Lysander Thorne possessed a formidable self-control. His life, from the nascent whispers of dawn to the hushed descent of twilight, had been painstakingly charted by his progenitors, a meticulous regimen that had forged his very essence. He harbored an acute aversion to revealing vulnerability, a visceral distaste that far surpassed any other sentiment. Thus, even when confronted by the most tempestuous emotional currents, he navigated them with an unsettling, almost inhuman, composure.
This unwavering stoicism often led his peers to brand him as a somber, unfeeling soul, utterly devoid of ire. Yet, it was not that the fires of anger lay dormant within him; rather, every emotional upheaval he had endured had calcified, layer upon layer, into an impenetrable, chitinous carapace. With each passing season, it grew increasingly arduous for any external force to truly pierce his adamantine facade.
Such was the truth concerning Kaelen Vesper.
His unflappable nature, this cultivated indifference, was the very tether that bound him to Kaelen’s orbit. Lysander was, by all outward metrics, an exemplary student, one whose conduct spared his parents the least hint of disquiet. He occupied a respectable, if precarious, niche within the academy’s intricate social tapestry. This position, painstakingly carved and meticulously maintained, was one he desperately sought to preserve.
"Thorne."
"Yes, Vesper?"
"Your tone grates on my ears. It's truly nauseating."
"Oh, much like your countenance, I presume?"
Kaelen merely offered a derisive laugh. Accusations of ugliness only rankled if they struck a chord of truth. Valerius Croft’s playful barb slid harmlessly off the scion of Vesper.
"Croft, you never seem to cultivate the acquaintance of any suitable ladies. You’re surrounded by so many people."
"What manner of 'suitable' are we speaking of?"
"Those of… refinement."
"Do not feign ignorance, damn it."
Valerius chuckled, idly spinning a polished obsidian orb between his fingers, yet offered no further reply. Kaelen, however, seemed to lose interest in the pursuit of an answer, his gaze fixated with predatory intent on a slight, unassuming figure across the bustling refectory.
"…A delicate countenance, perhaps. A spirited disposition might be appealing."
Kaelen Vesper was an embodiment of impulsivity, his temperament crude, his actions often violent and thoughtless. He had been a thrall to his baser urges since the very onset of his adolescence, a fact that required no further elucidation from Lysander. Consequently, Kaelen’s harassments, utterly bereft of the slightest hint of subtlety, had only grown more flagrant.
By this particular day, the cusp of the summer recess in August, Elara Veridia had been rendered utterly friendless, a pariah within the hallowed halls of Aurelian. Yet, even this complete isolation failed to sate Kaelen’s cruel hunger.
Though Kaelen’s coterie and other such cliques operated on similar planes of influence, their daily routines often diverged. His immediate lackeys, such as Caius Flint and Orion Blackwood, would often linger for a few minutes after the final chime of the lecture, awaiting his pleasure. Meanwhile, others from the Western Spire, like Marius Stone and Joric Ironhand, would bolt from the room the instant the noontime meal was announced.
In his inaugural year, Lysander had been a fixture within Kaelen’s inner circle. But with the advent of his second year, that delicate arrangement had shattered. It began with a flippant remark from Orion: "Lysander still dines with Croft, doesn’t he? Gods, your pace is glacial."
Without a single word of input from Lysander, he found himself excised. The most galling aspect? Kaelen had not offered a single shred of concern. Whether Lysander remained or departed held no consequence for the Vesper heir.
Confound it all. Lysander risked a glance at Kaelen, his voice barely a murmur. "Am I truly so slow in my consumption?"
"Of course, you are. You sit there, chewing like a domesticated beast of burden, whilst the rest of us conclude our repast in five swift minutes."
"Aye, we are ever tardy for our arcane duels because of your dawdling."
"…Ah."
"We have a wagered skirmish with the students from the adjacent curriculum today, so seek your meal with Croft."
His pride, that brittle construct he so fiercely guarded, forbade him from pleading to remain. Moreover, he reasoned that the indigestion that had plagued him throughout his first year was likely a direct consequence of rushing his meals to keep pace. And, truth be told, the notion of clinging to Kaelen like a parasitic growth sickened even Lysander. So, he neither entreated nor protested.
Just like that, he was cast from the group. His will, his carefully cultivated aspirations, counted for naught.
Feigning indifference, Lysander found his gaze snagging with Valerius, the sole other soul left behind. Valerius, lounging upon his ornate desk, idly bouncing his obsidian orb, regarded Lysander with a casual query. "When do you intend to dine?"
"…"
"I typically make my way to the refectory in roughly ten minutes hence."
"Yes, that timing suits my schedule as well."
In truth, Lysander had never once dined at such an hour. But the primal instinct for social survival, that insidious whisper of self-preservation, spurred him on. If he wished to retain a place within any circle, even Valerius’s, he must adapt. The inaugural meal shared solely with Valerius saw Lysander leaving half his portions untouched, feigning a sudden lack of appetite. Valerius, with an arch of a sculpted brow, remarked, "What are you, eighteen and still possessed of such a finicky palate?"
"What business is it of yours?"
"Honestly, you are akin to a fledgling." He had the audacity to grin.
"Even adults do not consume spiced fishcakes with a sweet berry reduction," Lysander retorted petulantly, fixing Valerius with a glare. What concern was it of his? The unwarranted familiarity chafed.
In their first year, Kaelen and Lysander had been almost inseparable. Yet, by the second, those moments had dwindled to a scarce few, a change directly attributable to Valerius. Still, Lysander possessed no right to lodge a complaint. Valerius, by the unspoken decree of their social strata, outranked him.
Valerius’s and Kaelen’s circles often overlapped, predominantly comprising recalcitrant students who languished at the lower echelons of their year’s academic rankings. These were the types who would forge falsified dispatches for early dismissal or illicitly slip from their lessons, exploiting the lax oversight of tutors who rarely deigned to verify their whereabouts.
Kaelen, ever mindful of his parents’ watchful scrutiny, typically remained within his assigned lessons until their conclusion. As for Valerius, whose reputation was almost as notorious, Lysander had once dared to inquire why he bothered to adhere to the academy’s schedule. His response had imprinted itself upon Lysander’s memory.
"Do you deem me so utterly pathetic?"
"No, but your associates… they are all of that ilk."
"Associates? What preposterous fabrication is that? They are not my associates. They are refuse."
"What?"
"A scholar’s solemn duty is to attend his lectures and imbibe knowledge, is it not?"
"…That is true."
"Do not conflate me with such dregs. It vexes my very soul."
"Yes, my apologies."
"I did not solicit an apology."
Of course, it was a perfectly rational declaration, yet to hear it issue from Valerius Croft felt profoundly absurd. This was the selfsame individual whose so-called 'associates' absented themselves from the academy at least once in every seven days.
Regardless, Lysander found himself spending the majority of his second year in the company of Kaelen Vesper and Valerius Croft. He had come to consider this arrangement a sacred space, one impervious to external intrusion. It would have been perfect, sans Valerius, but surprisingly, they coexisted with more ease than anticipated. Lysander did not hold him in affection, but Valerius was not so intolerable that Lysander felt compelled to storm away. He was merely… irritating.
But Elara Veridia, by her mere existence, had transformed even those days into a burgeoning nightmare.
Today, however, felt distinct. A palpable shift in the air.
"Damn it. Orion and Caius, those craven curs," Kaelen snarled, clutching his head as the fourth period drew to a close. Lysander, hearing his voice, spun around instantly, his tone laced with a tremor of anticipation. "They absconded once more?"
"Fouling imbeciles."
"That is most unfortunate. With whom shall you take your noontime meal, then?"
A fragile tendril of hope unfurled within Lysander’s breast. His fingers trembled imperceptibly as they gripped the polished back of his chair. Kaelen exhaled a heavy sigh, his gaze settling upon Valerius, who sat beside him.
"Croft, Thorne. I shall be joining your repast today."
"Do not. No one extended an invitation," Valerius replied with uncharacteristic bluntness.
"Continue to wag your tongue, and I shall see it silenced."
"Gods, today’s circumstances truly incite a desire within me to strike your face, Vesper."
"Attempt it, then, witless brute."
"Brave words for a solitary wretch who would otherwise sup alone."
Lysander could no longer restrain himself, interjecting into their exchange. "Come, let us all partake together. We cannot abandon Kaelen to dine in solitude."
His desperation must have been glaringly apparent. Kaelen smirked triumphantly, casting a sly, knowing glance at Valerius. "You see? I possess truly devoted companions."
"…"
"What say you, Croft? Lysander proves quite serviceable, does he not?"
Valerius scowled, sweeping Kaelen’s enchanted stylus case from the desk, sending it clattering with a sharp report to the polished floor. Whether Valerius held Lysander in any regard mattered little. What truly mattered was that Kaelen would join them for the midday meal.
Such an age had passed since they had dined together, and Lysander felt a thrill that compelled him to consume even the despised, bland herbal purée. But Kaelen paid scant attention to his own plate. His eyes, sharp and calculating, traversed the refectory like a predator surveying its dominion. Lysander, too engrossed in Kaelen’s presence, failed to note Valerius pilfering choice morsels from his own tray. Then, without the slightest premonition, Kaelen’s silver chopsticks fell with a soft clink, and his free hand snaked out, seizing the arm of someone passing by.
Looking up, Lysander’s breath caught. It was Elara Veridia.
"Sit here," Kaelen commanded, nodding towards the vacant seat beside him. "You have no one else to break bread with, in any case."
Elara’s face blanched, a crimson flush spreading across her cheeks. Her eyes darted wildly, briefly catching Lysander’s before she bit her lip, slowly sinking into the indicated seat. Lysander felt a profound shock, utterly dumbfounded. Since when did Kaelen Vesper concern himself with Elara Veridia’s social standing? And the very reason Elara possessed no companions was entirely Kaelen’s doing. Kaelen detested any who dared to draw near her.
A bitter, acrid taste ascended in Lysander’s throat.
Unconsciously, he slammed his spoon onto his pewter tray, the resulting clang loud and jarring within the din of the hall. But the only one who reacted to the sudden noise was Elara, who flinched, her shoulders hunching nervously. Kaelen, however, remained utterly fixated on Elara.
Confound it. In that precise instant, Lysander felt the meticulously constructed, protective shell he had painstakingly built over the years beginning to fissure. He strove to halt the unseen fracturing, but it was beyond his grasp. Perhaps he neared a precipice, a breaking point he had failed to acknowledge.
Clinging desperately to the fragile threads of denial, Lysander snapped at Elara. "Elara. Depart, now."
"H-huh?"
"Disregard Kaelen. Simply go. It is permissible."
"Thorne," Kaelen’s voice, a dangerous, low growl, cut through the air. Kaelen, who had utterly ignored the strident noise Lysander had made moments prior, now ground his teeth, fixing Lysander with a venomous glare. That searing look only served to steel Lysander’s resolve, and he fixed his own gaze stubbornly on Elara.
"I shall manage this. You are free to leave."
"Uh, o-okay."
"And Kaelen, cease this charade at once."
"Aye, I concur," Valerius chimed in through a mouthful of spiced lentils, his words barely discernible. His sudden interjection felt jarringly out of place. He chewed and swallowed with deliberate slowness before glancing between Lysander and Kaelen, continuing with an irritating, almost insolent smirk. "What are you gaping at? You are quite spoiling my appetite."
As always, Valerius’s superfluous provocations grated upon Lysander’s already frayed nerves. The man was insufferable, regardless of his posturing. Ignoring him, Lysander turned back to Kaelen. "Leave Elara in peace."
"Who in the hells do you imagine yourself to be, to issue such commands to me?" Kaelen shot back, his voice rising.
"It is tiresome for the rest of us to witness."
Lysander did not so much as blink as he stared Kaelen down, and Kaelen, in a fit of pique, slammed his fist onto the table. The sudden impact made Elara, who had been sitting in an agony of awkwardness, flinch violently, squeezing her eyes shut. Valerius, on the other hand, merely chuckled lazily, raising a hand as if in surrender. "Count me out of this particular fray."
He licked a bead of water from his lips, adding, "Let us determine by majority vote. I am neutral, Thorne desires her departure, and Kaelen insists she remains."
For the record, Valerius was one of the scant few who addressed Lysander simply as "Thorne," and Lysander found it exquisitely irritating each time. That irritation often leaked into his tone, just as it did now. "Cease your meddling. Your vote holds no weight."
"And why not? There is another individual right there." Valerius, utterly unfazed, smirked and gestured towards Elara with a casual flick of his hand. "What? Is Elara not a person?"
"You are beyond reason."
"Why does she remain silent? Let her voice her own desires."
As if Elara could possibly articulate a single word in this suffocatingly tense atmosphere. Lysander sighed at Valerius’s thoughtless antics, picking up his spoon and idly stirring his spiced grain. At that moment, Kaelen tapped his finger on the table, a slow, deliberate cadence.
"If you utter a single word about leaving, you shall find yourself utterly ostracized starting this very hour."
Tears began to well in Elara’s large, luminous eyes, which glimmered as she looked at Lysander, a silent plea for succor. Damn it. Lysander pressed his lips together, a tight, grim line. "It is fine. I shall deter him," he said, attempting to offer Elara some reassurance.
"Thorne," Kaelen growled, his voice taut with suppressed fury. Lysander forced himself to meet Kaelen’s gaze, feigning a calm he was far from feeling, but he felt an overwhelming urge to shatter, to succumb to the chaos within. To suppress it, he looked up at the vaulted ceiling for a brief moment before lowering his head, replying with a nonchalance that felt utterly false. "What is it?"
"You…"
Kaelen clenched his fist, glaring at Lysander with an intensity that felt capable of searing his very soul. Still, Lysander had to endure. His instincts screamed that he could not abandon Elara to Kaelen’s capricious cruelty. But Kaelen’s focus, with a subtle shift, returned to Elara.
"I-I will go," Elara stammered, her voice a reedy tremor.
"…"
"Th-thank you, Thorne."
Elara hurriedly rose, her footsteps unsteady, almost a shuffle. As soon as she was gone, Kaelen turned abruptly, his gaze now a furious brand upon Lysander.