The mission, as Lyla was now insisting on calling it, was simple.
Sneak into the Headmistress's office after curfew.
Find the rumored hidden archives.
Don't get caught.
...Which essentially meant: break several major Academy rules, risk expulsion, and pray I didn't accidentally lose control of my Core again in the process.
Unfortunately, the entire plan relied on Lyla.
Which meant the plan relied on flirting, improvising, and blind optimism disguised as confidence.
I had never been a wing-it-kinda-girl. Eli raised me on strategies; if you didn't have a plan, you were already dead.
So here I was, creeping through one of the most guarded hallways in Velanor with a girl whose grand strategy was basically: vibes.
We set out just past midnight.
Velanor in darkness was nothing like Velanor at daylight. Instead of buzzing with voices, footsteps and emotions pressing against every wall, the halls were filled with an eerie type of stillness.
The blue lanterns cast long, cold beams across the floor, pulling the shadows out into stretched, unnatural shapes. The portraits on the walls, all stoic, important Core-bearers from centuries past, seemed to track us as we slipped by.
My Core twitched beneath my ribs, still recovering and still unreliable. Following close behind Lyla, I was trying not to imagine all the ways this could go wrong.
Lyla, meanwhile, looked like she was taking a leisurely moonlit stroll. Her curls pinned up with copper wire that gleamed every time she passed a lanternand her violet-trimmed shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make any man's eyes wander.
Her boots were clicking softly on the stone like she was walking down a runway.
"Did you have to wear those shoes?" I hissed.
"These are my quiet shoes," she whispered.
I stared at her. "Your quiet shoes."
"Serra," she sighed, patting my arm like I was an overreactive cat, "We've got this."
When we turned the last corner, I stopped. We were close enough to assess the guard situation now.
Two of them stood at the entrance to the Headmistress's restricted wing, tall, armored, and looking every inch the embodiment of 'don't-even-think-about-it.'
"Oh," Lyla whispered in delighted surprise. "They sent the pretty ones. Thank you, Universe."
"Lyla, don't—"
Too late, she had already stepped into the lanternlight, like it was her own personal spotlight. The guards stiffened instantly in full attention.
I could feel the air shift immediately. It became lighter and filled with the sweet jasmine scent of Lyla's perfume.
The guards didn't move, but the air around them tightened with the kind of stillness that usually happened before weapons were drawn or before someone made a terrible decision.
Lyla flashed them a smile that could have caused a regional conflict. I'd seen Lyla smile a thousand times in the short time I'd known her, and this smile was... different.
The kind of smile that said; 'I know all of your wants and desires, even if you don't.'
"Evening, gentlemen." Her voice dipped into a liquid-smooth tone, the kind that could only belong to Desire.
One guard cleared his throat. "Miss... you're out past curfew."
She pressed a hand to her chest. "A dreadful sin," she breathed, "I really do hope you'll forgive me for it."
The shorter guard's eyes widened, as if forgiveness had suddenly become the highlight of his career.
"This wing is restricted," he said, though it sounded more like a suggestion now.
Lyla tilted her head, curls spilling over her shoulder. "Restricted," she repeated, savoring the syllables.
"That's such an alluring word, don't you think? So... intoxicating."
Her magic slid into the space between them, warm, soft and persuasive.
It wasn't mind control.
It was... an invitation. Permission.
A gentle pull that made people want to say yes.
It brushed against me too, a soft warmth at the back of my mind, and for a heartbeat I understood how this kind of magic could be very dangerous.
"You can't be here," the taller guard insisted, but even he sounded like he hoped she'd prove him wrong.
"You're absolutely right," Lyla murmured, stepping closer, her voice lowering into the kind of softness that made even me lean closer. "But I didn't have a choice, you see. I came because I'm desperate."
Both guards straightened so fast their armor clinked.
"Desperate?" the shorter one echoed, dazed.
"Mhm." She lowered her voice. "To deliver a very important message. From the Headmistress herself."
The guards exchanged a startled glance.
"A... message?" the taller one asked.
"Oh yes. A message for her brave and handsome night guards."
I almost swallowed my own tongue.
That was the excuse she was going with?
That was her big plan?
She stepped into their space, not close enough to threaten, but close enough that her magic brushed their senses like a warm hand on the jaw.
"She said — and this is strictly confidential, of course — "
She leaned in closer, a soft whisper.
"'Be kind to beautiful women after curfew.'"
"That... doesn't sound like—"
"Well she didn't say it like that," Lyla admitted with a soft laugh, "but don't you think she meant to?"
She held their gaze for a few moments.
Their pupils dilated.
Their shoulders loosened.
Her Desire Core pulsing in soft violet, the glow visible just beneath her skin.
"It must be exhausting," she murmured, brushing a finger along the taller guard's pauldron. "All this discipline. All this restraint..."
The guard swallowed so loudly I felt it.
"Wouldn't it be exciting?" Lyla whispered. "To break the rules. Just once?"
She leaned back, eyes switching between both of them. Both guards looked a mixture of euphoria and exhaustion.
"Maybe you could... let me have a little peek inside?" she continued.
The tall guard's voice cracked.
"We... could lose our posts."
Lyla gasped as if he'd confessed a terminal illness.
"Oh, that would be devastating. For all of us. Truly."
Then her smile sharpened, luminous, wicked and utterly irresistible.
"But between us..."
Her voice dipped to a velvet-soft whisper.
"...I've never met a man who ever regretted saying yes to me."
The shorter guard melted completely.
"As long as it's quick," he breathed. "Fifteen minutes."
Lyla nodded softly, as though accepting a gift rather than winning a battle.
"You're doing a great kindness," she whispered.
She slipped past them before either guard could remember how to think, throwing me a triumphant grin over her shoulder.
"See? Easy."
I followed, muttering under my breath, "You're terrifying..."
She flashed me a smug little smile.
"I know."
"Desire has its perks," she said, something unreadable flickering for just a second. "And I do love perks."
We slipped deeper into the Headmistress's wing, the guards' footsteps fading behind us. The soft warmth brushed my cheeks as we walked, the same way the light had touched me the first day I opened my eyes in this strange place.
Where the rest of Velanor lived in cold blue lanternlight, this hallway glowed with soft, trapped sunlight. Above us, the arched ceiling rose into soft curves of white stone, dotted with floating lights, not lanterns, but small, hovering spheres that shimmered like suspended droplets of dawn. They drifted slowly, following a current I couldn't see.
Lyla slowed her steps; even she didn't dare make too much noise here.
We passed tall windows looking out over the gardens, though the darkness outside swallowed everything. Only our reflections stared back, ghostlike and framed in gold. It felt unreal, like we'd stepped into a pocket of the Academy untouched by night or time.
Lyla finally exhaled, voice hushed.
"I always forget how different it feels here."
"Different?" I whispered, though I had no trouble feeling what she meant.
She nodded. "This wing is the oldest part of Velanor. Apparently it was built by the first Core-bearers themselves."
I swallowed. The warm air pressed heavier against my skin now, almost aware of us.
My mind drifted to the last time I walked these halls. Scared, confused and desperate to find Eli...
The memory struck sharp: these same golden walls, this same too-gentle warmth, the same silence vast enough to swallow a scream.
Back then I'd been dragged through this wing by fear and grief, half convinced I was dying. Or dreaming.
The door to the Headmistress's office opened in a shower of golden rain, as if it had been waiting for us.
The room was exactly as I remembered it.
Tall bookshelves arched overhead, not cluttered but curated, every volume bound in black or blood-red leather, floating just above their perches.
The centre of the room was dominated by a single, sharp-edged desk made from polished obsidian. The surface was bare, save for a single quill resting in a dish of golden ink and a blank piece of paper.
At the far wall Core banners were lined, perfectly spaced and untouched. Five of them, one for each Core: Fear, Desire, Rage, Grief and Hope.
Behind them, a small door emerged from the shadows, its dark wood softened by age.
It looked ordinary, a stark contrast to the rest of Velanor's grandeur - until you noticed the lock.
A chain of gold clasped the center, its links glowing faintly and rhythmically, as though it held its own pulse. Connected between the two chains was a padlock so bright it almost looked out of place against the worn door.
At first glance, it was beautiful.
Then we stepped closer.
It wasn't just bright, it looked... alive.
The surface gleamed like molten metal, shifting subtly as though lit from within. Engraved across its surface were delicate symbols, curling and overlapping like vines made of light.
The links tightened with a low, bone-deep groan, the sound of metal remembering it had teeth.
I froze. Every hair on my arms lifted.
And then the lock spoke.
A thousand whispers crashed together at once, layered and wrong.
"SPEAK WHAT DRAGS YOU TOWARD WHAT SHOULD REMAIN CONSUMED BY TIME."
My eyes shot to Lyla in utter horror. "What the—"
Sudden pressure slammed around my chest, squeezing. Golden light burst from the lock, coiling around Lyla and me in a tight, shimmering band. I couldn't breathe or think.
"Shit," Lyla managed. "It's a truth-lock, Serra. And it's not the gentle kind."