Chapter 4: Cracks in the Plan
Adrian's fingers cramped as he etched another rune onto a copper disc, the candle in his dorm flickering like it was as tired as he was. Four days into the group project, and he was running on grit and bad tea. The shield design—his idea to absorb magic—was coming together, but it was a beast to stabilize. One wrong rune, and it'd fizzle out. Or worse, explode.
He leaned back, rubbing his neck. The Academy was a pressure cooker, and Cassian's threats weren't helping. Yesterday, someone had slipped a note under his door: Leave, or bleed. No signature, but the serpent-crest wax seal screamed Draven. Adrian had burned it, but the words stuck like mud.
Lira and Toren were his lifeline, but trust was a tightrope. Lira was solid—her focus on the project's materials kept them on track—but Toren was a wild card. He'd been late to their last meeting, muttering about "family business." Adrian knew that game: nobles, even disgraced ones, always had angles.
A knock jolted him. Lira stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her scarf slipping off her curls. "You look like death," she said. "Toren's waiting in the workshop. Says he's got a breakthrough."
Adrian grabbed his disc and followed, unease gnawing at him. The workshop, a cluttered room of tools and glowing crystals, hummed with energy. Toren was hunched over a table, tinkering with a metal frame. He flashed a grin. "Corveth, check this. I tweaked the absorption matrix. It's holding steady."
Adrian inspected the frame, impressed despite himself. Toren's work was sloppy but clever, like a half-finished painting that still caught the eye. "Not bad, Vael. If it doesn't blow us up."
Lira snorted, testing a crystal's glow. "Let's not jinx it. We present in three days, and Elara's not grading on effort."
They worked for hours, syncing Adrian's runes with Toren's matrix and Lira's crystal array. The shield sparked to life, a faint hum rippling the air. Adrian felt a flicker of pride—his weak magic couldn't power it, but his brain had shaped it.
Then Toren dropped a bombshell. "Heard a rumor," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Cassian's team is sabotaging projects. They bribed a clerk to swap someone's crystals with duds last year."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "And you're just mentioning this now?"
Toren shrugged. "Didn't think it mattered till I saw Cassian sniffing around the supply room."
Lira cursed under her breath. "We need to guard our stuff. I'm not losing to that snake."
Adrian nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Sabotage was Cassian's style, but it also meant the Dravens played dirty beyond the dueling yard. If they'd framed his family, they'd cover their tracks here, too. The restricted archives were his best shot, and this project could get him there.
They locked the workshop and split up, Adrian heading to the library. He needed more on conduits to perfect the shield—and maybe a clue about that coded letter. The stacks were quiet, the kind of quiet that made every creak feel like a threat. He found a book on archive access: only students with top marks or professor approval got in. Elara was his ticket, but she wasn't easily swayed.
As he skimmed pages, a figure loomed nearby—Professor Elara herself, her robes stark against the dim light. "Late night, Corveth?" Her voice was calm but probing.
Adrian closed the book, heart thumping. "Just… studying, Professor."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not like the others. Most chase glory. You chase something else." She paused, then added, "Your project shows promise. Don't let distractions ruin it."
Was that a warning or advice? Before he could respond, she was gone, leaving him with more questions than answers.
Back at the dorm, Adrian couldn't sleep. Elara's words, Toren's rumor, and the Draven note churned in his head. He was a mouse in a hawk's nest, and every move felt like a trap. But he'd survived exile, hunger, and shame. This was just another fight.
The next day, disaster struck. Lira burst into the workshop, face pale. "Someone tampered with our crystals. Half are cracked."
Adrian's blood ran cold. Cassian. He checked the frame—still intact, but the crystals were the shield's heart. Without them, they'd fail. Toren arrived, cursing when he saw the damage. "I'll get replacements," he said, but his eyes darted away.
Suspicion flared. Toren had been late, vague about his "business." Was he playing both sides? Adrian pushed the thought down. He needed Toren—for now.
"We've got three days," he said, voice steady. "Lira, check the supply logs. See who accessed the room. Toren, get those crystals. I'll rework the runes to need less power."
Lira nodded, but her look said she felt the same doubt about Toren. As they scattered, Adrian gripped his disc, the metal warm in his hand. The Dravens wanted him broken, but he'd bend before he snapped. The archives, the letter, his family's honor—they were worth every risk.
He headed to class, the Academy's spires casting long shadows. He was still a pawn, but the board was shifting. And Adrian played to win.