A lifetime of careful cultivation had forged Elian Thorne into a paragon of controlled serenity. His existence, shaped by the stringent expectations of House Thorne and the unforgiving world of the Lumina Ascendancy, demanded it. Outwardly, he was an unblemished surface, reflecting only competence and calm. Beneath, however, a profound current of inadequacy churned, a constant, gnawing fear of falling short, of being exposed as less than he pretended.
He despised any crack in his composure, any hint of vulnerability. Even in the face of escalating turmoil, his features remained impassive, his breath even. People often described him as dispassionate, even cold. It wasn't an absence of emotion, but a conscious suppression. Every slight, every emotional tremor, had not provoked him, but instead hardened a layer of the protective shell he wore.
It was a mechanism that served him well, allowing him to navigate the treacherous social currents of the Academy. He held a respectable, if precarious, position within the hierarchy, one he had painstakingly constructed with intellect and careful artifice. He needed to preserve it, for his very sense of self relied upon it.
“Elian.”
“Yes, Kaelan?”
“That tone. It grates on me.” Kaelan Varis leaned back in his chair, a lazy sneer on his lips.
“And your face does not grate on me?” Elian retorted, a faint, practiced smile playing on his lips. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It was a risky jest, but Kaelan, cushioned by his own self-importance, merely chuckled.
“Lysander, you know any suitable companions? Elian here needs to expand his horizons.”
Lysander, across the table, toyed with a polished geomancy sphere, its arcane light pulsing softly. “What constitutes ‘suitable’?”
“Decent ones.”
“And what do you mean by ‘decent’?” Lysander’s voice was as sharp and clear as etched crystal. Kaelan only scoffed, his gaze drifting across the grand hall, fixating on a figure at the far end.
Faelan, small and withdrawn, flinched under the unspoken scrutiny. A cold knot tightened in Elian’s stomach. Kaelan’s cruelty lacked finesse. It was direct, blunt, fueled by a base impulsiveness that Elian, despite his intellectual prowess, found himself powerless to counter.
Summer’s end found Faelan utterly isolated. Yet, Kaelan remained unsatisfied. The others in Kaelan’s immediate circle—Cassian, Torvin, Gareth—would linger for him after sessions, awaiting his next whim. Others from the East Wing, students whose ambition outstripped their social grace, would bolt the moment the noon chime echoed.
Elian had once been part of Kaelan’s inner group. But that changed. It began subtly, a casual remark from Torvin: “Elian, you take forever with your midday meal. Kaelan and the rest of us are always late for our skirmishes.”
Without input from Elian, he was simply excluded. What stung most was Kaelan’s utter indifference. Whether Elian stayed or left mattered not at all. Damn it. Elian glanced at Kaelan, his voice barely a murmur. “Am I truly that slow in my repast?”
“Of course. You pick at your plate like an elderly scholar, while we finish in five minutes flat.”
“Aye, we’re always held up for the arcane duels,” Gareth added, his voice rough.
“...Oh.” A dull ache settled in Elian’s chest. His pride locked his tongue. He did not plead. The thought of clinging to Kaelan’s periphery, like a discarded scroll, repulsed him. So, he offered no protest.
He was simply out. His own will, his own preferences, held no sway.
Feigning indifference, Elian caught Lysander’s eye. Lysander, lounging against his desk, bounced the geomancy sphere between his palms. He simply raised an eyebrow. “Time to break your fast?”
“...Yes.”
“I generally go in about ten minutes.”
“That works.”
He had never eaten at that time before. But survival dictated adaptation. If he wished to maintain any semblance of social standing, even if it meant aligning with Lysander, he had to conform. Their first lunch together, Elian left half his food untouched, claiming a lack of appetite.
Lysander’s lips curved. “Eighteen years old and still a picky eater?”
“What concern is it of yours?” Elian shot back, a flicker of annoyance breaking his practiced calm. Lysander shrugged. “You act like a child.”
“Even adults don’t douse their roast fowl with sugary glaze,” Elian countered petulantly, glaring. What did Lysander care? His casual observation grated.
Kaelan and Elian had been nearly inseparable during their first year. By the second, their proximity had dwindled, largely due to Lysander’s presence. Yet, Elian had no right to complain. Lysander, in the hierarchy of social influence, outranked him. Lysander and Kaelan’s circles often overlapped, populated by students who valued brawn over intellect, those prone to forging dismissal scrolls or slipping from lessons, exploiting the Academy’s lax oversight on less promising students.
Kaelan, ever mindful of his House’s scrutiny, usually remained until the end of sessions. Lysander, whose own reputation was notoriously enigmatic, had once been asked by Elian why he bothered to stay.
“Do you truly believe me so pathetic?” Lysander had replied.
“No, but your associates seem... uncommitted.”
“Associates? Such a weak word. They are not my associates. They are waste.”
“What?” Elian had been genuinely startled.
“A student’s duty is to attend lessons and acquire knowledge, is it not?”
“...That is true.”
“Then do not categorize me with such dross. It vexes me.”
“My apologies.”
“I wasn’t soliciting an apology.”
Lysander’s words, though reasonable, sounded absurd from a student whose supposed companions skipped lessons with routine regularity. Regardless, Elian found himself spending most of his second year in the company of Lysander, sometimes even with Kaelan. He considered their shared space a sanctuary, inviolate. Without Lysander, it would have been perfect. Yet, surprisingly, they found a strange equilibrium. Elian did not like Lysander, but Lysander was not so insufferable as to compel Elian to abandon the table. He was merely... irritating.
But Faelan had turned even those days into a nightmare.
Today, something felt different.
“Damn it. Cassian and Torvin, those curs,” Kaelan spat, gripping his head as the fourth arcane theory session neared its end.
Elian turned, a flicker of anticipation, illicit and unsettling, stirring within him. “They abandoned you again?”
“Fools.”
“Unfortunate. Who will you break your fast with, then?”
His fingers trembled, almost imperceptibly, as he gripped the back of his chair. Kaelan let out a heavy sigh, then looked at Lysander, who sat beside him. “I’m joining you two today.”
“Don’t. No one invited you,” Lysander replied, blunt as ever.
“Continue that insolence, and I’ll silence you.”
“By the Lumina, today truly stirs a desire to strike you, Kaelan.”
“Attempt it, imbecile.”
“Bold words for one who would otherwise feast alone.”
Elian could no longer restrain himself. He interjected, his voice carefully neutral. “Come, let us all eat together. We cannot leave Kaelan to dine in solitude.”
His desperation must have been evident. Kaelan smirked, a triumphant glint in his eyes, glancing at Lysander. “You see? I possess loyal companions.”
Lysander scowled, sweeping Kaelan’s stylus case from the desk with a sharp movement. It clattered to the floor. Whether Lysander approved of Elian or not mattered little. What mattered was Kaelan joining them for the midday meal. It had been too long since they had shared a table. Elian was so thrilled, he even forced himself to consume the spiced vegetables he usually detested.
Kaelan, however, paid no attention to his meal. His eyes scanned the great hall, predatory, searching. Elian, captivated by Kaelan’s presence, barely noticed Lysander pilfering a candied fruit from his plate. Then, without warning, Kaelan’s eating implement clattered. His free hand seized the arm of someone passing by.
It was Faelan.
“Sit here,” Kaelan commanded, nodding towards the empty seat beside him. “You have no one else, anyway.”
Faelan’s face flushed. His eyes darted, briefly meeting Elian’s, before he bit his lip and slowly, hesitantly, took the indicated seat. Elian felt a jolt of disbelief, dumbfounded. Since when did Kaelan feign concern for Faelan’s company? The very reason Faelan stood isolated was entirely Kaelan’s doing. Kaelan abhorred any kindness shown to Faelan, a bitter reminder of Elian’s past, unwitting transgression.
A acrid taste rose in Elian’s throat. He slammed his eating implement onto his tray. The sound was sharp, jarring. Only Faelan reacted, flinching, his eyes wide with fear. Kaelan remained fixated on Faelan. Damn it. At that moment, the carefully constructed shell, hardened over years, began to splinter. Elian tried to hold it together, but he could not. A breaking point, long denied, had arrived.
Clinging to desperate denial, Elian snapped at Faelan. “Faelan. Leave.”
“H-huh?”
“Do not heed Kaelan. Just go. It is fine.”
“Elian,” Kaelan’s voice was dangerously low. Kaelan, who had ignored the previous clatter, now ground his teeth, glaring at Elian. That glare, fierce and venomous, only fortified Elian’s resolve. He fixed his eyes stubbornly on Faelan.
“I will handle this. You may depart.”
“Uh, o-okay.”
“And Kaelan, cease this charade.”
“Aye, I concur,” Lysander chimed in, through a mouthful of food, his words almost unintelligible. His interjection, as always, felt oddly placed. He chewed and swallowed with deliberate slowness, then glanced between Elian and Kaelan, a maddening smirk on his face. “What are you staring at? You spoil my appetite.”
Lysander’s provocations always grated on Elian’s nerves. That man was insufferable. Ignoring him, Elian turned back to Kaelan. “Leave Faelan alone.”
“Who are you to issue commands?” Kaelan shot back, his fist slamming onto the table. Faelan, perched precariously, flinched, his eyes squeezing shut. Lysander, in contrast, chuckled lazily, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Count me out of this.”
He licked moisture from his lips. “Let us decide by majority. I am neutral, Elian wishes him gone, and Kaelan insists he stays.” Lysander was one of the few who called Elian by his given name, ‘Elian’, without the ‘Thorne’ suffix, and it always irked him. That irritation bled into his voice now. “Stop interjecting. Your vote holds no weight.”
“Why not? There is another person right there.” Lysander, unfazed, smirked and gestured towards Faelan with a casual flick of his wrist. “What? Is Faelan not a person?”
“You are unhinged.”
“Why is he silent? Let him voice his desire.” As if Faelan could possibly speak in this tense atmosphere. Elian sighed at Lysander’s thoughtless antics, picked up his eating implement, and idly stirred his rice. That’s when Kaelan tapped a finger on the table.
“If you say you are leaving, you are dead starting today.”
Tears welled in Faelan’s large eyes, glistening as he looked at Elian, a silent plea for help. Damn it. Elian pressed his lips together. “It is fine. I will stop him,” he said, trying to reassure Faelan.
“Elian,” Kaelan growled, his voice tight with anger. Elian forced himself to meet Kaelan’s gaze, pretending calm, but he felt an overwhelming urge to collapse. To suppress it, he lifted his eyes to the vaulted ceiling for a brief moment, then lowered his head, replying nonchalantly. “What?”
“You...” Kaelan clenched his fist, glaring with an intensity that promised searing pain. Still, Elian had to endure. His instincts screamed that he could not abandon Faelan to Kaelan’s mercy.
But Kaelan’s focus shifted back to Faelan.
“I-I will go,” Faelan stammered, his voice trembling. “Th-thank you, Elian.” Faelan scrambled up, his footsteps unsteady, and fled. As soon as he was gone, Kaelan turned abruptly, his glare, now fully unleashed, fixing on Elian.