Adrian's boots scuffed the Academy's archive floor, the air heavy with the scent of leather and time. Elara's approval had gotten him here—restricted archives, a maze of locked cabinets and dusty tomes. Somewhere in this crypt of secrets was the coded letter that could prove House Draven's treachery. His heart thumped, half hope, half dread. If he found it, his family's honor was within reach. If he didn't, the Dravens would bury him.
The archive was dim, lit by flickering crystals that cast long shadows. Adrian clutched Elara's pass, a slip of parchment that felt like a lifeline. He'd slipped away after curfew, the Academy's halls eerily quiet. Cassian's coronation plot, overheard by Toren, gnawed at him. Time was slipping away, and every step felt like a gamble.
He scanned the shelves, his eyes straining to read faded labels. Court records, trade ledgers, noble genealogies—none of it was what he needed. His fingers brushed a locked cabinet, its seal glowing faintly. A magical lock, of course. His weak magic couldn't crack it, but he'd read about bypassing wards. A rune, etched just right, could disrupt the flow.
He pulled out his copper disc, the one he'd used for the shield, and scratched a quick rune with a borrowed stylus. His hands shook—curfew was strict, and getting caught here would end him. The rune flared, and the seal dimmed. The cabinet clicked open.
Inside were scrolls, brittle and yellowed. Adrian's breath caught as he unrolled one. It was a court missive, dated five years ago—the year the Valorians fell. His eyes raced over the text: House Draven accuses House Valorian of treason… forged letter… royal advisor's testimony. His gut twisted. The advisor's name was Lord Kael, a Draven ally. This was close, but not the coded letter his father had mentioned.
A creak echoed behind him. Adrian froze, shoving the scroll back. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, approached. He slipped behind a shelf, heart pounding. A figure emerged—Toren, his lanky frame unmistakable in the crystal light.
"Corveth?" Toren whispered. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Adrian stepped out, suspicion flaring. "Me? How'd you get in? This is restricted."
Toren's grin was sheepish. "Followed you. Saw you sneak off. Figured you were up to something big."
Adrian's fists clenched. "You're spying on me?"
"No!" Toren's voice dropped. "I'm trying to help. Cassian's goons are circling. I heard them talking—someone tipped them off about you being here."
The words hit like a punch. A tip-off meant a traitor, and Toren's presence screamed guilt. But his eyes held no malice, just urgency. Adrian's mind raced. He couldn't trust Toren, but he couldn't face Cassian's crew alone.
"Fine," Adrian hissed. "Help me find a coded letter. It's from five years ago, tied to the Dravens. Move fast."
They split up, rifling through scrolls. Adrian's fingers shook as he checked another cabinet, finding nothing but tax records. Time was bleeding away. Then Toren called out, "Here!" He held a parchment, its edges marked with strange symbols—codes.
Adrian snatched it, scanning the text. The symbols matched his father's description, a cipher only Valorians could read. His chest tightened with hope, but before he could decode it, a shout rang out. "There they are!"
Cassian stormed in, flanked by three lackeys, their hands sparking with magic. "Corveth, you're done," he snarled. "Breaking curfew? Stealing records? You'll be expelled—or worse."
Adrian stuffed the letter into his cloak, mind scrambling. Toren stepped forward, voice calm. "Back off, Cassian. You've got no proof."
Cassian laughed. "Proof? I've got witnesses. And you, Vael, are a fool for siding with him."
The lackeys advanced, flames flickering in their palms. Adrian's magic was useless here, but his brain wasn't. He grabbed a crystal from a shelf, hurling it at the ground. It shattered, plunging the archive into darkness. "Run!" he yelled.
He and Toren bolted, weaving through shelves as Cassian's crew gave chase. Adrian's lungs burned, but the letter in his cloak was a fire of its own. They ducked into a side passage, losing their pursuers in the maze. Gasping, they slumped against a wall.
Toren wiped sweat from his brow. "You're insane, Corveth. But that was brilliant."
Adrian didn't smile. "Someone tipped them off. If it was you—"
"It wasn't," Toren cut in, his voice hard. "I swear on my family's name."
The oath hit Adrian hard. A noble's name, even a disgraced one, wasn't sworn lightly. He nodded, but doubt lingered. "We decode this letter," he said. "Then we talk."
They slipped back to the dorm, the Academy silent under a moonless sky. Adrian hid the letter under his cot, his mind racing. The cipher would take time, but it was real—a thread to unravel the Dravens' lies. Cassian's ambush meant they knew he was dangerous. Good. Let them squirm.
He lay down, exhaustion crashing over him. The letter was a victory, but the cost was steep. Trust was crumbling, and the coronation loomed. Adrian closed his eyes, vowing to stay sharp. The Dravens had taken everything once. They wouldn't do it again.