgeting with a polished knucklebone, snapping irritably at his lackeys, or delivering a sharp, wordless rebuke to anyone who dared voice a thought out of turn. He seemed, in his own way, utterly discomfited. A part of Alistair felt smug satisfaction. Another part reveled in a strange sense of intellectual superiority. He convinced himself that soon, once Elias officially withdrew from Solstice or vanished for good, Callum would exhaust his cruel interest and turn his attention back to Alistair. Confident in that fragile hope, Alistair waited patiently for the inevitable shift. A few more days trickled past, like grains of sand through an hourglass. “Callum Blackwood seems rather… subdued,” Kaelen remarked offhandedly one afternoon. Alistair’s heart gave a heavy thud against his ribs. He longed to whip his head around, to scan Callum’s face, to confirm Kaelen’s observation. But he couldn’t. When it came to matters of the heart, or rather, matters of pride, Alistair was a profound coward. All he could do was listen to Kaelen’s words, and conjure an image of Callum’s unusual disquiet. But nothing changed, even as the day wore on and the final bells chimed. Alistair convinced himself another chance would present itself tomorrow. After all, things of this intricate nature rarely shifted so abruptly. He kept waiting. As classes finally concluded, and Alistair was slinging his satchel over his shoulder, Kaelen’s voice drifted over with an unusual directness. “You had a disagreement with Blackwood, didn’t you?” Alistair turned reflexively at the pointed question. “Yes.” “Don’t tell me you still haven’t resolved things since that luncheon debacle?” “...” “My, this has dragged on longer than I anticipated,” Kaelen said, shrugging, his hands tucked into his pockets. Alistair avoided his friend’s probing gaze and mumbled an excuse. “To be entirely candid, Callum overstepped. I detest witnessing people being demeaned in such a manner. It’s simply… unseemly, you understand?” “What is?” “...Well, Elias is a fellow scholar, is he not?” “And?” “The way Callum treats Elias is… I find it quite undignified. It quite frankly discomfits me. I wish he would cease.” “Remarkable.” “...” “You are destined for the Elysian Fields, Alistair.” The response to Alistair’s carefully phrased concern was drenched in Kaelen’s characteristic sarcasm. Annoyed by Kaelen’s malicious tone, Alistair fixed him with a sharp glare. But Kaelen remained unperturbed, simply offering a knowing smirk. Seeing that expression, Alistair felt as though something vital had been exposed within him, and a flush crept up his neck. Swiftly, he turned his back on Kaelen, ignoring his friend’s mocking grin, and strode from the lecture chamber. As he hurried down the grand hallway, intent on making his solitary journey home, a hand suddenly rested on his shoulder. Assuming it was Kaelen, resuming his teasing, Alistair spun around, irritation bubbling, and roughly pulled his arm free. But it was not Kaelen—it was Master Elara, their senior tutor. Startled, Alistair quickly smoothed his expression into one of polite deference. “My apologies, Alistair. Did I startle you?” “Oh, no, Master Elara, it’s quite alright. I was merely… distracted.” “I see. I am truly sorry, but… could we converse for a brief moment?” “Of course, Master.” “Just a second. Please.” The young tutor’s face was unusually grave, devoid of her usual academic placidity. Alistair nodded, his curiosity piqued despite his haste. “Today, Blackwood approached me for Elias Vance’s familial contact details,” Master Elara stated cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper. “Callum Blackwood?” Alistair’s voice was sharper than he intended. It was clear that, as a Solstice tutor, Master Elara could not possibly be unaware of the subtle currents of intimidation that sometimes marred the academy’s serene surface. Yet, she was not bold enough to confront the toxic atmosphere directly. Still, she was not so cold-hearted as to completely ignore it. The fact she had come to Alistair to speak of Elias proved that much. “I am not accusing or blaming young Blackwood, but…” “No, Master Elara, I understand. I do not find it strange you would tell me,” Alistair replied quickly, sensing the implications. “Well, since you have often shown a protective inclination towards Elias, I was wondering if you might perhaps offer guidance, or even accompany Blackwood to his family’s lodge. Do you grasp my meaning?” Alistair could not answer immediately. His teeth clenched tightly. The strange, possessive intensity Callum harbored for Elias seemed to crawl toward him now, flooding his senses, holding him rooted to the marble floor. He clenched his fists, the knuckles white. He could not simply stand idly by. “Could I… obtain Elias’s personal contact rune, then?” Alistair asked, his voice carefully level. “Ah, yes, of course. Here, let me provide it. Perhaps you could attempt to reach him first.” “Certainly. I will speak with him. Do not fret unduly, Master.” “Alright. I am relying on you, Alistair.” “Yes, Master.” On the surface, Alistair maintained his composure, but internally, a frantic scramble began. His tutor handed him Elias Vance’s contact rune from the academy register, her expression still awkward, before she finally departed down the long hallway. Alistair had to stop Callum Blackwood from reaching Elias Vance. He absolutely had to prevent Callum’s disquieting obsession from escalating. The moment Master Elara was out of sight, Alistair pulled out his own personal scrying mirror, its polished silver surface reflecting his taut face, and immediately etched Elias’s rune. His leg jittered nervously beneath his tunic. He kept clenching and unclenching his hand as he waited for the connection to solidify. Surprisingly, it connected quickly. “Hello?” a soft, hesitant voice answered. “It is Alistair. Is this Elias Vance?” As soon as he heard the voice, Alistair rushed to speak, his words tumbling out. There was a sudden clattering sound on the other end of the line—something falling, striking another object, followed by a rustling. After a strained pause, Elias’s voice returned, tighter now. “A-Alistair? Alistair! W-why… How… how did you obtain my rune? Did you… already possess it?” “No. I learned from Master Elara that Callum Blackwood requested your familial details today. So, I asked for your rune.” “...” “I merely wished to warn you. Exercise extreme caution.” “W-what of you? Are you well? Even though you try to intervene…” “Do not concern yourself with me. Focus on your own welfare. If you wish to extend your absence from the academy, contact this rune. I can manage it with Master Elara. I am rather well-regarded, believe it or not.” “...Thank you, Alistair.” “If Blackwood attempts to harass you or cause you distress at Solstice, inform me immediately. If you cannot articulate it, simply touch my shoulder or offer a discreet sign. It is far more challenging to mend what has already been broken.” “Very well…” “Honestly, seeking a transfer to another institution might be the most prudent course.” Alistair slipped that in, hoping the gravity of the suggestion would resonate. “...” “Regardless, consider it. For now, either pretend you are not at your lodge, or seek refuge elsewhere, far away.” “A-Alright…” “Very well. I am concluding this connection.” “W-wait.” “...?” “Thank you, Alistair.” After a prolonged hesitation, Elias’s voice came softly, trembling slightly. What in the blazes? Honestly, it made Alistair profoundly uncomfortable. “T-thank you for always interceding on my behalf…” “It is nothing.” “I merely… wished to express it. Thank you. U-until later.” “Yes.” “...Farewell.” What ‘farewell’? Alistair did not bother responding to the unexpected valediction and swiftly ended the connection. Just hearing Elias’s voice, imbued with such raw emotion, was enough to send an unsettling shiver down Alistair’s spine, leaving him thoroughly discomfited. What transpired for Elias Vance that night, Alistair did not know. All he knew was that from the very next day onward, Elias began attending Solstice Academy once more. And within a week, the faint, subdued resignation that had characterized his youthful features began to recede, replaced by a subtle, almost imperceptible air of greater composure. Elias also ceased his abrupt attempts to converse with Alistair, his demeanor shifting dramatically, becoming more self-contained. The abrupt change in his behavior planted the seeds of a profound suspicion in Alistair’s mind. And when all outward signs of Elias’s distress finally disappeared, Alistair could not help but feel a faint, fragile sense of hope—however unlikely it seemed. Then, two weeks later, Callum Blackwood approached Alistair out of nowhere. “Alistair.” “...” “Alistair Finch.” “...” Alistair did not look at him, keeping his gaze fixed resolutely ahead, upon the intricate patterns of the hallway’s ceiling. But his lips felt as though they might part in a silent, desperate gasp at any moment. Could it be that Callum Blackwood was finally, truly, tired of Elias Vance?

A Crushing Current