Novels by Dep Flair

Morning came too quickly.Draven woke to sunlight streaming through his window. His body ached. Not from physical injury. From tension. From the false magic circle still settling in his chest.The gala was over. Technically. But the guests wouldn't leave until afternoon. One more meal. One more round of political pleasantries.Then he could escape back to the academy.Draven dressed and made his way downstairs. The manor was quieter than the night before. Servants cleaning up. Decorations being removed. The grand display packed away.But the whispers remained."Did you see him fight?""Destroyed Viktor Crane like it was nothing.""The Princess couldn't stop watching him.""Everything's changed now."Draven found breakfast laid out in the smaller dining room. His brothers were already there.Garrett looked up first. Grinned. "There's the man of the hour. How does it feel to be the most talked-about person at the gala?""Exhausting.""I bet." Garrett gestured to an empty seat. "Sit. Eat

Viktor's frustration was showing.Every attack Draven countered. Every setup he read. Every trap he avoided.Viktor's expression darkened further.He attacked again. Faster. More aggressive. Imperial close-combat techniques flowing perfectly.But Draven matched him. Step for step. Block for block.The ancient warriors' memories guided every movement. They'd faced Imperial techniques before. Centuries ago, when the Empire was young. When these methods were new and untested.Nothing Viktor threw at him was unfamiliar.Viktor's punch came at Draven's head. Fast. Precise.Draven ducked under it. Countered with a strike to Viktor's ribs.Pulled it at the last second. Just a tap. Could have broken bone.Viktor stumbled back. Breathing hard."You're holding back," he said. Anger. Accusation. "Stop playing with me.""I'm not playing. I'm being careful. There's a difference.""Careful?" Viktor's laugh was bitter. "You think you're better than me? Imperial-trained? Student of Master Korin?""I

The great hall held its breath.Viktor Crane stood in the exhibition circle. Confident. Ready. Every inch the Imperial elite guard.Draven walked toward him. Each step measured. The crowd parting immediately.Whispers followed."Another challenge? Tonight?""Viktor Crane against the Ashworth?""This should be interesting.""Interesting? It'll be a massacre. Viktor's Imperial-trained.""So was Lucas supposedly the strongest. Look how that ended."Draven reached the edge of the circle. Viktor watched him approach with cold eyes."I'm glad you accepted," Viktor said. Loud enough for nearby nobles to hear. "I was concerned you might refuse. Given the late hour."Translation: I thought you might be a coward."I wouldn't dream of refusing," Draven replied. "It would be disrespectful."Translation: You trapped me with politics and you know it.Viktor smiled. Sharp. "Indeed. We wouldn't want any disrespect between our families."Prime Minister Aldric Crane approached the circle. His presence

Draven stayed by the fountain for a moment longer.Processing everything.Princess Elysande knew about the pendant. Had sensed its magic. Could have exposed him. But chose not to.That was the problem.If she could sense it, others could too. Mages with enough sensitivity. Scholars who studied ancient artifacts. His secret was vulnerable.The pendant was supposed to be his advantage. His hidden weapon. But if anyone with magical perception could detect it, then it wasn't hidden at all.Draven stood abruptly.He needed to fix this. Now.Not return to the gala. Not yet. He needed time. Space. Privacy.He slipped through a side entrance. Found a servant."I need to return to my room. Briefly. Where is it?"The servant gave directions. Draven moved quickly through the manor's corridors. Reached his room and locked the door.Sat on his bed. Touched the pendant.Accessed his grandfather's memories. Searched frantically through centuries of knowledge. There had to be something. Some way to h

The gala tried to return to normal.Musicians played. Servants circulated with wine. Nobles clustered in groups, pretending the last hour hadn't happened.But everything had changed.Draven could feel it. The way people looked at him now. Not with dismissal or pity. With wariness. Calculation. Fear.He'd become dangerous.And across the room, Princess Elysande watched him.Not constantly. Not obviously. But every few minutes, her gaze would drift his way. Assessing. Curious.Viktor Crane noticed. Of course he noticed. He stood beside the Princess like a shadow. Close enough to protect. Close enough to claim.And every time she looked at Draven, Viktor's expression darkened.Draven tried to stay near the edges. Tried to be invisible again. Old habits.But it didn't work anymore. Nobles approached him. Carefully. Respectfully."Impressive display, young Ashworth.""Where did you learn to move like that?""The Academy must have remarkable instructors."Polite words hiding desperate curio

The great hall remained frozen.Lucas Nervia slumped against the wall. Draven standing in the exhibition circle. Smoke still rising from his hand where the controlled fire had erupted.Everyone staring.Draven looked up at the platform. At his father.Waiting for the reaction. The anger. The disappointment. Something.Father's face was stone.No expression. No emotion. Nothing.He simply stood there. Watching. Like he was observing a training exercise rather than his son publicly destroying an ally's heir.That silence was somehow worse than any anger could have been.But everyone else?Everyone else lost their minds.The whispers exploded into full conversations. Nobles grabbing each other's arms. Officers exchanging shocked looks. The carefully maintained decorum of the gala shattered."Did you see that speed?""He moved like—I've never seen anything like that.""The fire. That controlled burst. How is he only sixteen?""Second-year student? Impossible.""Lucas Nervia didn't stand a

Maxwell Hughes's office occupied the top floor of a glass tower in Midtown, all clean lines and expensive furniture that screamed "medical innovation with venture capital backing." Michael had done his research on the drive over. Hughes had founded three biotech startups, sold two for massive profits, and currently ran a company that specialized in experimental treatments for neurological conditions.The kind of treatments that existed in the gray area between cutting-edge medicine and regulatory gambling.The receptionist showed Michael into a conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Hughes was already there, standing at the glass with his back to the door."Mr. Crawford. Thank you for coming." Hughes turned, extended his hand. Mid-fifties, silver hair, the kind of polished confidence that came from winning more bets than you lost. "I know our previous interactions haven't been... ideal."Michael shook his hand, noted the firm grip designed to communicate

Crawford Manor felt different in daylight. Less imposing, more tired. The estate that had witnessed three generations of Crawford ambition now felt like a stage where the actors had forgotten their lines.Michael's car crunched up the gravel drive. His father had called the meeting for two in the afternoon, giving both sons time to arrive separately. Strategic, as always. Richard Crawford didn't do anything without purpose.Eric's Range Rover was already parked near the main entrance. Michael felt his jaw tighten. Forty-eight hours since the board suspension, and his brother was still fighting. Still scheming. The desperation would make him more dangerous, not less.Inside, the study smelled like old leather and older money. Richard sat in his usual chair, looking stronger than he had at the hospital but still carrying the weight of his health scare. Eric stood by the window, arms crossed, radiating barely contained fury."Sit down, both of you," Richard said. Not a request.Michael t

Michael spent the next morning doing damage control. Conference calls with key board members. Reassurances to nervous investors. Carefully worded statements to the press about "internal governance reviews" that meant absolutely nothing and everything at once.By noon, he was exhausted. Not from the work, but from the constant performance. Every conversation required calibration. Every word needed to be measured against how it might be used against him later.His assistant buzzed. "Mr. Crawford? Kylie Crawford is here. She says it's urgent."Michael straightened. Kylie. His protégé, the brilliant Columbia senior he'd been mentoring since his father's birthday celebration. The kid who'd gone on national television and publicly credited him with inspiring her unconventional path."Send her in."Kylie walked in looking different from the poised student he'd seen in her TV interview. She wore jeans and a Columbia hoodie, but there was something harder in her expression. She carried her bat

The aftermath felt like walking through a bombed-out building. Everything looked the same from the outside, but the foundations had shifted in ways that would take months to fully understand.Michael stood in his office, watching through the window as Eric's Range Rover peeled out of the underground garage. His brother's departure wasn't graceful. Wasn't dignified. Just angry and desperate and completely ruined."He left his laptop," Olivia said from the doorway. "Security found it in the boardroom. Still logged in."Michael turned. "What's on it?""Everything we already knew about Thornton. But also..." She hesitated. "Draft communications he never sent. Plans that go way beyond what we exposed today.""Show me."They moved to Michael's private conference room. Olivia connected Eric's laptop to the display screen, and Michael felt his blood run cold.Eric hadn't just been planning to facilitate a Thornton acquisition. He'd been planning to systematically dismantle Crawford Enterprise

The war room in Michael's penthouse had taken on a life of its own. Coffee cups littered every surface. Olivia had commandeered the entire dining table, three monitors glowing in the pre-dawn darkness. Megan paced near the windows, phone pressed to her ear, speaking in rapid Chinese to someone halfway across the world.Michael hadn't slept in hours. Didn't need to. His Enhanced Intuition was running on pure adrenaline and righteous anger."Got him," Olivia said suddenly.Michael crossed to her station. "Got who?""The actor. The one in the photos Eric showed the board." She pulled up a headshot from a talent agency website. "Blend, twenty-eight, specializes in 'corporate training videos and educational content.' Based in Newark."Michael studied the face. Same guy from Eric's fabricated evidence, the one who'd supposedly been his "dealer" in the staged photographs."Can we reach him?""Already did." Megan ended her call and turned from the window. "He's willing to talk. For the right

The System message appeared in Michael's vision as he stood backstage, still breathing hard from his improvised runway performance: [Emergency Task Completed: Create something revolutionary from nothing. Reward: Enhanced Creativity - Level 3 Activated] Michael felt the enhancement take effect immediately. Ideas began flowing through his mind with unprecedented clarity and connection. The collaborative demonstration he'd just performed wasn't just a solution to sabotage—it was the foundation for an entirely new approach to neural-responsive technology. "Michael," Sophia called urgently, "the media wants statements about the collaborative presentation. They're calling it a breakthrough in interactive fashion technology." "Because it is," Michael replied, his Enhanced Creativity revealing possibilities he'd never considered before. "What we just demonstrated accidentally is more revolutionary than anything we planned deliberately." Louise approached, still glowing from the successfu