Chapter Six
“I’d like to begin by offering thanks to the Sovereign Minister, Vaelric Serrane…” Merrin’s voice rings out, loud and commanding, as he nods toward the man in white behind him.
Heat prickles under my skin, charged and restless. My Threads twist tight, responding to the shift in the courtyard, to the tension that’s suddenly everywhere. Even Ezzy, who’d been previously nodding along, wide-eyed and grinning, suddenly stiffens beside me.
“Head of the Citadel. Steward of our structure,” Merrin continues, “without his unwavering vision, none of this—” he gestures to the ring of students and sprawling stone towers that surround them “—would exist as it does. Now, gather in and listen, I will not repeat myself.”
The crowd instantly shifts. A sea of uniforms rippling as everyone closes the gaps between them in instinctive obedience and fear.
I quickly take the chance to sweep the moving bodies, not just to see, but to read. I already know I have one person actively trying to kill me; but who else do I need to watch?
There are hundreds of cadets packed in here, but I can’t tell if any of them are a threat. Their faces currently all look the same, rigid, staring straight ahead, as if carved from stone. Every single one of them seems too scared of Merrin to risk even glancing away.
But I need to be more careful. As much as I hate to admit it, if it wasn’t for Ezzy, I’d probably, well, let’s be honest, I’d definitely be dead by now.
God, what was I thinking... trying to take down Talen, an officer, here, in front of all of them?
In the middle of the Citadel. So fucking stupid.
I let my temper, my magic get the better of me, as always.
I can’t let that happen again. I need to be smarter.
I need a plan, to survive Talen, to survive this month, collect the journals, and get the fuck out of here before this place buries me.
“Minister Serrane speaks with the grace and generosity befitting his station.” The weight of Merrin's voice drags me back to the present. “But don’t mistake kindness for mercy. Unlike his excellence, I am not here to inspire you. I am here to warn you.” His tone sends a shiver down my spine.
“For the first years among you, the Codex will be new. For the rest, consider this your only reminder. Inside is every law, every consequence, every expectation the Citadel demands of you. Learn it. Memorise it. Live by it. It is not a suggestion. Your place here is not a privilege—it is a responsibility. Uphold the Codex or forfeit. Serve or be Reassigned. There is no middle ground. Break the rules, and you will be punished. Bend them, and they will snap back. Defy them—,” he smiles cold and hollow, “and you’ll wish you hadn’t. ”
A jarring clatter breaks the silence, startling in the stillness where no one dares move. Every head turns toward the sound as a cadet bends, fumbling nervously to pick up whatever slipped from their hands, then freezes as Merrin’s stare pins them in place.
“S, s, s, sorry, High Chancellor,” the cadet stutters, wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in a snare. Merrin gives a look I wouldn’t wish on anyone, then continues.
“Now I will not waste my time reciting the entire script here, but I will recall a few, the ones some of you seem to have already forgotten.”
He doesn’t look in my direction, but the way his voice cuts through the air, it lands on my ear like it was meant only for me. Like I’m the only one he’s warning. My breath catches, tight in my throat, but I keep my face still. I don't need any more attention.
“The first and most fundamental law.” He starts.
“Is that of Realm separation. While you will be required to mix during Demonstrations and assignments, you are strictly forbidden from blending Realms outside of those approved times.” His gaze hardens.
“Dormitories, dining halls, libraries—each Realm has its own spaces, its own schedule, its own structure. This is not prejudice. It is preservation.”
He pauses, letting the weight of the words settle, eyes steady on the crowd before continuing.
“The second reminder is that of non-interference. When a Demonstration begins—whether it be Thread manipulation, strategy, blade, or mind—no cadets, no officers, not even professors, may interfere. The Demonstration is sacred. It is a test. A challenge. Sometimes academic. Sometimes physical. Sometimes… lethal.”
Beside me, Ezzy’s breath hitches, barely audible, but I hear it.
“You will be invited,” he continues, “to prove yourselves before your peers and expected to endure scrutiny, opposition, and pain. You will not be rescued. The Citadel does not interrupt growth to spare your pride. Or your body. This is not a play-school. This is not a sanctuary. It is a crucible. And only those who survive it deserve to graduate—and earn the right to uphold the Treaty, whether as an officer or a scholar.”
His voice lowers as he takes a step forward
“Now, the third and final reminder is that outside sanctioned Demonstrations, there is to be no combat, either physical or magical. This includes dorm halls, study wings, and outside training assignments. If you have grievances, vendettas, bruised egos, or broken pride… You hold it for Call Week.”
A few murmurs, low and quick, ripple through the courtyard, breaking the silence. Glances pass between students, too fast to catch full meaning, but enough to make my skin prickle. Whatever Call Week is, it sounds like something I don’t want to be around for...
Merrin takes a slow step back, slipping his hands into the pockets of his red robes.
“Consider this my only and final warning. Remember these rules, because some of you,” his gaze sweeps the crowd, controlled and measured, before it stops, unmistakably, on me, “seem a little too eager to break them already.”
My breath catches, and my stomach knots. Shit. My earlier standoff with Talen wasn’t exactly subtle, and now Merrin’s making sure I know it.
A few cadets glance over, trying not to be obvious, but failing. Heat creeps up my neck, shame burning hot, but I force my spine straight and avoid looking their way.
Then Merrin finally drops his gaze from me before turning his attention back to the crowd. “First-years, make your way to the front. Second years and above, you may go, we will see you tomorrow morning for the beginning of the new semester. Do not be late for your first class.”
Then he turns without another word and walks off the stage, red robes whispering behind him.
For a moment, no one moves. The silence holds, taut and heavy. Then, bit by bit, the courtyard slowly shifts, boots scuffing stone, voices low, cadets starting to breathe again.
I glance across the crowd, Talen’s already vanished from view, and so I let out a long breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. Beside me, Ezzy does the same, quieter but just as strained.
“Well,” I murmur, turning to face her. “At least I know Talen can’t kill me outside of Demonstrations.”
Ezzy shrugs, offering a half-hearted smile.
“Yeah… I guess. Though I’m not sure the Nightrose is the type to let rules stop him.
” She hesitates, then adds without thinking.
“And from the way he was looking at you… I’d bet he’s more than willing to break them.
” A beat of silence, before her eyes widen a fraction as the words seem to hit her.
“Oh, I mean... you’ll be fine! Yeah, totally fine!
He probably just looks like that at everyone. ..”
Before I can respond, movement to our right draws her attention. Her two friends reappear through the thinning crowd, falling into step beside her. She brightens immediately, like a switch flipping, shoulders squaring, her usual spark returning.
“Oh, right. Lyra,” she says, “I want you to meet my cousin, Rowan, and that menace behind him is Finn.”
Rowan nods once. He’s tall, solidly built, with the same pale skin and white-blond hair that curls just slightly at the ends. If she hadn’t said cousin, I’d have guessed twin.
They’re almost identical, minus the sparkly hairpin. Even their eyebrows match. But where Ezzy’s brightness is obvious, na?ve in a way she doesn’t bother hiding. Rowan looks older. His expression is quieter, measured. Mouth held like he’s actually used to swallowing opinions before they form.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, tucking a book under his arm as he offers me his hand.
His posture’s easy, tone casual, but his eyes sweep over me like he’s quietly taking stock.
I hesitate, but take it. His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles like he’s tracing something only he can feel, the corner of his mouth tightens, almost a flinch. Then he lets go.
“You’ve got a strong pulse,” he notes, face unreadable, “Good sign.”
There’s something about the way he says it needles under my skin, it’s not at all threatening, but—
“So you’re the girl from the Outerlands.” Finn cuts in. His voice is smooth, teasing, and infuriatingly amused.
In contrast to Rowan, he is all motion and smirk. Golden-tan skin, dark, narrow but bright eyes. His black hair is shoulder-length, straight, and half-pulled back in a knot that’s already unravelling.
“I was beginning to think Ezzy made you up.” he jokes, as he laces his fingers together and pushes until his knuckles crack.
Ezzy elbows him, hard. “Ugh, stop. That’s disgusting.”
“What, this?” He grins, shoving his hands right in her face and cracking them again, louder this time.
She exhales dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they stay in her skull. But there’s colour in her cheeks now, and she’s not exactly stepping away from him.
They keep at it, trading jabs like it’s muscle memory, like teasing’s just how they talk.
The three of them move like a unit. Quick jokes, shared glances.
The kind of trust that runs deep enough to let your guard down.
Bitterness hits low, not just at what they have, but at how easily they live inside it.