The days after the Crucible Trial passed in a strange haze. Word spread fast through Nightshade's winding halls—rumors of a secret ritual, whispers of a prince returned. Adrien could feel the eyes on him—curious, cautious, and some, unmistakably hungry.
He had survived the Echo Crucible. And now, nothing would ever be the same.
Classes became more than lessons—they were tests. Arcane instructors began speaking to him differently: not as a student, but as a variable. Kaelen tried to lighten the mood as always, floating through walls with sarcastic commentary and spectral cartwheels, but even he couldn't hide his concern.
"They're watching you, Ren," Kaelen muttered one evening, half-faded through the ceiling of their dorm. "Not just the professors. There's… others. I've seen cloaked figures where they shouldn't be. And the stone gargoyles? Two of them followed you for half an hour yesterday. One pretended to be a statue near the east courtyard. It blinked, Ren."
Adrien sat on the windowsill, the Dragonheart Gem heavy against his chest. "I know. I feel it too. Ever since the Crucible, everything's louder. More… alive. Even the walls seem to whisper sometimes."
"That's probably because they do," Kaelen said, grimacing. "Nightshade's built on older magic than even the professors admit. You wake up the wrong parts of this place, and the walls might just whisper back."
Adrien turned, brow furrowed. "What do you mean—'wrong parts'?"
But Kaelen only drifted down, eyes unusually somber. "I mean the kind of places even ghosts avoid."
That night, Adrien was summoned again—but not by the Headmaster.
A note appeared under his pillow, written in flowing violet ink on parchment that shimmered faintly in moonlight.
"Midnight. The Observatory. Come alone. — L."
Adrien considered ignoring it. But something tugged at him—curiosity, instinct… or maybe the Gem pulsing softly under his shirt, reacting again.
The Observatory was one of the oldest parts of Nightshade, a glass-and-stone tower where students studied celestial magic and ancient star-path rituals. At midnight, it was supposed to be off-limits. Which, of course, meant it was the perfect place for secrets.
He arrived just as the great clock in the Courtyard struck twelve.
The Observatory doors were ajar.
Inside, starlight spilled through the domed glass ceiling, casting fractured constellations across the stone floor. Shelves of ancient tomes and brass orreries filled the circular space, and in the center stood a girl in silver armor, her hair the color of frost, her eyes like burning coals in a winter fire.
"You came," she said, her voice soft but sure. "Good."
Adrien stepped cautiously forward. "You're the one who left the note?"
She nodded. "I'm Lys. Lysaria Vael."
There was something familiar in her face—something he'd seen in the vision during the Crucible. The girl at the tower. The silver-haired warrior beside the soul-flame crown.
"You were in my vision," Adrien blurted.
Lys blinked, startled. "You saw it too."
They stared at one another, the air between them suddenly heavy with unspoken recognition.
"I saw a ruined tower," Adrien said. "A blade made of flame. You were beside me."
Lys nodded, stepping forward. "It wasn't just a vision. It's a memory. Not from the past—from the future. A possible one."
She reached into a small satchel at her side and withdrew something wrapped in deep blue silk. When she unfolded it, Adrien's breath caught.
It was a fragment of crystal—identical in shape to the Dragonheart Gem, but duller. Dim.
"This was my mother's," Lys said. "She was one of the last Dragonbinders—mages born without dragon blood, but bound to protect the royal line. She said I would find the heir when the stars aligned again. And when the Crucible flared last week—I felt it."
Adrien felt something shift deep inside him. "Why now? Why all of this?"
"Because the Obsidian Hand is already moving," Lys said grimly. "And they have their own seer. They've seen the same future. One where the last of the dragons returns—and either saves the world or burns it to cinders."
She stepped closer. "We're bound to each other, Adrien. Whether we like it or not."
A gust of wind shattered the quiet. The door slammed shut behind them. The air grew cold. Kaelen materialized suddenly, breathless despite his ghostly state.
"We have company," he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Lots of it."
Through the fractured starlight, shadows began to slither beneath the walls. Whispering shapes cloaked in smoke, their forms barely humanoid—Obsidian Shades. Creatures summoned by the Hand to hunt and observe. Their presence confirmed what Lys had feared.
Adrien's fingers sparked instinctively with fire—but this time, it wasn't just raw flame. It danced in strange patterns, forming sigils in the air.
Lys drew a short blade inscribed with dragon runes. "Looks like we're skipping the introductions."
The Shades lunged.
Adrien met them head-on, unleashing a burst of golden fire that lit up the Observatory like a sun had bloomed inside it. The flames curved like wings, deflecting the Shades mid-air, then folding into burning symbols that bound them in place.
Lys slashed her blade through the smoke of another, the runes glowing in response. Beside them, Kaelen dove through a shelf, sending books flying, and sent one crashing ghost-first into a constellation map.
They fought like they had done this before. Like they were remembering something they'd only just begun to understand.
When the final Shade dissolved into cinders, silence returned to the Observatory.
Adrien stood in the aftermath, chest heaving, eyes glowing faintly gold. Lys lowered her sword.
"You've already begun Soul-Flame Weaving," she said, watching him with awe. "That was advanced combat patterning."
"I didn't even think about it," Adrien said. "It just… happened."
"That's how it starts," she said. "But we need to train. Hard. The Obsidian Hand sent Shades tonight. Next time, they'll send something worse."
Kaelen hovered in the air, rubbing his incorporeal shoulder. "Worse than smoke monsters? Fantastic. Can't wait."
Adrien turned to the broken door and the smoldering remains of shadow-creatures. Nightshade Academy had once felt overwhelming. Now it felt like the last bastion between him and a world unraveling.
He wasn't just a student anymore. Not just a prince.
He was a target.
And war was coming.