Chapter 36 #2
“Can I refuse?” I ask, though I already know the answer from his expression.
Constantine’s jaw tightens, making the muscle jump. “Officially, it’s voluntary. Practically, refusal would trigger immediate containment under suspicion protocols rather than assessment guidelines. The binding examination provides at least nominal procedural protection.”
“Protection is a fucking strange word for what you’re describing,” I mutter, fear and anger battling beneath my carefully maintained composure.
“The binding is temporary,” he continues, voice dropping even lower until I have to strain to hear. “Designed to last only during the examination session unless anomalies are confirmed, in which case...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. If the binding confirms my shadows’ autonomous nature—their living consciousness independent of my direct control—temporary suppression would become permanent containment, with all the horrific implications that entails.
My strengthened shadows react instinctively to this threat description, pressing so close to my body they nearly disappear completely into the natural darkness at my feet.
Through our blood binding, I sense Bael’s distant fury, his protective instinct raging against this development despite his inability to intervene directly within academy boundaries.
“When?” I ask, practical concerns temporarily overshadowing emotional response.
“Three days,” Constantine answers, and the words taste like doom. “The summons will arrive tomorrow morning with formal documentation and preparation instructions.”
Three days before they attempt to bind my shadows, to separate what has become an integral part of my consciousness, to verify through magical suppression what witness testimony and recording crystals couldn’t conclusively prove.
My strengthened shadows pulse with genuine fear despite their conventional appearance, the prospect of forced binding creating a primal terror response.
“There’s more,” Constantine continues, checking the corridor briefly for eavesdroppers before proceeding. “Hunter reinforcements arrive tomorrow—a specialized containment squad with enhanced suppression equipment. Malcolm’s requested additional resources following the Crucible incident.”
The situation deteriorates with each passing minute, like dominoes falling.
Hunter reinforcements mean increased surveillance, specialized detection equipment, and tactical preparation for potential resistance.
The stalemate following my partial wing manifestation has clearly shifted toward active intervention rather than continued observation.
“What about the shadow-fire integration?” I ask, remembering how Constantine’s intervention created a spectacular display that masked my true abilities during the Last Trial. “Could we use that somehow?”
He shakes his head slightly, regret clear in his amber eyes. “They’ll be specifically monitoring for unusual elemental combinations now. Any fire interaction would merely confirm their suspicions rather than conceal them.”
My strengthened shadows press impossibly closer, communicating fear more eloquently than words ever could.
The binding would not merely suppress their movement but violate the consciousness they’ve developed—the semi-sentient awareness that’s evolved alongside my own, the protective companion that’s saved my life multiple times.
“There’s one possibility,” Constantine says after a momentary hesitation, something like hope flickering across his features. “But it’s extraordinarily dangerous and directly violates both academy regulations and Hunter protocols.”
Hope flickers despite the dire circumstances. “I’m listening.”
“Complete evacuation before the summons is formally delivered,” he explains, voice barely audible despite the silence ward.
“Midnight tonight, using the maintenance tunnel we attempted before. I’ve arranged different forest coverage this time—the Hunter patrols are temporarily reassigned for reinforcement preparation. ”
My strengthened shadows pulse with immediate recognition of this opportunity, though they maintain a normal appearance for any potential observers.
Escaping before the formal summons arrives means violating academy regulations but not direct Hunter containment orders—a significant legal distinction should we be caught.
“And after the tunnel?” I ask practical questions first despite the growing urgency.
“Transportation waiting beyond detection boundaries,” Constantine answers, his voice carrying quiet determination. “Location coordinates known only to those directly involved in the extraction. Even I don’t know the final destination—safer that way for everyone.”
Meaning Bael has arranged the second phase of escape, working in coordination with Constantine despite their natural rivalry. Blood and fire, shadow, and light—the prophecy’s elements aligning for protection rather than opposition.
“We’ll need to move quickly once the decision is made,” Constantine continues, checking the corridor again for potential listeners despite the silence ward.
“Pack only essentials that wouldn’t be immediately missed.
Once the summons arrives officially tomorrow, leaving academy grounds becomes a direct violation of Hunter containment protocols rather than a mere regulatory infraction. ”
The distinction matters significantly—regulatory violations mean academic consequences, while Hunter protocol violations can trigger lethal response authorizations.
My strengthened shadows absorb this information with grim acknowledgment, preparing for either outcome with techniques gained through blood memory.
“I should return to normal activities,” I say, recognizing the danger of prolonged private conversation despite the silence ward. “Too much special attention just highlights the situation further.”
Constantine nods, professional demeanor returning completely as we step back into the main corridor.
The transition feels like stepping from safety into a lion’s den.
“Review your specialized recognition documentation before tomorrow’s instruction period,” he says loudly enough for potential listeners.
“The achievement classification requires formal acknowledgment.”
As we separate—him toward the faculty offices, me toward the dormitory wing—I maintain perfect composure despite the chaos of emotions beneath the surface.
The stone floors feel cold beneath my feet, and the enchanted torches cast shadows that my darkness yearns to join.
My strengthened shadows continue their conventional patterns, revealing nothing of their terror at the prospect of Hunter binding protocols or their desperate hope for midnight evacuation.
The summons changes everything—transforming suspicion into active intervention, observation into containment, theoretical threat into imminent reality.
Whatever decision I make tonight, the stalemate has ended.
Either I flee before official documentation arrives, accepting permanent fugitive status, or I remain for “specialized assessment” that would reveal my true nature beyond any possibility of concealment.
As I walk through the academy grounds one last time—potentially my last day within these ancient walls regardless of which path I choose—my strengthened shadows extend subtle sensory tendrils, recording every detail with bittersweet precision.
The massive oak trees with their autumn-fire leaves that crunch underfoot and smell like wood smoke and memories.
The worn stone pathways polished by centuries of student footsteps, smooth as silk beneath my boots.
The enchanted fountains, whose water never freezes despite winter’s approach, their gentle splashing a constant background melody.
The feeling of belonging I briefly experienced before my Ascendant nature made me separate from everyone around me.
Through our blood binding, I sense Bael’s awareness following my melancholy observations with matching intensity—his centuries of experience recognizing the significance of such transitional moments.
The pendant against my skin pulses with quiet acknowledgment, working in harmony with both blood binding and shadow consciousness to create the most convincing concealment possible during these last hours before everything changes.
The Crimson Ascendant prophecy continues unfolding, one impossible choice at a time. Tonight, I choose freedom over captivity, uncertainty over certain destruction, running toward an unknown future rather than staying for a fate I know will destroy everything I’ve become.
My wings may be hidden beneath shadow and binding, their crimson glory concealed from Hunter eyes, but they’re real and they’re mine. And no amount of specialized assessment or forced binding will change that truth.