Chapter 3: Whispers in the Stacks
Adrian's boots echoed in the Academy's library, a cavern of towering shelves and flickering lanterns. The air smelled of old parchment and secrets, and he was here for the latter. Three days into his scholarship, and the weight of his mission—to find proof of House Draven's treachery—was heavier than ever. His ribs still ached from the duel with Cassian, but bruises were easier to ignore than the gnawing fear of failure.
He'd overheard a professor mention restricted archives, where old court records were kept. If the coded letter his father had referenced existed, it'd be there. The catch? Only top students got access, and Adrian was still a nobody with a fake name. He needed to climb the ranks, fast.
Slipping between shelves, he scanned for anything useful. His fingers brushed a dusty tome on magical conduits—maybe a way to boost his pathetic spark. As he reached for it, a voice cut through the quiet. "Lost, Corveth?"
He turned to find Cassian leaning against a shelf, his smirk sharp as a blade. Two lackeys hovered behind him, their eyes glinting with trouble. Adrian's stomach tightened, but he kept his face blank. "Just browsing. You here to learn or to lurk?"
Cassian's laugh was cold. "You think you're clever, don't you? That stunt in the yard won't save you next time." He stepped closer, voice low. "Commoners don't last here. Quit now, or I'll make sure you crawl out."
Adrian's pulse hammered, but he held his ground. "Threats are cheap, Cassian. You want me gone? Try harder." He turned back to the shelf, heart racing. Walking away was a gamble, but showing fear was worse.
Cassian didn't follow, but his parting words lingered. "You'll regret this, scribe."
Adrian exhaled, grabbing the conduit book and retreating to a corner table. He wasn't just fighting Cassian—he was up against the whole Draven machine. If they suspected his real name, he'd be dead before sunrise. He needed allies, but trust was a trap. Lira seemed decent, and Toren's offer hung in his mind, but he'd been burned by false friends before.
The book offered a distraction. Its pages detailed how conduits—like his glass bead—could amplify weak magic if etched with precise runes. Adrian's mind sparked with ideas. If he could craft something better, he might survive the next duel. He scribbled notes, ignoring the ache in his hand.
A shadow fell over his table. He looked up to see Lira, her curls spilling from a loose scarf. "You look like you're plotting a coup," she said, sliding into a chair.
"Maybe I am," Adrian quipped, closing the book. "What's your excuse for haunting the library?"
She grinned, but her eyes were serious. "Heard Cassian's got it out for you. Also, there's a new assignment. Group project, magical theory. Elara's picking teams tomorrow."
Adrian groaned. "Great. Another chance for Cassian to take a swing."
"Or for you to shine," Lira said. "You're not like the others, Adrian. You think three steps ahead. Use that."
He shrugged, but her words stuck. She didn't know his real name or his past, but she saw something in him. It felt… nice. Dangerous, but nice.
The next morning, the lecture hall buzzed with tension. Professor Elara stood at the front, her gaze sweeping the students like a hawk. "Your project: design a magical construct to solve a practical problem. Teams of three. Work smart, or fail publicly."
She read out names. Adrian's came up with Lira and—his stomach sank—Toren Vael. The lanky noble shot him a grin from across the room, but Adrian wasn't sold. Toren's disgraced family made him a potential ally, but loyalty was never guaranteed.
Cassian, paired with two Draven loyalists, glared at Adrian. The message was clear: this project was another battlefield.
After class, Adrian, Lira, and Toren huddled in a courtyard. Lira tapped a notebook. "Ideas? I'm thinking water purification. Practical, not flashy."
Toren leaned back, arms crossed. "Boring. Let's make a shield that absorbs magic. Impress Elara, scare Cassian."
Adrian hesitated. A shield was ambitious, but risky with his weak magic. Still, it could earn them archive access. "Shield's good," he said. "But we need a conduit to stabilize it. I've got a design." He sketched the rune from the library book, tweaking it for efficiency.
Toren raised an eyebrow. "You're a nerd, Corveth. I like it."
Lira smirked. "Less flirting, more planning. We've got a week."
They split tasks—Lira on materials, Toren on testing, Adrian on runes. As they parted, Toren clapped Adrian's shoulder. "Don't let Cassian get in your head. We're in this together."
Adrian nodded, but his gut twisted. Together sounded good, but he'd learned the hard way: promises were fragile.
That night, he lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling. The library's whispers, Cassian's threats, and Toren's grin swirled in his mind. He was a pawn in a game where kings didn't play fair. But he'd survived worse—exile, shame, a family torn apart. If the Dravens thought they'd break him, they were wrong.
He closed his eyes, vowing to find that letter. The truth was out there, and he'd carve his way to it, one clever step at a time.