"Leave it, Kaelen," Seraphelion rasped, his hand trembling as he reached into the empty air, his fingers clawing at a memory that threatened to tear his composure apart.The rusted pauldron sat there, a brutal memento of the Third Legion.It was his commander’s gear, the same steel that had shielded them during the Siege of Aethelgard.Kaelen didn’t reach for it.He didn't need to.He watched Seraphelion’s face, tracing the minute tightening of his jaw and the way his pupil dilated at the sight of the tarnished metal."You recognize it," Kaelen stated, his voice devoid of humor now."It is junk," Silas interrupted, stepping forward to loom between the two of them. "Discarded trash from the foundation of this city. Leave it, and let us go."Kaelen shifted his gaze to Silas, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips."Trash, Silas? You’ve been funneling coin to the Wretched for months, haven't you?"Silas stiffened, his hand white-knuckled on his sword hilt."I don't know what you’re talk

"It is merely... a reminder of the legends," Seraphelion wheezed, forcing his frame to shudder with every breath. "The history of the First Empire is taught in the primary curriculum. Every student has seen the illustrations of the Third Legion. It is common knowledge, Kaelen."Kaelen stepped closer, invading the personal space Seraphelion had carefully cultivated.The smell of Kaelen’s expensive, imported cologne—sharp citrus and ozone—clashed with the damp, rot-scented air of the West Wing."Illustrations in a sanitized text are one thing," Kaelen countered, leaning down until his eyes were inches from Seraphelion’s. "But that piece of steel still carries the faint, lingering resonance of a blood-binding rune. That isn't a textbook relic. That is a crime."Kaelen’s hand darted out, pinning the pauldron against the floor with the tip of his boot."Tell me, Seraphelion. Why does your pulse quicken when you look at an object that should have been smelted into nothingness five hundred y

"Step away, Silas," Kaelen commanded, his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier. "I am not here to duel a disgraced noble who still thinks his lineage matters in this gutter."Silas didn't move. He actually stepped forward, his boots crunching on the loose grit of the West Wing floor."My lineage matters enough to know when a parasite is trying to climb the social ladder by sniffing out secrets," Silas retorted. "Move, or I will ensure your arrogance ends in the infirmary."Seraphelion remained slumped against the cold stone, his breathing ragged.He counted the seconds in his mind.He felt the tremors in his hands—not from the "sickness," but from the sheer, burning instinct to snap Kaelen’s wrist and be done with this charade."Enough," Seraphelion rasped, his voice sounding thin and brittle. "I am... I am going back to the dormitory. You two can trade insults until the moon sets for all I care."He pushed himself off the wall, his knees buckling with intentional, dramatic instabil

"You look like a ghost that’s forgotten how to haunt, Seraphelion," Kaelen drawled, stepping into the dim light of the corridor. "A fragile thing. Almost transparent."Seraphelion leaned heavily against the cold masonry, his chest heaving with a rhythmic, labored wheeze."I am tired, Kaelen," he rasped, his eyes fluttering as if losing the battle against consciousness. "The Festival of Moons is meant for dancing, not for interrogation by a man who mistakes curiosity for brilliance."Kaelen took another step forward, his polished leather boots echoing like gunshots against the stone."Curiosity? No, this is survival," Kaelen countered, his grin sharpening into a predatory edge. "I’ve seen the way you walk when you think no one is watching. You don't have the gait of a sickly poet. You have the stride of a man measuring terrain."Silas moved then, a blur of motion that placed him directly between Kaelen and the slumped Seraphelion."Back off, Kaelen," Silas barked, his voice vibrating w

"Do you hear that, Kaelen?" Seraphelion repeated.He was no longer leaning against the masonry.His spine was a taut steel rod, his eyes clear and terrifyingly focused.Outside the West Wing, the sounds of the gala had morphed into a chaotic cacophony of breaking glass and screaming voices."The riots," Silas muttered, looking toward the high, arched windows that overlooked the main courtyard. "They’ve finally snapped."Kaelen froze, his predatory smile faltering for the first time."A student uprising during the Festival?" Kaelen scoffed, though his hand drifted instinctively to his blade. "Impossible. The Church guards have the perimeter locked down tight.""The Church guards are currently being dismantled by the very people they’ve been starving for months," Seraphelion said, stepping forward.He didn’t move like a sick man.He moved with a fluid, predatory grace that belonged in a different century."You spent so much time dissecting my gait, Kaelen, that you missed the collapse o