The stakes were too high for a darkness user.
There were only a few left alive—fewer still, sane.
It said a lot that most were driven to madness, many pushed to end their own lives.
There were stories. Dozens. Of darkness arcane users clawing out their own eyes, tired of the visions. Terrified.
Some said they saw their loved ones getting hurt. Others—being tortured. Their deepest fears made reality.
One rumuor spoke of a man who killed his wife, maimed his child, left the boy with a permanent eye injury… and then disemboweled himself in front of him.
That was just a whisper within the Arcane Tower.
There was one among the middle years—a darkness user who stood out.
Vincent. Vale.
He caught the attention of teachers—and, much to his displeasure, of some girls as well.
Despite the constant torment—and the faint blindness in one eye—Vincent clung to life. Not for any grand reason. Myabe out of defiance.
One day, he sat at his bench, calmly reading a history book.
He'd been lucky so far, keeping his powers at bay.
He was not so lucky at keeping drama out of his life.
"Vale. You—"
A voice broke through. One of his peers. A tall, strong knight-in-training. Keith. Boring.
Vincent didn't even look up. He already knew why Keith was here.
Some girl fancied Vincent. Keith fancied her.
Not Vincent's fault.
"Keith, I don't care. Leave me alone."
The flat tone only made Keith angrier. It sounded mocking. Superior.
"No! I challenge you. Officially this time!"
Vincent finally looked at him.
"You're not serious." He smiled.
But he knew Keith was.
A challenge like that meant something. Not to their teachers, but to them. To the students.
They believed it brought favor from the Veil. Some old myth from childhood, passed down without ever being questioned.
"I mean it, Vale. I'm sick of that smug face of yours. You think you're better than everyone. Just go fuck yourself."
Vincent almost laughed.
"Okay. Let's do it. You asked for it."
Later that afternoon.
The Sphere buzzed with anticipation. Students crowded around to see the fight: Keith vs. the shadow boy with the rumors.
Inside, they faced each other.
"What do you think winning gets you, Keith?" Vincent asked. "You think she'll just fall into your arms?"
Keith's jaw tensed.
"You're an idiot," Vincent added. Calm. Cutting.
Keith lunged.
He attacked with his sword, slamming down with brute force.
Vincent dodged. Parried.
His twin daggers moved like air. He was a shadow. Fluid. Unbothered. He didn't even need to use his arcane.
The crowd started cheering for him.
He smiled.
"Face it, Keith. This is pointless."
He paused as Keith gasped for breath.
"Although I do appreciate the free training."
But then—Keith grinned.
That wasn't good.
"Let's see who the idiot really is."
He pointed down.
Vincent looked.
He was standing on an enchanted parchment.
A talisbane. A powerful one.
Instant petrification. Forbidden. Possibly permanent.
Keith raised his hand to activate it—
—and something slammed into the sphere.
Too fast to follow.
Vincent stumbled. Regained balance. Looked up.
His breath caught.
Her.
He'd heard of her. Everyone had.
She moved like royalty. Looked like royalty. Half-human, half-elf.
The daughter of the former State Arcanist.
But it wasn't her bloodline that kept people away.
It was her.
She was absurdly powerful. Fast. Untouchable.
She stood between them, holding the cursed paper in one hand, the other raised to break Keith's channeling.
"Tell me one reason I shouldn't use this on you," she said.
Keith stammered. So did Vincent.
Even getting into the sphere mid-duel was a feat most couldn't dream of.
"W-what are you—"
"Pathetic." Her voice was like steel.
"You knew you'd lose, so you cheated. That's weak. You lost the moment you walked in."
She crushed the cursed paper in her fist. Ashes.
Then turned to Vincent.
She was so beautiful. Unfairly so.
And now she was looking at him.
"Maybe this is rather useless advice, but you should watch your left side more. People like him exploit your blind spots."
He blinked.
"Uh… yeah."
She smiled. Then vanished.
Just like that.
Out of thin air.
After that day, everything changed.
He started seeing her. Really seeing her.
Not because she was suddenly around more. No—she'd always been there. In the back of class. In the library. Passing him in the corridor like a breeze he never bothered to notice.
But now?
Now she was impossible to miss.
There she was, again, by the window during arcane theory. Light catching on her gold hair like it belonged to the sun. Leaning forward ever so slightly when something piqued her interest. Lips parted just enough to breathe a question, like she was letting the thought bloom in real time.
He noticed the way she tapped her fingers. Rhythmic. Measured. Like she was keeping time and only she could hear it.
She always knew the answer. Always. But she never rushed to speak.
She waited. Weighed. Decided if it was even worth sharing.
And when she did speak—it was never to impress. It just was. Clean. Clear. A truth that didn't ask for validation.
He watched her during training too.
She never used more power than she needed. Never showed off.
She moved with restraint, terrifying precision. Like her arcane was folded into her bones, not something she had to summon. Born for it.
And her eyes—
Gods. Those eyes. Hazel, but never the same shade twice. Shifting like weather.
She rarely looked at anyone. Not really. But when she did—
It was like she saw them. Looked right through them.
He didn't know why it hit him like that. Why her.
Maybe it was the way she stepped between him and that bastard.
No flinch. No hesitation. Not for attention. Not for show.
Just… absolute.
Something inside broke. And it kept breaking.
He needed to thank her. Say something. Anything.
But she wasn't the type you just approached.
She wasn't reachable like that.
She moved in a different orbit—above everyone else. Untouchable.
So he waited.
Watched.
Hoped for something.
A moment. A reason.
And one day—
He found it.
Lara sat alone in the library, surrounded by towering books and papers. Her desk was a disaster-touched pile of notes, ink-stained fingerprints, and trembling patience. She leaned forward, eyes scanning a passage for the third time—still not getting.
In order for an object to be enchanted, the enchanter must mean the spell intended to bind that object.
She frowned.
What did that even mean?
Lara excelled at everything. Spells, theory, combat—every field couldn't hold in front of her focus. But not this. Not enchantment. And it bothered her more than she'd ever like to admit.
How could someone mean a spell cast on an object? The object didn't feel, didn't fight. It wasn't alive. She could recite the incantations perfectly. But the emotion? The meaning behind the magic? It always felt disingenuous.
It didn't help that the Academy refused to let students handle enchanted objects. Too dangerous, they said. The State Arcanist learned that the hard way.
Lara understood the rules. But understanding didn't make them any less frustrating.
She groaned softly, dropping her forehead into one hand, chin resting on her palm.
"This is useless," she muttered.
Her eyes drifted to the window beside her. The sun bathed the landscape in soft gold. The forest swayed gently, alive in that quiet, untouchable way that made her melancholic. For a fleeting second, she imagined herself out there, drinking honeywine with Claire under the canopy, laughing at something ridiculous.
She missed that.
Gods, she missed her.
But there was no time for that anymore. Not for things like that.
Claire was almost always in different classes now. She was stronger. Older.
The irony was, she had only joined the Academy to stay close to Lara.
Yet now? They'd never been more apart.
Lara tried not to dwell on it.
She had to be better herself.
She had to surpass her father.
She had to become the king's right hand, as State Arcanist, in his place. She owed her father that. She owed herself that.
The weight of that promise had shaped her entire world.
She exhaled, straightening, forcing her eyes back to the desk.
And then she froze.
Her breath caught.
She stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching lightly against the floor.
"…Wha—?"
A small velvet pouch laid neatly on her open notebook.
It hadn't been there a moment ago.
Crafted from dark red velvet, embroidered with thread so fine it looked almost illegal to touch. She stared at it, heart stuttering.
There was no one near her. Not a single soul in the library aisle.
She reached for it slowly, her fingers brushing the delicate fabric as though it might vanish. Carefully, she opened it.
Her breath left her.
Inside was a crimson rune.
Small. Perfectly round. Etched by hand.
And enchanted.
"That's—"
She touched it with shaking fingers. A faint warmth pulsed beneath her skin. It was a protection spell—basic in theory, but old. And powerful.
"Who…?" Her voice faltered.
Who had access to something like this? Could it really be a student?
No teacher would give her this, would they?
But more importantly…
Why?
Her chest tightened. Her thoughts scrambled for logic, but none came.
Someone had gone through the trouble of crafting this—for her.
After one last glance around the empty library aisle, Lara finally sat down.
Her heart was still pounding. Her hand curled protectively around the velvet pouch, fingers twitching with unease and curiosity. But she pressed forward, steadying her breath. She had a theory to test now. And this time, she wasn't alone.
The rune became her silent partner.
She studied it for hours—turning it, brushing her fingers along the carved edges, watching how the spell shimmered faintly beneath its surface. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Not rushed. Not careless. Someone had meant this.
And then, like a door unlocking, it hit her.
It had never been about the object at all.
It was about the intention. The emotion behind it. The spell wasn't anchored to the object—it was anchored to her. To the person it was intended for.
That's why she'd failed before. There had never been anything behind her enchantments except theory. But this—this rune had been made for her. The magic felt personal. It was personal.
A smile slowly spread across her lips—wide, genuine, stunned.
She finally understood.
But then, the smile faltered.
Who…?
Claire was away on assignment with the senior students. And Lara didn't have many friends. Any, really. She didn't make the time for that.
So… who would go through this kind of trouble for her?
"I see the rune helped you."
The voice cut through the quiet like a bell.
Lara startled in her seat, eyes snapping toward the open window.
A boy stood there.
Tall. Lean but solidly built. One eye hidden behind a dark cloth, the other catching the light in a way that made it seem to glow. He had dark, messy hair and wore darker clothes—completely out of place against the warm, golden glow of the setting sun behind him.
He looked like a painting.
Stunning.
"You!"
The word left her mouth before her brain caught up. She stood abruptly, the rune still clutched in her hand.
Her cheeks flushed a deep, warm red.
She looked at the rune.
Then back at him.
"You... made this?" she asked, her voice tight with disbelief. "For me?"
The boy looked down, a slow, almost bashful smile curving his lips.
"I… I just wanted to thank you."
She blinked. That made even less sense. "Thank me?"
Vincent nodded, then stepped down from the window ledge and walked a few steps toward her, slow and unsure.
"That day," he said, voice softer now. "When you stopped that bastard from cheating. You didn't have to. You didn't even know me."
She held the rune to her chest, instinctively.
He stopped a short distance away, not daring to close it.
"I didn't get to do this properly before, so…" he hesitated, then looked her straight in the eye, his voice finally steady.
"Thank you."
Lara's breath caught. "You really didn't have to. I—I just did what anyone would've—"
She cut herself off. She was stammering. She never stammered. She dropped her eyes quickly.
Vincent smiled, surprised as well by her reaction. He had expected her to be regal, untouchable. Maybe even cold.
But instead, she was... sweet.
"I didn't think it was fair," she said. "You didn't deserve that."
Lara finally looked up at him.
There was something honest in his expression. Something uncertain and kind altogether.
"You didn't have to go through all this trouble just for that," she said, holding the rune out with trembling fingers. "You can take it back—"
But he gently lifted a hand, stopping her with a small gesture.
"No. I'd rather you keep it. I made it for you."
He paused. Then blinked, like the weight of his own words had just hit him.
"I mean—" he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away, "—it's enchanted to you. I wouldn't be able to use it anyway."
He gave a half-laugh, then took a step back, clearly flustered. "Anyway... sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll let you get back to your studies."
He turned, already halfway to the window.
"No—wait!"
But he was already gone, leaving behind just a faint hint of smoke.
The next day, Lara couldn't focus.
She sat through her lectures, nodded at the instructors, scribbled in her notes—but her thoughts were always somewhere else. Back in the library. Back at the window. Back at him.
And now, he was nowhere to be found.
She'd scanned the halls during every passing period. Looked for him in the library, on the training fields, in the dinning hall. Nothing. It was like he'd vanished.
She hated how much that unsettled her.
It wasn't like she normally cared. Not really.
But there was something about him.
The way he smiled.
The way he spoke—not boastful or charming, just completely honest. He made something for her and then disappeared before she could even form the right words. He didn't even wait for her to thank him.
She didn't know why yet, but she needed to see him again.
By evening, she was annoyed with herself. Her mind had gone in circles all day, and she was getting nowhere. On impulse, she made her way up toward the upper levels of the Tower. Places that were quieter. Less frequented.
The attic wasn't a place students went often—it was dusty, filled with unused furniture, cracked windows, and the smell of old spell books. But it was also open.
For some reason… her feet carried her there.
There is no way someone would actually be here.
But when she opened the creaking door to the attic, she stopped cold.
There he was!
Training alone.
His back was to her, shirt soaked with sweat, muscles taut under dim sunlight. Shadows flickered along the edges of the room. He wasn't just training, he was trying to control something wild. The energy pulsing off him was dark and unsteady.
He didn't hear her at first.
She watched, wide-eyed, as tendrils of shadow coiled around him. Over and over again.
Whatever he was trying to do wasn't working, but it was fascinating.
And then suddenly—he sensed her.
He turned sharply, the shadows flickering away in a hiss of smoke. His eye widened as he spotted her in the doorway.
"…You found me."
"I wasn't looking," she lied instinctively. Then frowned. "I mean—I wasn't expecting… I just thought…"
She gave up trying to explain it.
He said nothing. Just stared, breathless.
"I saw your magic," she said softly. "It's… intense."
He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a mess."
She stepped inside, slowly closing the door behind her. "Maybe. But messes can be trained too."
He looked back at her. Surprised.
She walked closer, carefully. "You don't have to do this alone. I can help you. If you want to."
He hesitated. "You want to train withme?"
"I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it."
They stood there for a moment—something unspoken passing between them. He wasn't used to people offering. She wasn't used to anyone needing her help. Not like that.
But in that quiet attic, something fragile was beginning to form.
He gave her a slight nod. "Alright. If you're sure about it."
"I am."
And that's how it began.
They weren't always in the same classes, but as soon as lessons ended, they somehow found each other.
Every evening.
Every time.
It started quietly—no words, just movements, rhythm, breaths. Their powers clashing and weaving, finding some sort of harmony and balance. But over time, the silence faded. They began teasing each other, laughing mid-duel, mocking each other's footwork or precision.
Then came the stories.
Memories. Dreams. Past traumas.
Secrets.
Slowly, without either of them noticing when, it stopped being just training.
One afternoon, the sun slanted low through the attic windows, casting golden rays over dust motes and their sweat-slicked forms. They had just finished another spar. This time, Lara won, barely. Vincent had fallen to the floor with a grunt, her air strand pinning him by the chest.
He'd raised his hand in surrender, and she collapsed beside him in an instant.
They both laid there, panting.
Then Vincent chuckled. "I was close."
Lara smirked, not even opening her eyes. "You get better every day. I'll give you that."
He turned his head toward her, still catching his breath. "No," he said softly. "You do."
She opened her eyes, surprised by the seriousness of his tone.
He looked at her with that one uncovered eye—serious now, completely unguarded. "You always want to be better. Stronger. But… Lara, you already are. You're stronger than anyone I've ever met."
Her breath caught in her chest.
"I think you must be holding back. A part of you would never want to truly hurt anyone." he added, voice low. "But everything you touch… just gets better."
He smiled gently. "Including me."
Lara blinked, stunned into silence. Her heart thudded once—too loud.
She turned her gaze away quickly, flustered. "… I am very capable of throwing you through that wall." She pointed to the closest wall to thier left.
Vincent laughed again, and the sound filled the attic like the sunlight.
"You can throw me down the whole tower," he said. "I'll still show up tomorrow."
The next day.
She was walking down the hallway, a bit in a hury to get to The State Arcanist's class.
That's when she heard the voice.
"Vincent, wait!"
It was a girl. Soft-spoken but clearly determined.
She slowed instinctively, just before rounding the corner. She wasn't trying to eavesdrop—not really—but something about the girl's tone made her pause.
"I just… I've been meaning to tell you," the girl continued. "I… I like you. I've liked you for a while now."
Lara froze, completely still, hidden by the edge of the corridor.
There was a long pause.
Then Vincent's voice, quiet and firm. "I'm sorry. I can't return that."
"Why?" The girl's voice cracked slightly.
"Is it because of someone else? Are you seeing someone now?"
Another pause.
"Yes," he said. No hesitation.
Lara's stomach dropped.
Her hand tightened on the book in her arms.
She hadn't even realised how much her heart was racing until that moment.
Someone else.
Of course there was someone else.
Why did I think…
She turned away before she could hear anything more. Her footsteps were quiet. Hollow.
She didn't show up to training that evening.