Zephyr stormed down the polished obsidian corridor, the rejected contract still burning in his mind. 'Give up my name? Become a tethered hound? They truly thought I'd be desperate enough to kneel'.
He rounded a corner—and nearly collided with her.
Rachel Demios.
His older sister, one of the twins.
Clad in a robe trimmed with ceremonial fire-thread and obsidian-etched armor at her shoulders, Rachel was every bit the perfect heir the clan flaunted—cold, composed, and lethal. Her silver-white skin shimmered under the corridor's torchlight, her crimson eyes glinting with a predator's awareness.
Then he felt something.
Dread.
It wasn't loud, but it was unmistakable—a chill up his spine, a breath he couldn't take.
She stood still, watching him.
He looked for a moment, then continued on. But her voice, cool and emotionless, stopped him in his tracks.
"I can see you've finally accessed Aether."
He blinked.
"…How do you know that?" he asked, genuinely thrown. As far as he knew, only Nex, Serena, and himself were aware. Her next words cut clean through his train of thought.
"Anyone can tell. Your Aether is leaking."
'So that's it.'
It explained the odd looks—the sudden respect from guards and servants. He hadn't stabilized his core. Of course, he didn't know that. He hadn't read the foundational texts. His only guide was the fragmented memory of the previous Zephyr—who, unsurprisingly, had never awakened.
As he walked on, he realized she was following him.
"What do you want?" he growled, low and sharp.
Rachel's face turned innocent—mockingly so. "Just a chat with my dear brother. What, did I do something wrong?"
'Right. Apart from trying to kill me. Twice.'
He stopped, expression flat. 'Say what you want and leave,' his eyes said.
"You're not very smart man," she said, eyes cold. "Or maybe I should say... not very strategic."
He tensed slightly but didn't respond. She went on.
"You have no one protecting you, yet you've rejected what could have served as a shield for you."
"What are you saying?" he asked, irritation rising.
"I'm saying you're going to die," she said bluntly. "Brutally, I might add."
He frowned. "Explain."
"The academy isn't some safe haven. Things happen. Accidents. Disappearances. Especially when no one cares enough to ask questions. The instructors turn a blind eye. That's the truth."
He scoffed. "I can see you are still on eavesdropping on my business, thanks for the advice, but I'm good."
He turned to leave—but she wasn't done.
"I'm telling you this because I love you," she said casually. "It's best you die on your own terms."
Her words dug under his skin like hooks. She walked past him as if she hadn't just said something horrifyingly sincere.
"And how exactly do you know I'll die?" Zephyr called after her, his voice tense. "It's an academy—not a battlefield."
She stopped and turned, eyes meeting his.
"I'm speaking from experience," she said simply.
He stared.
'Experience...? Who the hell could've harmed someone like her? She's a walking weapon. Unless... she's not talking about being a victim.
Unless she's talking about being the one who—'.
"I-I don't suppose you've... killed someone before," he asked, voice low.
She looked him dead in the eye.
"What do you think?"
He stared at her, unsure if he felt more disturbed by the implication... or intrigued.
There was no pride in her voice. No shame either. Just the cold neutrality of someone who had long crossed lines most wouldn't dare approach.
Zephyr looked away first.
"I don't get it," he muttered. "It's an academy. Why is everyone acting like I've signed my death sentence?"
Raphel tilted her head. "Because you did."
Her tone didn't shift. If anything, it made the weight of her words heavier.
"You picked a fight with the royal family," she said. "She is not only the pampered little princess but she also has numerous little followers that would die to please her."
"I don't care about her or her followers". Zephyr gritted.
"You should care. I don't know much about the princess but I know she is magnanimous but her clan and followers aren't exactly like her." Her arms folded across her chest.
Raphel's expression remained unreadable. "You should've signed the contract, little brother. It was a lifeline. You don't get many of those."
"I don't need lifelines from a clan that once tried to drown me," he replied. "If they want my Aether, they can choke on it."
Raphel's fingers twitched slightly at her side. A part of her—it was clear—didn't expect this version of him. This unbowed version.
Her voice dropped low, colder. "You've made enemies today, Zephyr. Not just within the clan. The Crownkin don't take rejections lightly. And the royal clan... They remembers. You would have been better accepting the contract.
Zephyr straightened, the heat of the encounter still crackling beneath his skin. "They offered me a leash. I handed it back."
Her brow arched. "How brave. Or stupid. Hard to tell with you."
He smirked. "You'd know, wouldn't you? You've spent your whole life confusing obedience with worth."
Raphel's smile thinned, sharp as a blade. "And you've spent yours chasing scraps of affection from a family that buried you the moment you were born."
A tense silence stretched. The air between them was heavy with old wounds and unshed fury.
For a moment, neither moved. Just two ghosts from the same cursed bloodline—one groomed, one discarded—finally standing on level ground.
Then Raphel turned. "You've changed," she muttered over her shoulder.
Zephyr didn't smile. "You haven't."
He walked past her, leaving behind not just the echo of rebellion—but the tremor of something dangerous rising in his wake. He haven't even been accepted into the Academy and the path is already treacherous.