Adrian's breath fogged in the chilly workshop, his hands trembling as he carved a new rune into a copper disc. The sabotaged crystals had cost them a day, and the project presentation loomed like a storm cloud. He hadn't slept properly in a week, and the bitter tea Lira kept shoving at him wasn't helping. The Dravens wanted him to crack, and he was dangerously close to proving them right.
Lira hunched over a table, sorting replacement crystals with a scowl. "The supply log was useless," she muttered. "No names, just 'student access.' Cassian's too smart to get caught."
"Or his lackeys are," Adrian said, not looking up. His rune was nearly perfect, designed to draw less power from the crystals. If it worked, their shield might still impress Elara. If it didn't, they'd be the Academy's laughingstock.
Toren burst in, his cloak dusted with snow. "Got the crystals," he said, dumping a sack on the table. "Had to charm a clerk and dodge Cassian's goons. You're welcome."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. Toren's grin was too easy, his story too neat. "You sure you weren't followed?"
Toren's smile faltered. "What's that supposed to mean, Corveth?"
"It means I don't like coincidences," Adrian snapped. "You're late, vague about your 'business,' and now our crystals are fine? After someone smashed the last ones?"
Lira's hands stilled, her gaze flicking between them. "Adrian, ease up. We don't have time for this."
But Adrian's patience was frayed. "No, we don't. So tell me, Toren, whose side are you on?"
Toren stepped closer, his voice low. "You think I'd sell you out? My family's as broken as yours—whatever yours is. I'm here because I need this, same as you."
The air crackled with tension. Adrian wanted to believe him, but trust was a blade that cut both ways. He'd seen betrayal before—friends who'd turned when the Valorians fell. "Prove it," he said finally. "No more secrets."
Toren held his gaze, then nodded. "Fine. But you're not the only one with ghosts, Corveth."
Lira cleared her throat. "Can we focus? These crystals won't align themselves."
They worked in uneasy silence, fitting the new crystals into Toren's matrix while Adrian's runes hummed faintly. The shield flickered, then steadied, its glow casting shadows on the walls. It wasn't perfect, but it was theirs. Adrian's chest loosened slightly—maybe they'd pull this off.
As they cleaned up, Lira pulled him aside. "You're too hard on Toren," she whispered. "He's rough, but he's not Cassian."
"Maybe," Adrian said, rubbing his eyes. "But I can't afford to be wrong."
She studied him, her expression softening. "You carry too much, you know that? Whatever you're chasing, it's eating you."
He looked away, her words hitting too close. The coded letter, his family's shame, the Dravens' shadow—it was a weight he couldn't share. Not yet.
The next day, the lecture hall was packed, students buzzing with anticipation. Elara stood at the front, her presence silencing the room. "Present your constructs," she said. "Impress me, or don't bother."
Cassian's team went first, unveiling a gaudy light orb that flickered more than it shone. Elara's frown said enough. Other groups stumbled—exploding conduits, stuttering spells. Adrian's stomach churned as their turn approached.
Lira carried the shield, Toren set the frame, and Adrian activated the runes. The shield hummed, a soft blue glow rippling across it. Toren lobbed a weak fire spell, and the shield absorbed it, the runes flaring briefly. The crowd murmured, impressed. Elara's nod was small but real. "Adequate," she said. "See me after for archive privileges."
Adrian's heart leapt. The archives. He was one step closer to the letter.
Cassian's glare burned from across the room, but Adrian ignored it. He'd won this round, and it felt good—until Toren grabbed his arm outside the hall. "We need to talk," Toren said, voice low. "I overheard Cassian. He's planning something big. Not just sabotage—something about the coronation."
Adrian's blood ran cold. The coronation was weeks away, a chance for nobles to flex their influence. If the Dravens were plotting, it could tie to his family's fall. "What'd he say?" he asked.
"Not much—just enough to know it's trouble. We need to dig deeper." Toren's eyes were earnest, but Adrian's doubt lingered.
"Fine," he said. "But no games, Toren. I mean it."
Toren nodded, and they parted, leaving Adrian alone in the courtyard. Snow dusted his cloak, the cold biting his fingers. Elara's approval was a victory, but Cassian's move loomed like a blade at his throat. The archives might hold answers, but getting there meant surviving the Dravens' next play.
He clenched his fists, the rune disc in his pocket a small comfort. He wasn't the boy who'd fled the court in shame. He was Adrian Valorian, and he'd fight for his name until it shone again. One truth at a time.