Chapter Twelve :The Same Knife
Cal's distant voice was small but insistent. "Aurelia! Hey...answer me!"
The corridor wavered like sunlight on water. Her knees buckled, the walls shimmered, and suddenly the world was gone. Candles flickered along tall sconces, and polished marble reflected the glow back at her. Warm air carried a mix of perfume and wine.
Music pulsed softly from a corner, a heartbeat she couldn't ignore. She looked down and gasped. Her hands were small, delicate, clad in pale silk. A faint rose mark shimmered on her wrist, familiar, alive. She was inside someone else, someone who had lived here centuries ago.
A party stretched before her, bright and imposing, yet tense with unspoken rivalries. Faces blurred; only emotions pierced through. Delight, cruelty, anticipation. A figure moved through the crowd with a grace that cut:
Lyra.
She carried herself like a storm wrapped in velvet, every gesture precise, deliberate. And on her wrist gleamed a dark rose mark, curling like smoke, shadowed with malice. Aurelia's pulse stuttered at the sight, a mark so similar to her own, yet heavier, older, more dangerous.
Aurelia's vision glided forward. Lyra approached, a silver flute in hand, offering it to a guest near her. Then she casually leaned slightly, not recklessly, not by accident, but with purpose. Wine arced from the glass, glistening red against the candlelight, and landed on Aurelia's pearl gown. Shock shot through her. The laughter that followed wasn't kind; it was sharp, gathered around her like a knife.
"Oh, darling," Lyra sang, voice smooth as silk but edged with venom, hand brushing Aurelia's shoulder in mock concern. "Such a mess. Perhaps you should fetch a mop, daddy's little princess must know how to tidy up after herself."
Aurelia's stomach dropped. Her hands went to the stain instinctively, trembling. Shame rose hotter than heat, heavier than any physical touch. She wanted to shrink, vanish, become part of the floor beneath her feet.
From the periphery, someone stepped in firm, unwavering. Callum. Always there, always steady when cruelty reared its head. He crossed the space in two long strides, jaw tight, eyes bright with protective fire.
"Enough," he said, voice calm but deadly in its certainty. "That's enough, Lyra."
Lyra's lips curved briefly in surprise before returning to a razor-sharp smile. "Oh? And who will stop me? The little healer who fancies himself a knight?"
Callum ignored the taunt. He pressed a linen into Aurelia's hands, guiding her gently by the elbow. "Stand with me. Let's go."
Relief washed over Aurelia, tangled with the embarrassment still burning in her chest. They moved through the marble corridors, the music fading behind them. Up ahead, she glimpsed the king, Augustus, his face drawn, eyes flicking toward the scene they'd just left.
The lines of his mouth spoke of grief, frustration, a desire to act restrained by the invisible weight of court. He wanted to punish, to intervene, but he could not. Helplessness and authority wrestled in his expression, and Aurelia felt the sting of the injustice.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the vision loosened.
The warm candlelight faded, and the cold stone of the university corridor returned beneath her feet. Cal's phone glowed against his palm, his fingers trembling.
"Aurelia!! Look at me!"
She blinked, forcing her pulse to slow, blinking away the lingering heat in her cheeks. Cal's hands patted her shoulders gently, shaking her slightly. "Are you okay? You went white."
"I'm… just dizzy," she murmured, laughing softly to cover the tremor in her voice. "Sorry."
He didn't press further, letting the moment slide, though concern lingered in his eyes. Aurelia's thoughts drifted, still haunted by the vision: the humiliation, the dark rose mark, the quiet, simmering power of Lyra in that room. Her heartbeat reminded her of the intensity, the lingering sting of repeated cruelty.
As if mocking her focus, Lyra, her tormentor, appeared in the present, distributing gala invitations with a flawless, honeyed smile. "Well, well, Aurelia," she said, voice silky, eyes glinting with amusement. "You look… frazzled." Her minions' condescending giggles covered the hallway. "Perhaps a gala will lift your spirits? Bring friends, darling. It'll do wonders for your mood."
Aurelia's lips pressed together. She forced a polite nod and walked past, rolling her eyes inwardly. Thiat evil girl would never change. Apparently, she'd remain her target forever.
Back at the dorm, Amanda spotted her immediately. "I can tell! You and Professor Ardyn have… feelings for each other!" she teased, elbowing her playfully. Aurelia laughed, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous," she said, her smile lingering despite herself.
Amanda's attention then fell on a large poster: Lyra's gala. She practically bounced with excitement. "Oh! You have to go! Networking, fun, costumes, wine! Pleeease!" She batted her lashes in the most exaggerated puppy-dog eyes Aurelia had ever seen.
Aurelia groaned, rolling her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Fine. Only because your puppy eyes are painful," she said, letting a subtle smile lift the corners of her mouth.
The gala arrived like a tide of gold light, music, and laughter. Aurelia, Amanda, and Cal entered slowly, eyes taking in the room. Guests mingled, glasses clinked, and the warmth of the candlelight reflected off ornate decorations. Tension coiled in her chest as Lyra's presence pressed upon her, subtle and precise.
Lyra drifted among her guests with the grace of a predator. She offered polite smiles, gracious nods, but Aurelia sensed the undercurrent ... the same sharp, cutting amusement from the vision.
Moments passed. Aurelia tried to focus on chatting with Amanda, letting Cal linger nearby, observant, protective. The music swelled. The guests laughed, glasses clinked, and Aurelia began to relax, when she saw it. Lyra dramatically tripped, with a flick of her wrist, tipping her glass just slightly. Wine arced through the air and landed on Aurelia's gown.
Aurelia inner eye rolled with exasperation. Well, it seems history repeats itself. Two people tripping near her. Wine spills are officially a thing.
Lyra leaned in with exaggerated concern. "Oh dear, Aurelia! How clumsy… or perhaps I should say, how we are?" Her voice lilted sweetly, but the words carried the sting of memory. Cameras and phones caught the moment, snapping, recording, lingering.
Aurelia felt the familiar burn of embarrassment, mingled with anger. Her pulse thudded in her ears, but before she could react further, Cal stepped forward, arm offering quiet strength.
"Enough," he said firmly, steady. "Leave her alone."
Lyra's smile flickered, but she did not strike again. "Ah, we have a brave protector," she said, voice smooth but with a faint edge of amusement.
Ignoring Lyra's provocative words, Cal guided Aurelia toward the door, not a possessive grip, but a steadying one. Aurelia felt a rush of relief, but also the echo of memory, the teenage humiliation, the dark rose mark, and the sensation of someone standing beside her, protecting her, then and now.
Outside, the night air hit her sharply, a contrast to the warm, stifling tension of the gala. Relief mingled with lingering unease. Lyra may have repeated the cruelty of the past, but both times, Aurelia had someone beside her. Someone real. Someone who had always been there, whether in memory or in flesh.
Aurelia exhaled, tension unraveling slowly. The vision and reality intertwined, a reminder that some knives cut the same way, but sometimes, someone steps in to soften the blow.