Midnight in the Hall of Echoes wasn't just cold it felt haunted.
Stone walls whispered her name when she wasn't listening. Shadows clung to corners that didn't make sense. The torches flickered even without wind.
Lucian stood at the center, dressed all in black. His eyes burned silver in the dark.
"Late," he said without looking at her.
She stepped closer. "You didn't say I had to come running."
He finally turned, slow and precise. "No. But I expected better from someone who claims she wants power."
Seraphina squared her shoulders. "I don't claim. I crave. Difference is, craving hurts."
Lucian's mouth curved into something wicked. "Good. Then you're ready."
He tossed a dagger at her.
She caught it by instinct, but the moment her fingers touched the hilt, it burned—heat crawling up her arm like it recognized her blood.
"What the hell is this?"
"A soul-forged blade," he said simply. "It doesn't cut flesh. It cuts truth."
She frowned. "Truth?"
Lucian moved in a blur. One second he was a few feet away, the next he was behind her, breath on her neck, whispering:
"Show me who you really are."
The training wasn't kind.
Lucian didn't believe in limits.
He used spells to throw her off balance, illusions to trap her in her own fears, forced her to bleed intention into every move.
And when she failed? He didn't scold her.
He turned silent disappointed.
That was worse.
But Seraphina didn't crumble.
She burned.
She attacked. She pushed past her own panic. Her blade began to sing through the air. Her body remembered movements it had never been taught.
Hours passed like minutes. Until finally, breathless, sweat-slicked, she collapsed to her knees.
Lucian walked to her slowly, crouched, tilted her chin up with two fingers.
"Better," he said.
She didn't speak.
"Why do you want to be strong, Seraphina?" he asked.
She stared at him. "So I stop being prey."
He didn't smile. Just whispered: "Then start hunting."
By morning, her body ached in places she didn't know existed.
Rin noticed immediately. "What the hell happened to you? Did someone exorcise you with bricks?"
Seraphina grunted, barely able to lift her toast.
Then came the stares.
Today, it wasn't just whispers. It was glares. Open hostility.
Someone had dumped red paint over her desk in Spell Theory class.
The word slut dripped across her notes.
Before Seraphina could even react, Jasper walked in, saw the mess and stopped dead.
He didn't say anything. Just stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder.
"Who did this?" he asked quietly.
Silence.
Then Delara cleared her throat and said, "Maybe it's a warning. Some people don't know their place."
Jasper smiled slowly.
It wasn't kind.
It was pure threat.
"Funny. I was just thinking you'd look better choking on your own words."
The class went dead silent.
The professor strolled in a second later, breaking the tension, but Delara's glare burned hot.
After class, Seraphina expected to walk alone.
Instead, Damian was waiting at the hall exit.
Back against the wall. Arms crossed. Eyes darker than usual.
"You smell like you've been near Lucian," he said.
She stopped. "Is that your way of saying hello?"
Damian stepped closer, until she had to tilt her head to keep his eyes.
"I told you to stay away from him."
"And I told you to stop trying to leash me."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You don't understand what he's capable of."
She leaned in, voice like smoke. "And maybe I'm more dangerous than either of you think."
He grabbed her wrist not hard, but tight enough.
"I don't want you hurt."
Seraphina blinked.
It was the first time he'd admitted to wanting anything when it came to her.
But before she could answer, someone cleared their throat.
Jasper, again. Leaning against the stair rail, watching the tension like it was entertainment.
"Look at you two," he said with a smirk. "Sexual tension so thick I could bottle it."
Damian turned, eyes ice-cold. "Don't you have someone else to go corrupt?"
Jasper's smile didn't move. "But she's the most fun."
Seraphina rolled her eyes. "Boys. If you're going to fight, at least do it shirtless so the view's worth it."
Damian growled low in his throat and walked off.
Jasper winked. "Told you. I'm therapy."
That night, Seraphina found her bed already occupied.
Not by Jasper.
By Delara.
The blonde sat on the edge, legs crossed, holding one of Seraphina's stolen letters. Her fingers curled around it like a threat.
"You think just because the boys are sniffing around you, you matter?" she said, tone sugar and venom.
Seraphina didn't flinch. "I don't need them to matter. I exist fine without an audience."
Delara stood. "Then why do you keep stealing the spotlight?"
Seraphina stepped closer until their faces were inches apart.
"Maybe," she whispered, "because no one wants to look at the supporting cast when the main character finally walks on stage."
Delara slapped her.
Fast. Sharp. Instant regret on her face.
Because Seraphina just smiled.
"Now it's getting fun," she said.
Then shoved Delara out of the room.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She sat on the windowsill later that night, bruised cheek glowing under moonlight, and thought:
They want me broken. But all they're doing… is sharpening me.
Few Days Later
The academy's corridors whispered secrets, and Seraphina could feel the weight of every gaze, every hushed conversation that ceased as she approached. The incident with Delara had only fueled the fire, and now, the air was thick with anticipation.
In the library, ancient tomes beckoned. Seraphina sought solace among the pages, hoping to find clues about her lineage. The librarian, a stoic figure with eyes that seemed to see through time, handed her a book bound in crimson leather. "This might help," he murmured.
As she delved into the text, symbols danced before her eyes, resonating with something deep within. A particular sigil caught her attention a mark she'd seen in her dreams, etched onto her skin in visions.
"That's the mark of the Eclipsed," a voice interrupted her thoughts. Lucian stood beside her, his presence as commanding as ever. "A lineage thought to be extinct."
Seraphina's heart raced. "What does it mean?"
Lucian's gaze was unreadable. "It means you're more than you realize. And others will come for you because of it."
In the training grounds, tensions flared. Damian watched from a distance as Seraphina sparred with a fellow student. Her movements were fluid, precise, but there was a wildness to them, a raw power that unsettled him.
"She's changing," he murmured.
Jasper, lounging nearby, smirked. "Or perhaps she's finally embracing who she truly is."
Damian's jaw tightened. "We need to protect her."
Jasper's eyes gleamed with mischief. "From others or from herself?"
That evening, a masquerade ball was held in the grand hall. Students adorned in elaborate costumes danced under chandeliers that sparkled like stars. Seraphina, dressed in a gown of midnight blue, felt the weight of many eyes upon her.
A masked figure approached, extending a hand. "May I have this dance?"
She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. As they moved to the rhythm, she felt a familiarity in his touch.
"Lucian?"
He nodded subtly. "I needed a moment away from prying eyes."
Their dance was a blend of grace and tension, each step a silent conversation. As the music swelled, he whispered, "They're watching. Waiting. Be careful who you trust."
Later, in the quiet of her room, Seraphina traced the sigil from the book onto her palm. As she completed the symbol, a surge of energy coursed through her, illuminating the room in a soft glow.
Visions flooded her mind a realm of shadows, voices chanting in an ancient tongue, and a figure cloaked in darkness reaching out to her.
She gasped, the vision fading. The mark on her palm remained, glowing faintly.
A knock at her door startled her. She opened it to find Jasper, concern etched on his face.
"I felt something. Are you alright?"
She nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes. "I think I'm starting to understand who I am."
Jasper stepped closer, his voice low. "And who is that?"
Seraphina met his gaze. "Someone worth fearing."