Chapter Five #2
My heart jumps into my throat. It’s him, he’s behind the Spice tax, behind the shortages, behind the deaths. Rhiann’s son. My spine locks, whatever control I had? Gone.
Something inside me cracks, like splintered glass under pressure. My Threads, my anger, waking up. Not all at once, but enough. Heat flares through my chest, scratching under my skin like static gone feral. Fury and fire braided tight with something wilder itching to get out.
But I’m standing in the heart of enemy territory. His territory. Surrounded by officers, cadets, professors, and not a single one would choose me over him.
My mind is screaming at me to push my magic down, to give in or somehow disappear before this gets worse. I made a deal—one month.
I know that.
But right now? Right now my Threads don’t care.
Because all they see is him.
A blood-fed Veirmont, dripping with the kind of wealth that only comes from letting people like me starve. And maybe, just maybe, hurting him would feel like balance. Like clawing back a piece of what they stole, even if I lose.
My body locks tight, fingers twitch, curl. Every instinct screaming to hold it down. But the heat’s already climbing, my magic surging like it’s decided for me.
And before I can think, before I can stop, I raise my hand.
Then—
Something shifts.
Not in me. Around me.
The stone beneath our boots groans—low, warning. Dust spills from the upper levels like ash, curling through the charged air.
“Welcome, welcome, cadets and officers to this year's Initiation Brief,” the voice rolls over us measured, warm, but almost kind.
My head snaps towards the sound.
Across the courtyard, on a raised platform, a man in white robes stands with both hands lifted, he lowers them, and the tremor fades.
Movement stops with it. Not just near me, the entire courtyard holds still, heads tilted, eyes drawn the same way. Everyone’s looking at him now.
He isn’t tall or broad, but there’s something about the way he stands, grounded, unshaken, that pulls my focus like gravity.
Gaunt face, carved in elegant, weary lines.
Not old. Just... worn. Scholar’s robes drape over him, but they’re transformed, not like the other professors.
His are bone-white, pristine, they look untouched by war or weather, even the air around him feels cleaner. Too clean.
“Now that I have your attention…” The man in white smiles, crinkling at the eyes. And god, it’s convincing. “Welcome to the Citadel. Please stand in your year groups and Realms.”
Before the words finish echoing, there’s a sharp pull at my arm, tight fingers, warm skin, the press of Ezzy’s grip.
“Come on,” she breathes, tugging me fast.
“Ezzy, what are you—”
“Stopping you from doing something stupid,” she snaps, as she drags me forward, grip tight, but not cruel. “Especially with this many professors watching. With him watching.” She nods toward the stage.
She’s right. What the hell was I thinking? Letting my magic out here, trying to take down a fucking Citadel officer?
My Threads still hum under my skin as I glance back through the moving bodies. Talen’s still there, he doesn’t move, doesn’t follow. But his lips part.
“I’ll be waiting.”
I shouldn’t hear it, not from this far. But the words cut through the noise, landing like a whisper against my ear. Controlled and private, meant only for me.
But Ezzy doesn’t let go. She just keeps pulling, steering me behind a stone pillar, but with a clear view of the platform.
“Ezzy—”
“Shhh,” she spins on me, her voice clipped. No smile. “You need to watch this.” She points toward the stage. “That man... He’s assessing us.”
“What?”
“Every professor is also watching now, and they’re watching us. Lyra, if you move wrong, if you so much as look like you’re not paying attention; they’ll notice. He will notice.”
Heart pounding, breath tight, I scan the crowd, eyes dragging, hunting for him.
The Nightrose. Talen. But he’s gone. No stare burning into my back, no threat I can currently see. Just the cold bite of the stone pillar digging between my shoulders, and Ezzy’s hand, tightly anchoring me in place.
Okay, breathe. Focus.
He said he’s not going to kill me now, not here, not yet. That doesn’t mean I’m safe, Just means I’ve bought myself a little time. And right now I need Ezzy on my side. I need allies, not more problems. So if listening gets her to stop drilling holes through my skull with that look she’s giving me?
Fine. I’ll listen.
I’ll figure out Talen later.
My magic’s still restless, hot and tight beneath my skin, but it’s holding, for now.
So I force a breath in, drag my focus off the crowd and back to the platform, to the man in bone-white robes.
To the one who’s holding the attention of over a few hundred cadets and officers like it’s nothing at all.
“First, I want to thank each of you for your commitment.” He lifts his hands slightly, as if offering a blessing. “To those returning, welcome back. And to our new cadets... welcome home.”
Home. God. Who would ever call this place a home? But when I glance around, the other students don’t look like they’re questioning it, if anything, they look in awe.
“We are devoted to your training,” he continues, voice calm and even.
“Because you are the lifeline of our future. Today, we do more than gather, we uphold legacy.” A breath.
“Centuries ago, when the War of Ruin shattered the Kingdom of Aurelia, darkness and chaos reigned. Magic rebelled, and the ruling crown crumbled. Fire and Water, Air and Aarth, what was meant to be unity became arrogance. And the kingdom burned.”
A low murmur ripples through the courtyard, it’s quiet, but unmistakable agreement. Some of the cadets even wear the kind of smiles you’d give a prophet—quiet, reverent, like they’re actually buying every word.
“It was the leaders of the four Realms,” he adds, “who stood against the collapse, the crown. Who chose light and division over monarchy. The Treaty wasn’t just a pact, it was raw magic.
And when it was sealed, the four Veins of Power carved through the land, severing realm from realm.
Peace through partition. Order through separation.
” A few voices join in. Not loud, but like a rhythm, a ritual.
“And from that balance,” he finishes, “the Citadel was born.”
Peace? balance? Sure. I roll my eyes, easy words when you’re on the right side of the fucking wall.
“And now you are the stewards of that peace.” He drones on. “The guardians of Realm boundaries. The defenders of division. For only through unwavering adherence to the Codex can we keep the Realms free from ruin and from rebellion.”
I grit my teeth, brows pulling tight. Tell that to the ones they left behind, cast out. God, am I really the only one who sees it for what it is? My gaze sweeps the courtyard, but all I find is silence. Not just obedience. Devotion.
Tight pressure builds beneath my ribs, and it takes everything not to spit the truth back, at him, at all of them. To not walk out, run, to do something instead of standing here and choking it down like the rest of them. But I don’t. Instead I exhale hard.
“Now, let us begin.”
He nods once, then steps aside and a professor in a deep red robe, gold stitching catching the light, steps forward.
The same professor who handed me the journals a few moments ago. Except now, he’s shed every small trace of warmth. What’s left feels cold. Controlled. Ruthless.
His icy blue eyes catch mine. And then opens his mouth.