The morning light filtered weakly through the tall, arched windows of the Academy, pale and uncertain against the cold stone walls. For most students, it might have been the promise of another ordinary day — classes, drills, gossip — but for Erevan Kael, it felt more like a warning.
Every footstep seemed too sharp. Every whisper brushed against him like fingernails across glass. Even the bells tolling the seventh hour sounded hollow, rolling through the spires and courtyards like echoes of something dying.
He barely noticed them. All he could hear was the hum of rumor — silent, heavy, alive.
The girl's sprite. Gone. Devoured.
The corridors themselves seemed to breathe the story, though no one dared speak it aloud. Erevan could almost feel her absence clinging to him, the corners of the halls darker, the air colder. Even the walls seemed to know.
And always, just behind him, Cassian's gaze — golden, steady, piercing. Watching. Waiting.
A pulse stirred inside him, deep and familiar. Harrax.
They taste your fear, child, the voice purred, soft and dark. It sharpens them. It makes you mine, more than you admit.
Erevan's hand tightened on the strap of his satchel. "Shut up," he muttered, low enough that his own breath nearly swallowed the words.
A chuckle unfurled through his ribs, slow and serpentine. If I silence myself, how will you ever hear the truth?
He walked faster, boots thudding against the floor like a heartbeat trying to outrun itself.
When he entered the lecture hall, the air felt thinner somehow. He took a seat near the front for once, hoping proximity to the instructor might muffle the whispers behind him. Master Quellan stood poised at the front, ink-stained fingers precise, his voice calm and steady — but even that could not smooth the tension that hung over the room like static.
Every glance felt like a trap. Every question, a test.
Erevan bit the inside of his cheek to steady his trembling jaw. His quill shook faintly as he copied the glowing runes on the board, ink smudging across the page like the residue of guilt itself.
When class finally ended, he lingered behind, pretending to pack his things. But the hall emptied too quickly, and when he glanced toward the door, only Cassian remained.
The other boy leaned against a desk, casual as a cat in the sun. His wraith coiled around him in slow, smoky arcs; the feline spirit at his side flicked its tail with lazy precision.
"You've been quiet lately," Cassian said, his voice smooth, almost lazy — the kind of tone that could be mistaken for kindness if you didn't know him. "Unusual for you. Normally you mutter complaints before the first bell."
Erevan froze, pulse thrumming at the base of his throat. "Maybe I don't have anything to say."
Cassian's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite not. "Or maybe you're hiding something."
The words landed like stones in Erevan's chest.
Strike him down, Harrax hissed suddenly, his voice a flash of heat under Erevan's skin. End his prying now.
Erevan's fingers dug into the satchel strap, knuckles whitening. "You're imagining things," he said tightly, forcing his gaze to stay level.
Cassian tilted his head, studying him for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Then he stepped aside, voice low as silk. "See you at drills."
The heat of that stare lingered long after he'd left the room, as though Cassian's gaze had burned itself into Erevan's skin.
The practice hall smelled faintly of sun-warmed stone, chalk dust, and old magic. Circles of wards glimmered faintly on the polished floor, shimmering like captured moonlight. Students gathered in pairs, summoning, adjusting, murmuring the crisp syllables of binding chants.
Erevan's stomach sank when Master Quellan read the list of pairings.
His name. And Cassian's.
A ripple of whispers cut through the air like blades. Cassian's faint smirk said everything he didn't need to voice. Erevan could feel the trap closing, the floor beneath him suddenly too thin.
Delicious, Harrax purred, stretching lazily within him. He wants to see. Show him, child. Show him what you are.
Erevan's throat went dry. He swallowed hard, summoning what little focus he had left. Shadows flickered weakly at his palms — fragile, uncertain, like smoke from a dying flame. Around him, students whispered again, soft but sharp.
Cassian moved with effortless precision. His wraith uncoiled like liquid night, his feline spirit leaping to his shoulder with sleek grace. Together, they were art — balance, control, power wrapped in gold and shadow.
Erevan looked small beside that.
"Ready?" Cassian asked, voice almost bored, but the gleam in his eyes said otherwise.
Erevan nodded, too quickly. His heart stuttered. Shadows stirred faintly at his fingertips.
The duel began.
Cassian's spirits moved like water — fast, fluid, merciless. Erevan's shadows barely held shape before they were torn apart, scattered by elegant precision. Gasps and whispers rippled across the sidelines.
Heat crawled up Erevan's neck.
Pathetic, Harrax growled, his tone cutting like glass. You let him mock you again. Again.
"I can't," Erevan hissed under his breath, his voice shaking.
You can.
Cassian's feline lunged, golden blur and teeth, slamming into Erevan's chest. He hit the floor hard, air punching from his lungs in a raw gasp.
Call me, Harrax whispered, voice low and coiled tight. Call me, and I will answer.
"No…" The word came out strangled.
The feline pressed its paw against his shoulder, snarling, fangs inches from his face. Around them, laughter sparked — soft, cruel, cutting.
Something inside him cracked.
Heat surged through his chest, wild and violent. Shadows burst from his palms — thick, writhing, alive — striking like vipers.
They slammed into the feline spirit, hurling it across the circle with a shriek that made the runes flare and the wards tremble.
Gasps. Screams. Silence.
Cassian staggered, eyes wide. His wraith recoiled, hissing, its edges dissolving into smoke. The protective sigils flickered under the strain, nearly collapsing.
Erevan froze, still half on the floor, his breath jagged, his hands shaking as the shadows writhed, then dissipated into nothing. The air reeked of ozone and cold.
Every eye turned toward him.
Fear. Awe. Confusion.
Cassian's gaze cut through it all — sharp, dissecting, unreadable. No mockery now. Only calculation.
Erevan's stomach twisted. He'd slipped. He'd shown too much.
The hall emptied slowly. Whispers clung to the air like smoke.
Erevan's hands still trembled as he gathered his things, every motion mechanical. When he finally stepped outside, the sunlight stung — too bright, too sharp.
His heart still raced with the memory of it — the heat, the power, the thrill that had torn through him like a second heartbeat.
Ah, Harrax purred softly, pleased. Delicious. The cracks spread already. How long before they see what you've become?
Erevan didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat felt raw.
He walked through the empty courtyard, the sound of his footsteps hollow against the stone. Behind him, the whispers followed — growing, curling, alive.
The courtyard was quiet when he reached it, too quiet for an Academy afternoon.
A thin wind swept through the marble arches, scattering leaves across the flagstones. The sun had already slipped behind the western tower, leaving everything caught between day and dusk—unsettled light, long shadows.
Erevan sat on the edge of the fountain, elbows braced on his knees, trying to breathe through the ache in his chest. The water's reflection rippled with each shaky exhale, and for a moment it looked as if his own face were fracturing in the surface.
He hated the way his hands still shook.
He hated the pulse that had felt so good when it shouldn't have.
It wasn't me, he told himself. It was him.
But even that thought rang hollow.
Footsteps echoed across the stone. He didn't have to turn to know who it was.
"Erevan," Aria's voice said softly.
He flinched. She rarely used his name like that—so gentle, so uncertain.
When he looked up, she stood a few steps away, her braid coming loose, silver threads catching the dim light. The worry in her eyes cut deeper than any accusation could.
"I heard about the duel."
"Of course you did." His tone came out sharper than he intended, brittle. "I'm sure the whole Academy knows by now."
Aria hesitated, then came closer, skirts brushing against the cobblestones. "They're saying you lost control."
He laughed once, short and humorless. "That's one way to put it."
"You could have hurt someone."
"I didn't."
"But you could have."
The words struck harder than he expected. He dropped his gaze, watching his reflection waver in the water. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw something else staring back—eyes too dark, a flicker of shadow beneath the surface.
Aria knelt beside him, voice gentler now. "Erevan, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But the words caught in his throat like splinters. What would he say? There's something living inside me? It whispers, it laughs, it hungers?
Instead he just whispered, "You wouldn't understand."
Aria's hand brushed his sleeve. "Maybe not. But I'd try."
Her touch was warm. Human. And for a second, it almost drowned out the other presence—the one that stirred deep in his chest, coiling tighter.
Sweet, Harrax murmured, voice sliding like silk across his thoughts. She reaches for you with trembling hands, thinking she can save you. How quaint.
Erevan's breath caught. Not now.
Always now.
He clenched his fists, but Aria didn't notice. Her eyes were searching his face, trying to find something she could still recognize there.
"I'm fine," he lied. "Just tired."
She looked unconvinced, but she didn't press. Instead, she stood, smoothing her skirt. "Cassian's been asking questions. He thinks the duel wasn't an accident."
Erevan's pulse stuttered. "Of course he does."
Aria hesitated at the edge of the path. "Be careful, Erevan. Please."
When she left, the air felt colder. The sound of her footsteps faded through the arches, leaving only the fountain's whisper and the echo of Harrax's laughter curling around the edges of his mind.
She's right, you know.
"About what?"
About your danger. Only she's wrong about where it lies.
A dark reflection shimmered in the fountain—his own outline, and within it, the faint suggestion of another. Horns. Eyes like coals drowned in ice.
He stood abruptly, heart pounding.
"Stop," he hissed. "Get out of my head."
But I live there now, Harrax whispered, voice velvet and smoke. You opened the door yourself. Do you remember the taste of it? The power?
The word taste sent a tremor through him. His skin prickled as if invisible claws had traced along it.
"No," he said again, softer this time.
But even as he said it, the memory rose—the surge, the light, the heat under his skin, that perfect heartbeat when the world bent around his will.
It had felt like freedom.
Night came too quickly.
His dorm was dim, lit only by the pale shimmer of the ward lines etched into the walls. He sat at his desk, pretending to study, the runes on the parchment blurring until they were nothing but meaningless curves.
The silence was thick.
He caught himself staring at his own hands again, the faint black marks that trailed up from his wrists. They looked like veins inked under the skin. They hadn't been there yesterday.
Beautiful, Harrax murmured. You're blooming.
Erevan jerked upright. "Stop talking."
Why? You ache for it. You ache for me. Every time you draw breath, I am there, humming under your ribs.
He pressed his palms against his temples. "You're not real."
Oh, but I am.
The candle flickered. The room seemed to breathe with him.
In the far corner, his mirror caught the faintest shimmer of movement. Erevan's gaze drifted toward it, unwilling, fascinated. The glass looked wrong—too deep, too dark.
He rose slowly.
In the reflection, his face stared back, pale, tired, eyes ringed with shadow. But behind that—behind him—something else waited. A figure like smoke given shape, smile faint and cruel, eyes burning with impossible light.
You see me now, Harrax said.
Erevan's heartbeat thundered in his ears. "Get out," he whispered.
The reflection didn't move.
No. You called. You fed. You bound. You are mine, Erevan Kael.
The glass trembled as if under a breath, and for a moment it felt as though something inside were reaching toward him.
He stumbled back, knocking the chair over. The candle guttered out, plunging the room into shadow.
Silence.
Then—soft laughter, curling through the dark.
Erevan pressed himself against the wall, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the mirror's faint gleam.
The surface had stilled again, smooth and perfect. Only his reflection stared back. But beneath the glass, deep and unseen, something moved—something waiting.
And somewhere inside him, a whisper that wasn't entirely fear said:
It felt good, didn't it?
He didn't answer.
Because it had.