Lysander. My given name is Lysander, and my house is Thorne, but within the gilded halls of Aurelian Academy, tradition dictates one speaks of ‘Lysander Thorne.’ It rolls with a certain gravitas, does it not? The suggestion came from Lord Valerius Aurelian himself, in our very first year, when fate — or perhaps the whims of the Registrar — placed us in the same Primary Sept. Ever since, I have been ‘Lysander Thorne.’ A select few still employ my lone given name, a tale for another time.
Lord Valerius Aurelian, whose proximity became a sudden reality that first year, was a striking counterpoint to my own being. His towering physique, skin bronzed by perpetual sun, stood in stark contrast to my paler, more slender frame. Academically, he comfortably inhabited the lower quartiles of our Sept, while I, Lysander Thorne, meticulously etched my name among the highest echelons.
Did I immediately dismiss him? Normally, my innate understanding of the Dominion’s intricate social strata would compel such an action. Every soul has its rightful station, after all. Yet, Valerius defied this. His eyes, the startling hue of raw amber, met mine with an intensity that brooked no casual disregard. A peculiar force seemed to emanate from him.
Lord Valerius carried a distinct, almost primal scent. Not a fragrance easily identified, but a faint, elemental resonance that whispered of ancient magic and untamed power. I found myself drawn, a moth to a distant, dangerous flame, unconsciously initiating conversation with the scion of the very House that founded our revered Academy.
I often sought superficial commonalities between us. Both were scions of venerable houses. Both moved within the Academy’s elite social circles. Such were the convenient justifications for our burgeoning connection.
The Grand Dominion’s capital, Veridian, divided itself into distinct realms: the Noble Sector, a sprawling testament to wealth and legacy, and the Lesser Wards, bustling with commerce and common folk. My family, the Thornes, occupied a venerable estate within the most hallowed grounds of the Noble Sector. Lord Valerius, naturally, hailed from an even more ancient and exalted lineage within those very same, exclusive precincts. This shared background provided the rationale I craved. I approached him, and a strange friendship, by my own design, began to take root.
I, Lysander Thorne, plunged headlong into the arcane. Ancient scrolls yielded their secrets to my touch, complex theoretical constructs bent to my will. Lord Valerius, meanwhile, mastered the art of command and martial prowess. He quickly garnered the allegiance of the most formidable young lords, ascending to the apex of our Primary Sept’s social hierarchy within weeks. He became the unchallenged leader, not just of our sept, but of the entire Scholar’s Spire.
---
The heavy oak door remained stubbornly shut, a barrier for what felt an age. A familiar, raw ache began to clench my gut. Just as my hand instinctively pressed to my abdomen, a sliver of light appeared. Through the gap, I saw Lord Valerius’s flushed skin, his hand releasing the latch. The door swung, almost closing. I slipped through the narrow aperture, a desperate ghost.
Inside, Valerius sat upon a plush divan, breeches unfastened, an unlit aether-root stem clenched between his teeth. He gnawed on it absently.
“Damnation. My sire hounds me once more. Answer this comm-orb, Lysander. Inform him we were deciphering the Arch-Runes of Kael’Doria.”
He flicked a flint striker, its sparks briefly illuminating his face. The stem remained unlit. His languor hung in the air, thick and cloying, like one recently sated. My stomach tightened further. I moved towards him, snatching the bitter stem from his mouth. “Why should I?” I snapped, irritation sharp in my voice.
“We are comrades.”
‘Comrades.’ The word, elongated by his casual tone, always tore at my chest. I kept my expression a mask of cool indifference.
“Know this debt will be repaid, one way or another.”
“My gratitude.”
His chamber reeked of spilled spiced wine, the faint, sweet musk of arcane stimulants, and a subtle, unfamiliar floral scent. A fragrance I had, through frequent exposure, learned to associate with his clandestine dalliances. He had always been… precocious.
Rumors from the lower Septs spoke of his exploits. They claimed he’d lost his innocence in the Academy’s abandoned alchemical lab, in his very first year. Such whispers painted a vivid, disturbing picture. Lord Valerius possessed a preternatural maturity that defied his years. Most who encountered him for the first time assumed him well into his mid-twenties, not a mere student of the Academy. His bold, defined features lent him a brooding, sophisticated aura.
Upon entering the upper Septs, he openly frequented the Noble Quarter’s pleasure houses when boredom struck. Possessing ample coin and a convincingly forged identification scroll, he would flash it with casual arrogance. He would ensnare alluring paramours, making one-night liaisons a regular pastime. His striking countenance played a significant role in masking his hedonistic lifestyle.
Individually, his eyes, nose, and mouth were not flawless. But woven together, they formed an inexplicably arresting visage. His aura radiated such potent refinement that no one could believe him a mere student; most assumed he was at least twenty-five.
My gaze swept the disarray of the room, a meaningless gesture. The heavy atmosphere, lingering aftermath of his escapade, brought a wave of nausea.
“Where is Kaelen?”
“Returned to his manor.”
“...”
“That vexatious wretch. Utterly without sense, no matter how I perceive him.” Lord Valerius rested his chin in his hand, a soft chuckle escaping him. I frowned, a cold knot forming in my gut.
Lord Kaelen Varrick. He was the second person I most despised.
Kaelen only began to gravitate towards Valerius in our second year. A bitter truth to acknowledge, but their companionship grew so constant, it became logical to term them ‘friends.’ When Lord Valerius commanded the social hierarchy of the Scholar’s Spire, Lord Kaelen held a similar, formidable reputation within the Warrior’s Bastion. Their paths rarely intersected.
I only ever encountered Kaelen in the Grand Refectory, the communal hall for all Septs of the Academy.
Once, an elbow nudged my side. A hushed whisper followed: “That is Lord Kaelen.”
Curiosity pricked me. I rose onto my toes to peer over the sea of dark-robed students. Among them, a tall, sharply featured boy stood out. I recognized him instantly.
“His disposition seems… rather unpleasant.”
One of Valerius’s closest companions, a minor Lord named Seraph, replied, “Indeed. They say he is unfathomably self-centered.”
A smirk touched my lips, though I only offered a half-hearted nod in response.
As much as I loathed to admit it, I could comprehend his rivalry with Lord Valerius. This understanding only deepened my dislike, yet for some inexplicable reason, I could not avert my gaze.
A dazzling darkness—that was my first impression of Lord Kaelen.
By chance, our eyes met. It was odd he noticed my gaze, given the multitude of eyes surely fixed upon him in the crowded refectory. His long, narrowed eyes, thin pupils like a predator’s, made a striking impression. Reflexively, I flinched, as though struck by a hurled charm.
*What are you staring at?* he seemed to mouth. He narrowed one eye at me. Honestly, I felt a flicker of intimidation, so I feigned indifference, turning away. Then, loud enough for Seraph to hear, I muttered, “He resembles a viper.”
After that, Lord Kaelen and I often made eye contact. Yet, we always ignored each other, a silent pact of disdain. Whenever our gazes met, he would lower his head to avoid mine, only to look up again moments later, seeking to lock eyes. Nine times out of ten, he was the one to break contact first, but occasionally, I found myself mirroring his retreat. I ceased counting after the eighteenth such encounter.
---
By some strange twist of fate, Lord Valerius and I found ourselves in the same Sept again for our second year. While a secret thrill stirred within me at this continued connection, I soon encountered another familiar face. It was truly surprising—and utterly maddening. For the first time, I received a proper, close look at the face behind the infamous reputation: Lord Kaelen Varrick.
It was Lord Kaelen who spoke to me first.
“Lysander. Care to share a repast?”
Damn him.
Just as everyone had anticipated, the two of them quickly became inseparable. Lord Valerius, a man who reveled in his own brilliance, found his match in Lord Kaelen. Kaelen, subtly regarded as Valerius’s rival, met Valerius’s unspoken standards. He was masculine, successful among his peers, and deeply influential. Their friendship was inevitable.
In the common rooms, the topic often arose: if Lord Valerius and Lord Kaelen clashed, who would triumph? From my perspective, a true conflict between them would never occur. While Lord Valerius and I stood as stark opposites on the surface, Lord Valerius and Lord Kaelen were remarkably similar beneath it.
Yet, one stark difference existed between them.
Lord Kaelen possessed a strange, almost puritanical streak. Despite his ears being pierced multiple times, adorned with intricate arcane charms, he sometimes acted with unnerving, goody-two-shoes propriety.
For example, when Valerius felt aroused, he would simply choose a companion and spend the night with them. When asked about his nightly escapades, he proudly recounted his steamy early morning adventures. In contrast, Lord Kaelen laughed off the typical crude remarks about wanting to grope someone’s chest. Sometimes, he’d mock them outright by grabbing the chest of the portly junior sitting next to him, squeezing hard enough to make the poor victim shriek.
“This oaf has more amplitude than most maidens. Just grope *him* instead. And you, fellow, you look wretched. Wear a proper tunic or something, would you? Stop parading that grotesque expanse—it offends the eye.” Even his crude remarks were laced with a cutting sarcasm.
Yet, when the opportunity arose, Lord Kaelen would say something utterly baffling, like, “My purity is reserved for the Archon of my future.” That was the chasm between them.
Lord Valerius once offered him a forged identification scroll—a gesture he had never extended to me—but Kaelen dismissed it as a “pointless frivolity” and refused.
Valerius’s friends found Kaelen’s eccentricities endlessly entertaining. I did not. The reason was simple: he was close to Valerius. And they wandered around the Academy grounds like a single, irritating entity. That alone was enough to fuel my venom. It was a simmering resentment.
Still, I managed to maintain civility with Kaelen. One of my strengths lay in hiding my true sentiments, no matter the situation. Besides, his proximity to Valerius was a constant. Yes, everything in my social constellation revolved around Lord Valerius Aurelian.
Truth be told, there were more days when I felt frustrated with myself for this unending fixation than there were days I spent contemplating Valerius. I often felt like a complete idiot. But even so, I remained unchanged.
Lord Valerius tossed a few careless words in my direction before heading into the lavatory to shower. A few minutes later, his comm-orb chimed. Fresh from his ablutions, Valerius retrieved it from the divan and tossed it to me. I caught it. On the other end, I heard his father’s voice.
I cleared my throat. Such ridiculous affectation. “Lord Lysander speaking.”
“Lysander? Are you with Valerius right now?”
“Indeed, I am.”
“Ah, I see. My worries were groundless. I feared Valerius might be out messing around again. Your voice is most pleasing, Lysander.”
“My thanks, my Lord.”
“No, truly. How fares your health?”
“Excellent, thank you. And yours?”
“Likewise. Your discourse is so elegant. If only Valerius emulated you. That boy possesses no decorum. So, you were poring over texts?”
“Yes. Lord Valerius must have forgotten to inform you. He is deeply engrossed in his arcane preparations for the Grand Proving.”
“So, you’ve been studying together this entire time?”
“Yes. He has not left my side.”
“What a relief. If he’s with you, I can rest easy.”
“It is but a trifle, my Lord.”
“No, it is significant. With you, he avoids mischief.”
“Truly, it is nothing. I shall ensure his safe return to the Academy grounds tomorrow.”
“Good. Watch over him. Maintain your bond, avoid contention.”
“Of course, my Lord. Farewell.”
Deceptions, flowing effortlessly from my mouth, each word a carefully constructed lie.
After ending the call, I tossed the comm-orb back to Lord Valerius, who merely muttered a short “My thanks” while getting dressed. Without another word, I turned to leave. Valerius made no attempt to stop me.
“Until later,” he offered, his voice casual.
As expected. This was all our relationship amounted to, in the end. The vast chasm between us, a brutal reality, lay exposed. Perhaps that was why I quickened my departure.
On the path back to my own chambers, a strange constriction tightened in my throat. I hurried from the private estates, away from his lingering shadow.