The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the tall windows of Ayo’s room in the Gray Tower, casting golden rays across the cluttered space. The scent of old parchment and faint traces of wood polish mingled with the herbal aroma of Tessa’s steaming tea, creating an oddly tense stillness. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the floor, their edges rippling as if stirred by a breeze no one could feel, curling and shifting in restless motion.
Ayo sat against the far wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The air around him felt heavy, almost oppressive, his shadows coiling and uncoiling at his feet like living tendrils, occasionally brushing against the furniture. His golden eyes stared at the floor, unblinking, their molten glow reflecting the room’s dim light. Despite the crackling of a small fireplace, the room felt cold.
Ren leaned back in Ayo’s desk chair, his boots propped up on the edge of the bed. The chair squeaked under his weight as he tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it with practiced ease. “So,” he began, dragging out the word like it was a punchline, “how do we beat a noble with time magic? Maybe we just ask him to be late. Foolproof plan, right?”
Tessa, perched on the edge of the bed with her teacup cradled in her hands, sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “Ren, this is serious,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. “Ayo, this isn’t something you can face alone. We’re all worried about—”
Ren interrupted her with a lazy shrug, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I’m serious too. Just distract him with a deep question like, ‘If you rewind time and I punch you, do you feel it twice?’” He grinned, the crunch of popcorn punctuating his words.
Ayo’s shadows bristled sharply, curling higher around his boots like a warning. His head lifted, golden eyes narrowing as he fixed Ren with an icy glare. His voice cut through the room, low and sharp as a blade. “Do you ever take anything seriously, Ren? Or is everything just a joke to you?”
Ren froze mid-chew, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged again, forcing a laugh. “Hey, laughing’s better than sulking. You should try it sometime.”
Tessa placed her teacup down on the nightstand with a soft clink, her hands tightening into fists on her lap. “We’re not trying to make fun of you, Ayo. We’re trying to help.”
Ayo’s jaw tightened, his golden eyes glowing brighter for a moment. His voice turned defensive, almost bitter. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone to tell me what I can or can’t do.”
Tessa’s lips parted, her brow furrowing as she searched for the right words. “That’s not what it looked like when you fought Kaelen,” she said softly.
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The room fell silent, her words hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike. Ayo’s head snapped toward her, his molten gold eyes blazing brighter, streaks of crimson flickering at their edges. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and the shadows around him erupted outward, surging up the walls and across the floor in dark, writhing waves. The acrid scent of raw magic filled the room, sharp and metallic.
“Kaelen killed me,” Ayo growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Do you get that? He didn’t just fight me—he killed me. My heart stopped. I had a hole through my chest. I was dead.”
His breathing filled the room, heavy and uneven, each exhale sending ripples through the shadows. The tendrils coiled tighter, twisting up the legs of the furniture and creeping toward the others. Ren sat up straighter, his usual smirk gone. Tessa’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Even Eike, leaning against the doorframe, straightened, his golden eyes narrowing cautiously.
“I should’ve stayed dead,” Ayo continued, his voice rising with each word. “But I didn’t. And Kaelen got what he deserved. He didn’t hesitate to take my life, and I didn’t hesitate to take his.”
The shadows surged again, rising like jagged claws toward the ceiling. Tessa gasped as a tendril coiled around her wrist, pulling her sharply toward the door. Ren’s chair tipped over as another shadow hooked around his arm, dragging him with surprising force. Eike’s calm demeanor faltered as a tendril snaked up his leg, yanking him backward.
“Hey! What the—Ayo!” Ren shouted, struggling against the living darkness. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Ayo, stop!” Tessa cried, her voice tinged with panic.
Even Lirien, who had been silent until now, found herself ensnared by a tendril of shadow curling around her waist. Her emerald eyes flared with anger as she tried to twist free. “Ayo! That’s enough!” she commanded, her voice sharp and firm.
Ayo didn’t respond. His golden eyes glowed fiercely, the streaks of crimson intensifying as the shadows carried each of them out of the room one by one. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the force rattling the walls. Silence fell, broken only by the faint rustle of shadows.
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The shadows lingered at the door for a moment, swirling like smoke caught in a breeze. Slowly, they began to twist and shift, forming jagged, inky letters across the wooden surface. The message glowed faintly with an unnatural, pulsating darkness that seemed to drink in the dim light of the hallway.
LEAVE US ALONE.
The words shimmered ominously, each letter outlined in a faint, silvery glow, as though the shadows themselves were struggling to contain their form. The message pulsed rhythmically, mirroring the beat of a heart, as if it carried Ayo’s emotions within it—anger, pain, and a desire to isolate himself from the world. For a long moment, the shadows remained, their dark energy radiating an almost palpable sense of defiance.
Then, as though satisfied with their work, the tendrils began to recede. They pulled back into the doorframe, curling like smoke through the cracks and edges before slipping beneath the door. The final tendril lingered, pausing to trace the last letter as if emphasizing the words one last time. When it finally retreated, the message stayed behind, etched into the wood as a stark reminder of Ayo’s command.
The hallway outside was eerily quiet, the oppressive weight of the shadows still hanging in the air. A faint metallic tang lingered, sharp and biting, mixed with the faint smell of scorched wood where the shadows had gripped the door. The light from the overhead sconces flickered weakly, struggling to pierce the unnatural gloom that seemed to cling to the air.
Ren sat up from where he had been unceremoniously dropped, brushing off his jacket with an exaggerated huff. “Well, that’s one way to ask for alone time,” he muttered, though his usual smirk was absent, replaced by a flicker of unease. He tilted his head, squinting at the door. “Anyone else find it creepy how it’s... still glowing?”
Tessa stood frozen, her hands clutching the edge of her shirt, her wide eyes locked on the ominous message. “He’s never done that before,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s like... like the shadows have a mind of their own.”
Eike crossed his arms, his sharp gaze lingering on the words etched into the door. His tone was calm, but the tension in his posture betrayed his concern. “That wasn’t just anger,” he said quietly. “His shadows—they’re feeding off him now. The more upset he gets, the stronger they become.”
Ren frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the opposite wall. “Great. Just what we need. Ayo’s already stubborn enough without his shadows deciding to join the fight.”
Tessa shot him a glare, though her worry dulled its sharpness. “Ren, this isn’t the time.”
Ren shrugged, though his usual bravado felt hollow. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... they’re not just shadows anymore. They’re like... alive. Did anyone else feel how strong they were? It wasn’t like before.”
Lirien stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor as she approached the door. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her jaw tight with determination. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the carved words, but quickly pulled back as a faint spark of shadowy energy crackled against her hand.
“They’re protecting him,” she said, her voice low and resolute. “Or at least they think they are. But if they’re this strong now... we need to figure out what’s happening to him before it’s too late.”
The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Ayo’s outburst settling over them like a storm cloud. The flickering light from the sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the hallway, as though Ayo’s magic still lingered, watching them from the edges of the room.
Ren let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “So, what’s the plan? Do we just... leave him alone?” His tone was sarcastic, but the undercurrent of worry was unmistakable.
Lirien turned, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. “For now, yes. He needs time. But this isn’t over.”
Eike gave a single nod, his golden eyes thoughtful. “Agreed. But we need to be ready. Whatever he’s going through, it’s only going to get worse if we don’t do something.”
As the group lingered outside the door, the words on the wood pulsed faintly one last time, the shadows beneath the door curling inward as if sealing Ayo in his own world. The message remained stark and unyielding:
LEAVE US ALONE.
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The Gray Tower loomed over the group, its cold stone walls bathed in the pale glow of the moon. A tense, stunned silence hung in the air as they stood motionless in the hallway outside Ayo’s room, where they’d been unceremoniously forced out—not by Ayo himself, but by his shadows. Tendrils of dark energy had lashed out, twisting and slamming the door shut before any of them could protest.
For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of what had just happened seemed to press down on them, heavier than the chill of the night. Then, without a word, Lirien stood. Her emerald eyes burned with determination as she straightened her posture, her fiery red hair catching the faint light filtering through the narrow windows.
“We’re going to the Garnet Tower,” she declared, her voice sharp enough to slice through the silence. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode purposefully down the corridor, the sound of her boots echoing against the stone floor.
The Garnet Tower rose in the distance as they emerged from the Gray Tower. It stood as a solitary monolith under the faint moonlight, its spire piercing the dark sky like a silent sentinel. The runes etched into its ancient stone pulsed faintly, a rhythmic hum of magic that resonated in the cold night air. The sound grew louder with each step Lirien took across the courtyard, her movements steady and resolute. Behind her, the group hesitated for only a moment before falling into step, their confusion and concern simmering beneath the surface.
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“Lirien,” Ren called, quickening his pace to keep up. “Where are you going? Or do you plan to just storm the tower and challenge Ayo’s shadows to a duel?”
Her fiery hair whipped behind her as she spun on her heel, emerald eyes blazing. “I’m going to get answers.”
Ren raised a brow, his smirk unfazed. “From Caelith? What’s he gonna do, give us a bedtime story about shadow magic?”
“If he does, maybe you’ll actually learn something for once,” she snapped, turning back toward the tower without missing a beat.
Eike, walking a few paces behind, sighed deeply. “She’s not going to let this go.”
Tessa clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her soft voice breaking the tension. “Maybe she’s right. We don’t know enough about what Ayo’s going through. If anyone does, it’s Caelith.”
“Or Isova,” Ren added, his tone lighter. “She’s the one who actually fixes things around here.”
The group fell silent as they reached the tower’s entrance. Lirien grabbed the handle, but the faint glow of the glyphs intensified, sending a surge of energy through her hand. She winced but didn’t pull back.
“What the hell is that?” Ren asked, leaning closer to inspect the glowing runes. “Some kind of no-kids-allowed spell?”
“It’s a ward,” Eike explained, his golden eyes narrowing. “It’s meant to keep uninvited guests out.”
Lirien glared at the door, determination etched into her features. “Well, good thing we’re not guests.” She gripped the handle harder, the runes flaring brighter. For a moment, it seemed like the door would resist, but with a low groan, it swung open, the runes dimming to a faint shimmer.
Ren whistled, impressed. “Guess it likes you.”
“It knows better than to argue,” Lirien muttered, stepping inside. The others followed, the air growing warmer as the heavy door closed behind them.
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The Garnet Tower was steeped in quiet authority. The stone walls were lined with towering bookshelves, their contents glowing faintly from preservation enchantments. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their flickering lights casting long shadows that danced across the floor. The air smelled of aged parchment and polished wood, with a faint undertone of something metallic—magic lingering like a forgotten whisper.
Ren’s gaze wandered over the shelves as they moved through the winding corridors. “I bet half these books are older than Caelith. Probably banned everywhere else.”
“Probably for good reason,” Eike said, his voice steady but low. His posture was tense, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
As they approached the central study, the faint crackling of a fire broke the silence. Lirien didn’t pause to knock. She pushed the ornate double doors open, revealing the heart of the Garnet Tower.
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The study was spacious but cluttered, its walls lined with shelves that stretched to the ceiling. A large oak desk sat in the center, covered in maps, scrolls, and a glowing crystal orb that cast a faint blue light over the room. Caelith stood behind the desk, his silver hair catching the light as he glanced up from a parchment. Isova sat in an armchair nearby, a steaming teacup balanced delicately in her hands.
“Lirien,” Caelith said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. “What brings you here at this hour?”
“We need answers,” Lirien stated bluntly, stepping into the room. Her voice carried the weight of her frustration, and her emerald eyes locked onto his. “It’s Ayo.”
Caelith raised a brow, setting the parchment down. “Ah. Let me guess—his shadows are acting up?”
Ren leaned casually against the doorframe. “More like they’ve staged a full-on rebellion. They threw us out of his room and left us a lovely parting message.”
Isova’s gaze sharpened as she set her teacup down with a soft clink. “A message?”
Eike stepped forward, his tone measured. “They wrote ‘LEAVE US ALONE’ on his door. It wasn’t Ayo—it was the shadows themselves.”
For a moment, the room fell silent. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light flickering across Caelith’s face. He exchanged a glance with Isova, his usually composed expression darkening.
“Well,” Isova said, her voice light but carrying an undertone of concern. “It seems his magic is developing faster than expected.”
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Lirien took another step forward, her hands clenched into fists. “We’re not leaving until you tell us what’s happening to him. His shadows—they’re not just reacting. They’re alive.”
Caelith sighed, crossing his arms. “Because shadow magic, by its nature, is volatile. It’s willful. Add Nyvra to the mix, and you have a recipe for... complications.”
“Complications?” Tessa echoed, her voice trembling slightly. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Magic isn’t meant to reassure,” Caelith said. “It’s meant to be understood. And shadow magic, especially with Nyvra, defies understanding. It amplifies everything—the caster’s power, emotions, even their thoughts. Ayo’s shadows aren’t just his—they’re him. They reflect everything he feels, everything he fears.”
Eike frowned. “And what happens if he loses control?”
Caelith’s gaze turned somber. “Then they’ll control him.”
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To answer their unspoken questions, Caelith turned to a nearby bookshelf, pulling out a weathered tome. He opened it to an illustration of a towering spire surrounded by jagged ice formations. The light from the crystal orb illuminated the page, casting eerie shadows across the desk.
“This is Frostspire Plateau,” Caelith began. “And this is the legacy of Serathis Drelos—a Nyvra user attuned to ice. Like Ayo, his magic reflected his emotions, his ambitions. He believed he could master it, bend it to his will. But Nyvra doesn’t bend. It tests.”
He traced the image with a finger, his voice heavy. “Serathis created this plateau to showcase his power. But his connection to Nyvra grew too strong, too cold. In the end, he froze himself, his people, and everything they built. Frostspire Plateau is his tomb.”
Tessa’s eyes widened. “You think that could happen to Ayo?”
Caelith’s gaze was piercing. “If he doesn’t find balance, it’s not just possible—it’s inevitable.”
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The silence stretched until Isova stood, her movements deliberate and graceful. “Enough theorizing. I’ll speak to him.”
Caelith hesitated. “Isova—”
She raised a hand, silencing him with a look. “You’ve given them a lesson. Now let me handle the boy.”
Her confidence was unshaken as she turned to leave, her voice calm but firm. “Stay here. I’ll make sure he’s listening.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the moment settling heavily over them as Isova disappeared into the shadows of the tower.
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The hallway leading to Ayo’s room was unnervingly silent, the usual hum of enchanted torches almost entirely swallowed by the oppressive presence of shadows. Tendrils of inky darkness writhed along the floor and walls, their movements erratic and unpredictable. The faint, cold light of the sconces barely illuminated the corridor, leaving much of it cloaked in unsettling dimness.
Isova approached with a calm, measured stride. Her heels clicked softly against the stone, the sound sharp and purposeful. As she drew closer to Ayo’s door, the shadows shifted, recoiling from her approach as though instinctively avoiding her. Each step she took was accompanied by the retreat of the shadows, their edges curling away like waves breaking against an immovable shore.
The air grew colder, heavy with the metallic tang of magic, but Isova’s expression didn’t waver. When she reached the door, she placed a hand on the worn wood. The shadows around it pulsed as if in protest but made no move to resist her. Slowly, she pushed the door open, the hinges creaking faintly.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
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The room was dark, suffocatingly so. Shadows coiled around every surface, crawling up the walls and pooling in the corners like restless specters. The air was frigid, biting against her skin, and carried the sharp tang of raw magic—a sensation that settled deep in her chest like a weight.
Ayo sat slumped in the far corner, barely visible except for the faint golden glow of his eyes. His knees were drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them, and his breathing was uneven. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, curling and shifting with every labored breath he took.
Isova stepped inside, and the reaction was immediate. The shadows on the floor recoiled, parting like oil on water. They moved aside with each step she took, as if afraid to be crushed beneath her presence. It wasn’t deference—it was instinct, an unspoken acknowledgment of something they couldn’t resist.
“Go away,” Ayo muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. The shadows around him bristled, rippling outward like a protective shield.
Isova closed the door behind her, the sound echoing softly in the tense silence. She didn’t respond to his command, instead taking another step closer. The shadows rippled again, retreating further but never leaving him completely.
“I said, go away,” he growled, his voice rising. His golden eyes flicked toward her, glowing brighter for a moment before dimming again. The shadows stirred violently, but they still didn’t lash out.
The room was suffocating, alive with the restless energy of Ayo’s shadows. They writhed along the walls, twisting and coiling like serpents on edge, their movements erratic and unpredictable. The cold, metallic tang of magic saturated the air, sharp and biting, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Ayo sat curled in the corner, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, shadows pooling around him like a living fortress. His golden eyes flickered weakly, the light within them dim and uneven.
Isova stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. The shadows recoiled from her presence, retreating as though unwilling to touch her. Each step she took commanded the room’s attention, her calm, steady aura cutting through the chaos.
“Ayo,” she said gently, her voice steady but warm, “you’re at war with yourself.”
He didn’t look up. His head remained buried against his knees, and his voice, low and hoarse, barely carried over the restless shifting of his shadows. “Go away,” he muttered, his tone sharp but trembling.
Isova stopped a few feet from him, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “Not until you talk to me.”
“I said go away!” Ayo snapped, his voice rising with sudden anger. The shadows surged outward, their tendrils lashing toward her in jagged, violent arcs. But they stopped short, recoiling as though held back by some unseen force.
Isova didn’t flinch. She took another step closer, her eyes fixed on Ayo’s trembling form. “Your shadows might scare everyone else,” she said evenly, “but they don’t scare me. What’s really hurting you, Ayo? What’s buried so deep that it’s tearing you apart?”
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Ayo let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp, the sound cutting through the oppressive silence. “You think you know me?” he muttered, his voice low and filled with venom. “You think you can just walk in here and fix everything?”
“I don’t think that at all,” Isova replied, her tone calm but insistent. “But I think you need to let it out before your shadows destroy what’s left of this room—and yourself.”
Ayo’s breathing grew heavier, his shoulders trembling as his fists clenched tightly. The shadows around him rippled violently, their movements jagged and erratic. “Fine,” he muttered. “You want to know what’s wrong? Everything.”
He paused, his jaw tightening as his molten gold eyes flickered. “Ever since the summit, it’s like... I can’t stop thinking about how much better Caius is. He’s everything I’m not—noble, powerful, important. He fits into Lirien’s world. And me? I’m just... I don’t even know what I am.”
“You’re Ayo,” Isova said softly, taking another step closer. “And that’s enough.”
“No, it’s not!” Ayo shouted, his voice cracking. His shadows surged upward, coiling around him like restless smoke. “It’s not enough for them, for her, for anyone. Do you know what my parents thought of me? Do you?”
Isova’s calm expression faltered slightly, her brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”
Ayo let out a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I was five,” he began, his voice trembling. “I didn’t even know what I was doing. I made a flower... a stupid little flower out of shadows. I thought it was pretty. I gave it to my mom.”
His voice broke, and he laughed bitterly, the sound tinged with unbearable sadness. “She screamed. Called me a monster. Told my father they’d rather die than have a freak like me for a son.”
Isova’s chest tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. Ayo’s shadows flared violently, their movements sharp and chaotic, reflecting the storm inside him.
“The next day,” Ayo continued, his voice trembling, “I found them in their room. They’d hung themselves. Both of them. Just... gone.”
His breathing hitched, and tears welled in his glowing eyes, spilling over as his voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought... I thought everyone would blame me, so I ran. I grabbed a bag, stuffed it with whatever clothes and food I could find, and just... left.”
The shadows bristled, curling tighter around him like jagged claws. “I spent years on the streets. Hungry, cold, alone. And the worst part? It made sense. I believed them. I believed I was a monster. And now...” His voice grew quieter, his shoulders shaking. “Now I can’t stop thinking... What if they were right? What if they saw what I really am before I did?”
Isova’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain steady. “Ayo,” she said softly, her tone gentler now, “you’re not a monster. What your parents did... it wasn’t because of you. It was because of their fear, their ignorance.”
“No,” Ayo said, his voice hollow. “It was because of me. I’m nothing. Just some orphan with nothing to offer. How could Lirien ever want someone like that?”
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As the words left him, Ayo’s eyes began to flicker violently. The deep blue of grief and sorrow pulsed brightly, only to shift to a faint, glowing pink—a rare color, reflecting emotions he couldn’t even name. The transition was chaotic, the colors clashing and blending as tears streamed down his cheeks.
The shadows surged violently in response to his emotions, lashing out at the walls and floor. The metallic tang of Nyvra filled the room, thick and suffocating. Isova took another step forward, her voice soft but firm.
“Ayo,” she said, her tone almost pleading, “listen to me. You’re not nothing. You’re strong, and you’re worthy of so much more than you believe.”
But Ayo didn’t respond. His tears fell freely now, his sobs muffled against his knees. The shadows seemed to snap at her words, their movements growing more erratic and aggressive. Suddenly, they lashed out toward Isova, their tendrils coiling around her arms and legs, lifting her off the ground with startling force.
“Ayo,” she called out sharply, her voice calm but urgent. “Control them!”
The shadows didn’t respond. They carried her toward the door with a single-minded purpose, their grip tightening as if to shield him from the outside world. Ayo didn’t move, his head still buried in his arms as the tendrils dragged Isova from the room.
“They’re trying to protect you,” Isova said softly, her voice almost drowned by the hiss of the shadows. “But they don’t understand. You’re not alone, Ayo. You don’t have to be.”
The shadows ignored her words, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind her. Jagged letters began to form on its surface, their edges gleaming like fresh ink: STAY OUT.
The tendrils lingered for a moment, pointing toward the message as if emphasizing the command. Then they slithered back under the door, leaving the hallway eerily silent.
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The study was thick with tension when Isova returned. The group’s earlier frustrations had settled into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Ren leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by a rare seriousness. Tessa sat on the couch, her fingers gripping a cooling mug of tea. Eike stood by the fireplace, his golden eyes shadowed with concern, while Lirien paced near the window, her fiery hair catching the flickering light with each turn.
As the door creaked open, all eyes turned to Isova. She stepped inside, her usual composed expression marred by a heaviness that made even Ren stiffen. Closing the door behind her, she lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the group before settling on Caelith.
“Well?” Caelith asked, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, but his silver eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “What’s your assessment?”
Isova moved further into the room, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she glanced at the squad. “It’s worse than I anticipated,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with gravity. “Ayo is carrying far more than I think any of us realized.”
Lirien stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face Isova with her arms crossed tightly. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “What’s wrong with him?”
Isova hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she said, “His shadows aren’t just tied to his magic—they’re deeply connected to his emotions. And right now, those emotions are... volatile.”
“Volatile how?” Eike asked, his voice unusually tense. “What kind of emotions are we talking about?”
Isova’s gaze flicked to Caelith briefly before settling on Eike. “Fear. Pain. Grief. The kind of weight no one should have to carry alone.”
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“What’s he afraid of?” Tessa asked, her voice quieter now, her brow furrowing with worry.
“It’s not fear of losing to Caius, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Isova replied, her tone firm. “It goes much deeper than that. Ayo’s shadows reflect the wounds he’s carried for years—the summit simply tore those wounds open.”
Lirien’s emerald eyes narrowed, her hands tightening into fists. “What wounds?” she asked sharply. “What’s he hiding?”
Isova sighed softly, her gaze dropping momentarily. “When Ayo was five, his parents discovered his affinity for shadow magic. They... didn’t react well.”
Tessa’s eyes widened, her voice trembling. “What do you mean, ‘didn’t react well’?”
“They were terrified,” Isova said evenly, though her tone was heavy with unspoken sorrow. “Terrified of what he could become. They called him a monster. Told him they couldn’t live with the shame of having a child like him.”
The room fell deathly silent. Even Ren, who rarely let anything phase him, looked visibly shaken. Tessa covered her mouth with one hand, while Eike’s jaw tightened, his golden eyes darkening.
“And then,” Isova continued, her voice softening, “they took their own lives. Ayo found them the next day.”
Lirien’s breath hitched, her fists trembling at her sides. “What...?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “They... they just left him? Alone?”
“They made their choice,” Isova said, her tone turning sharper. “And that choice left Ayo to fend for himself on the streets for years. He’s carried the weight of their actions ever since.”
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Lirien took a step forward, her emerald eyes blazing with anger and something deeper—grief. “Why didn’t he tell us this? Why didn’t he say anything?”
Isova’s gaze softened as she turned to Lirien. “Because he doesn’t want you to see him as weak. Or worse, as the monster his parents believed he was.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Lirien snapped, her voice rising. “He’s not a monster. He’s—”
“Lirien,” Isova interrupted gently, holding up a hand. “I know that. But he’s spent his whole life believing otherwise. It’s not something he can unlearn overnight.”
Lirien’s fists clenched tighter, her fiery hair catching the light as she turned toward Caelith. “And you knew? You knew all of this and just... let him carry it alone?”
Caelith’s silver eyes met hers steadily, though a flicker of guilt passed across his face. “It wasn’t my place to tell,” he said simply. “Ayo’s pain is his own to share—or not.”
“That’s not good enough!” Lirien shouted, her voice trembling with frustration. “He’s breaking, and we’re all just supposed to stand by and watch?”
Isova placed a hand on Lirien’s shoulder, her touch firm but comforting. “Come with me,” she said softly. “We’ll talk upstairs.”
Lirien frowned, glancing back at the others. “Why upstairs? Why not just tell me now?”
“Because,” Isova said with a faint, knowing smile, “this is a conversation better suited for women. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to discuss it in front of everyone.”
Lirien hesitated, glancing at the group. Ren raised his hands in mock surrender, while Eike offered her a faint shrug. Tessa looked ready to join, but when Caelith gave her a pointed look, she quickly backed down.
“Fine,” Lirien said finally, her voice sharp but controlled. “Let’s go.”
As they ascended the staircase, Lirien’s footsteps were firm and determined, the fiery blaze of her hair reflecting her resolve. Behind her, the squad exchanged uneasy glances, their worry for Ayo etched clearly on their faces.
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The sitting room upstairs was bathed in the warm glow of low-burning lanterns, their flickering light casting gentle shadows on the walls. The soft scent of lavender and chamomile lingered in the air from the tea Isova had set on the table. The atmosphere was deceptively serene, a stark contrast to the storm raging within Lirien.
Lirien stood by the window, her arms crossed as she stared out into the dark courtyard below. Her fiery hair fell loosely over her shoulders, catching the golden light as it swayed with her sharp, restless movements. She refused to sit, refused to meet Isova’s gaze, even as the older woman moved gracefully about the room.
Isova placed a steaming cup of tea on the small table near Lirien and then sat down in one of the armchairs, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. “Drink,” she said simply, gesturing to the cup. “You’ll need it.”
Lirien didn’t move at first, her emerald eyes still fixed on the courtyard. “You’re really not going to sugarcoat this, are you?” she asked, her tone sharp.
Isova smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t respect me if I did.”
With a reluctant sigh, Lirien turned away from the window and sank into the chair opposite Isova. She picked up the cup but didn’t drink, her fingers tightening around the warm porcelain. “Just tell me,” she said, her voice low. “What’s really going on with him?”
Isova studied her for a moment, her expression softening. “Ayo is fighting a battle within himself,” she said gently. “One he’s been fighting for years—long before he ever met you.”
Lirien’s jaw tightened, her gaze dropping to the tea in her hands. “I know that. But... why won’t he let us help him?”
“Because he doesn’t think he deserves it,” Isova replied. “His parents made sure of that. What they did to him—what they said to him—those wounds don’t just heal. They fester.”
Lirien looked up sharply, her emerald eyes blazing. “They’re gone. They can’t hurt him anymore.”
“No,” Isova agreed. “But their words live on in his mind. Every time he looks in the mirror, every time he uses his shadows, he hears their voices telling him he’s a monster. That he’s unworthy. That he’s alone.”
Lirien’s hands trembled, the tea rippling in the cup. “He’s not alone,” she said fiercely. “He has us. He has me.”
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Isova leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing but kind. “Does he know that? Do you?”
Lirien blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Isova said carefully, “that you need to be honest with yourself before you can be honest with him. How do you feel about Ayo?”
Lirien’s emerald eyes widened slightly, and she set the cup down with a sharp clink. “He’s my squadmate,” she said quickly, her voice defensive. “My friend.”
Isova arched a brow, her expression calm but unyielding. “Is that why, despite being promoted to Gold Rank and given a room in the Gold Tower, it remains empty? Why all your things are scattered between Ayo’s room and the Silver Tower?”
Lirien’s flush deepened, and she looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Isova pressed, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve been promoted, Lirien. You’ve earned the right to have your own space. Yet you choose to remain tied to his.”
Lirien’s jaw tightened, her emerald eyes flickering with frustration. “It’s not a choice. It just... feels right.”
“Because it feels like home,” Isova said, her tone softening. When Lirien’s eyes widened in shock, Isova smiled faintly. “It’s not that hard to figure out, Lirien.”
The younger woman’s hands clenched into fists. “Fine. Maybe it does. But that doesn’t mean—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Isova interrupted gently but firmly. “You might fool others, but not me. Before you’re a queen, you’re a woman. And before you’re a woman, you’re human. There’s no need for these games.”
Lirien’s shoulders sagged, her resolve cracking under Isova’s steady gaze. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she admitted quietly.
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“I want you to be honest,” Isova said, her voice soft but insistent. “Not with me—with yourself. How do you feel about him?”
Lirien hesitated, her hands trembling slightly. “He’s... important to me,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I care about him more than anyone else.”
“Because you love him,” Isova said matter-of-factly.
Lirien’s head snapped up, her emerald eyes blazing. “I—no, it’s not—”
“Lirien,” Isova said gently, cutting her off. “It’s okay to say it.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the lanterns. Finally, Lirien sighed, her shoulders slumping as she buried her face in her hands. “I do,” she admitted, her voice muffled. “I love him. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?” Isova asked, her tone calm.
“Because he doesn’t feel the same way,” Lirien said bitterly. “And even if he did, I’m supposed to be a queen someday. How could I ever ask him to take on that kind of life?”
“You don’t have to ask,” Isova said firmly. “You just have to show him that he’s not alone. That he doesn’t have to carry everything by himself.”
The weight of Isova’s words seemed to settle over Lirien, her fiery resolve dimming into quiet vulnerability. She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the now-cold cup of tea in her hands. Isova stood, her movements deliberate and slow, and placed a gentle hand on Lirien’s shoulder.
“I’ll leave you to think,” she said softly. “But don’t take too long, Lirien. He needs you.”
As Isova left the room, the faint creak of the door echoed behind her. Lirien didn’t move. The moonlight streaming through the window bathed her in silver, highlighting the tears that silently fell down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook, the weight of everything Isova had said crashing down on her all at once.
When Isova returned to the study, the group immediately turned toward her. Ren raised a brow, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. Tessa sat on the edge of the couch, her hands fidgeting in her lap, while Eike leaned casually against the wall, though his golden eyes were sharp.
Caelith was the first to speak. “Where is she?”
Isova offered him a faint smile. “She needed some air.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t press further. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the wind whispered softly, a quiet reminder of the night’s lingering tensions.
As the conversation shifted back to Ayo, Lirien remained upstairs, staring out into the courtyard. The moonlight bathed the academy grounds in a cold, silvery light, and for the first time in a long while, Lirien allowed herself to cry.
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The study was steeped in heavy silence, the earlier conversation with Isova still lingering in the air. The faint crackle of the fireplace provided a subdued background hum, its orange glow dancing across the stone walls. Ren leaned back in his chair, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air with little enthusiasm. Tessa fidgeted with the hem of her tunic, her worry etched into every small movement, while Eike stood near the window, his golden eyes fixed on the moonlit courtyard below.
Caelith and Isova sat opposite the group, their expressions calm but sharp. The air was thick with tension, a collective unease permeating the room as they awaited the next move.
The door creaked open suddenly, and all eyes turned. Ayo stood in the doorway, his golden eyes burning with a quiet but seething intensity. His shadows rippled behind him like restless waves, trailing across the floor and up the walls. The temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly as his presence filled the space, commanding attention.
“Good of you to join us,” Caelith said evenly, his tone carefully measured.
Ayo cut him off, his tone sharp and unrelenting. “I have a question, old man.”
The room seemed to grow colder as his shadows bristled, their jagged movements mirroring the restrained fury in his voice. A faint twitch pulled at Caelith’s left eye, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise composed expression. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on the armrest of his chair, the barest hint of tension betraying his annoyance at the blatant disrespect. But he remained silent, his posture stiffening as he watched Ayo with a steady, unreadable gaze.
As Ayo stepped further into the room, a small tendril of shadows detached from his form and slithered toward the staircase leading upstairs. The movement was subtle, unnoticed by everyone except Queen Isova. Her sharp, calculating gaze followed the shadows, her expression calm but her thoughts racing as she pieced together the implications of what she had just seen.
They’re alive, she thought to herself, the realization both unsettling and intriguing. And they sense her upstairs.
She said nothing, keeping her observations to herself, though her attention remained fixed on Ayo and the strange energy that surrounded him.
Ayo kept going “Does time magic truly manipulate time itself, or is it just another trick? Something I can shatter if I throw enough magic at it?”
Caelith’s brows furrowed slightly, a hint of concern flickering across his face. “What are you planning, Ayo?”
Ayo’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling higher. “Just answer me.”
Caelith studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, his voice calm but firm. “Time magic doesn’t ‘control’ time, not in the sense you’re imagining. It bends the perception of time—slowing, accelerating, distorting—but it doesn’t rewrite reality. Breaking through it isn’t about brute force. It requires precision and strategy.”
“So, it’s not invincible,” Ayo muttered, his golden eyes narrowing. His tone carried a quiet but dangerous certainty.
“No,” Caelith replied, his voice hardening. “But don’t underestimate it. If Caius knows what he’s doing, even the slightest misstep on your part could be catastrophic.”
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Upstairs, Lirien sat curled in the chair by the window, her knees drawn to her chest. Moonlight streamed through the glass, painting her tear-streaked face in silvery light. Her fiery hair spilled over her shoulders, its vibrant color muted by the dim glow of the lanterns. Her thoughts were a storm, Isova’s words replaying endlessly in her mind.
A soft rustling broke the silence, pulling her from her reverie. She blinked, her brows furrowing as she noticed a tendril of shadow curling under the door. It moved deliberately, snaking across the floor toward her. Her breath hitched as it climbed upward, shaping itself into shimmering letters that hovered in the air: “HELP HIM.”
Lirien stared at the message, her chest tightening painfully. She reached out, but the letters dissolved before her fingers could touch them. The shadow slithered back under the door, leaving her alone once more.
Her breath came in shaky gasps as she stood, brushing the tears from her face with trembling hands. Resolve hardened her features as she made her way downstairs, though her tears had not fully stopped.
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The study fell silent as Lirien entered. Her steps were slow, her emerald eyes puffy and rimmed with red. The shadows bristled briefly at her presence, shifting as though in recognition before settling once more.
Ayo turned toward her, his golden eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone colder than she had ever heard it.
Lirien hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer. “Ayo,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Please, just talk to me.”
His shadows curled higher around him, their movements defensive. “I don’t have anything to say.”
Tears welled in Lirien’s eyes as she closed the distance between them, her hands trembling. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered. “Just let me—”
Without waiting for his response, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His shadows surged violently, bristling as though they might push her away, but then they stilled. Slowly, they wrapped around her like a cloak, their movements hesitant but protective.
Ayo stood rigid in her arms, his jaw clenched and his breath uneven. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice cracked as he spoke. “I can’t do this right now.”
Lirien tightened her hold on him, her tears soaking into his tunic. “You don’t have to do it alone,” she whispered fiercely. “We’re here. I’m here.”
For a fleeting moment, something in Ayo’s posture softened, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The shadows around him began to shift again, curling inward and wrapping around his legs. Lirien felt the shift before she saw it, her heart sinking as she realized what was happening.
“Ayo, wait—” she started, but her words were cut off as the shadows consumed him. In an instant, he sank into the floor, disappearing entirely. The space where he had stood was empty, save for the faint flicker of firelight.
Lirien dropped to her knees, her tears falling freely now. Her fingers curled against the cold stone floor as sobs wracked her body. The room fell silent except for the faint crackle of the fire and the sound of her weeping.
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The squad exchanged uneasy glances, none of them knowing what to say. Ren shifted uncomfortably in his chair, breaking the silence with a muttered, “Well, that went great.”
“Ren,” Tessa hissed, shooting him a sharp glare. Her hands clenched into fists, her worry etched into every line of her face.
Eike’s gaze lingered on the spot where Ayo had disappeared, his golden eyes thoughtful. “He’s scared,” he said quietly, his voice breaking the tension. “But not of Caius. He’s scared of himself.”
Caelith’s expression darkened, his sharp gaze flickering toward the window. “That boy is going to tear himself apart if we don’t intervene.”
Lirien’s quiet sobs filled the room as the moonlight spilled through the windows, bathing the scene in its cold, silvery glow. The squad remained silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a tangible force.
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