"We have the proof now," Seraphelion said, gesturing to the mangled circuitry.Silas kicked a piece of the cooling metal, his face tightening with a mix of fury and confusion."If the Academy is hoarding war-tech from the Era of Ruin, they aren't just hiding history," Silas whispered."They are weaponizing the past to control the future," Seraphelion replied, his voice chillingly flat.The forest was silent, the birds having fled the ozone-heavy air of the skirmish."What do we do?" Silas asked, his grip tightening on his shield. "If we bring this to the Masters, we die.""We don't tell the Masters," Seraphelion said, turning toward the path leading back to the Academy. "We find out who ordered the activation."Silas stared at him, his brow furrowed."You're talking about infiltration, Seraphelion. The Restricted Archives are warded by seals that haven't been broken in centuries."Seraphelion offered a cold, mirthless smile."Wards are only as strong as the intent behind them, Silas."

"I observe a vault filled with the truth about why your family was broken," Seraphelion said, not breaking stride as they entered the heavy iron gates of the Academy.Silas froze, his hand dropping from his sword hilt as if burned."You promised we wouldn't talk about that again until we were inside," Silas hissed, glancing toward the passing guards."The truth is rarely a convenient guest, Silas," Seraphelion replied, his voice barely audible over the chatter of the courtyard."My family lost everything because they refused to rewrite the scrolls on the West Wing," Silas whispered, his face pale. "They aren't just hiding history; they are purging the lineage of anyone who remembers.""Exactly," Seraphelion muttered, his eyes scanning the balcony above. "And that is why you will create the distraction. I have a date with a ghost."A shadow suddenly stretched long across the courtyard, blocking their path."A 'sickly' student, a disgraced noble, and a sudden interest in ancient geometr

"Studies?" Kaelen’s laughter cut through the hallway like a dull blade. "You’re reading books that haven't been opened since the Era of Ashes, Seraphelion. Do you even have the constitution to handle the dust?"Seraphelion leaned slightly against the cold, damp stone of the corridor wall. He let his shoulders slump, his breath coming in a shallow, practiced rattle that signaled weakness to any casual observer."Knowledge is a heavy burden, Kaelen," Seraphelion wheezed, keeping his eyes downcast. "I merely seek to understand the structural foundations of this Academy. It helps me focus on something other than my own frailty."Kaelen stepped into his personal space, the scent of expensive polish and ozone radiating from his uniform. He hovered, a predator measuring the heart rate of a wounded rabbit."Structural foundations," Kaelen repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate murmur. "Funny. You stare at the load-bearing columns as if you’re looking for a pressure point to col

Kaelen’s laughter died in his throat, replaced by a cold, predatory smile that didn't reach his eyes.He turned toward Silas, his gaze lingering on the younger man’s hand, which was still hovering inches from his own dull, cadet-issue blade."Proctors?" Kaelen scoffed, his fingers drumming rhythmically against his rapier’s silver crossguard. "The proctors are busy scrubbing the blood off the practice mats from this morning’s drills."He pivoted back to Seraphelion, his demeanor shifting from mocking to something far more calculated."Do you really think they care about a sickly brat and his disgraced protector?" Kaelen whispered, moving so close that Seraphelion could smell the sharp, metallic tang of the alchemical enhancers Kaelen used to maintain his focus.Seraphelion adjusted his collar, his fingers shaking with a practiced, erratic tremor."I seek only to pass my examinations, Kaelen," Seraphelion murmured, avoiding direct eye contact. "My health is already failing; I have no am

"Why shouldn't someone look for the bodies?" Seraphelion finished, his voice a frail, papery rustle that seemed to die in the stale air of the corridor.Kaelen’s eyes flared, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily breaching his calculated veneer of superiority."Bodies?" Kaelen repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, serrated whisper. "You admit it, then. You aren't just reading. You’re excavating."Silas moved then, his shadow lengthening against the damp stone of the West Wing.He planted his feet firmly, his hand finally gripping the hilt of his weapon, not as a challenge, but as a warning."He’s sick, Kaelen," Silas barked, his voice vibrating with a coarse, defensive edge. "He talks in riddles because his lungs are half-filled with fluid. Leave him to his ghosts and his fever."Kaelen laughed, a dry, hollow sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the forbidden wing."Sick? You keep telling yourself that, Silas," Kaelen said, stepping around them with the fluid, predator