Lucavion moved through the dim halls like he belonged there. Not just physically—but fundamentally. His steps didn't echo so much as settle, each one landing with the kind of weight only someone utterly assured of their place could manage. A prince of shadows, robed not in gold but in silence and second thoughts.
The door to his dorm room recognized him before his hand touched the rune. It gave a soft mechanical chime, subtle and elegant, before sliding open on seamless hinges. No fanfare. No grand display.
He liked that.
Inside, the room was as he'd left it. Sparse, ordered, deliberately unimpressive. Most nobles dressed their rooms with imported carpets, glamour-shifted portraits, or enchanted window illusions showing the view of their family estate.
Lucavion had none of that.
