Adrian sat cross-legged on his cot, the coded letter spread before him like a puzzle from a cruel god. The dorm was quiet, the other boys snoring, but sleep was a stranger. The parchment's symbols—swirls and slashes—taunted him, each one a piece of his family's lost honor. His eyes burned from hours of staring, but giving up wasn't an option. The Dravens had stolen everything; this letter was his chance to take it back.
He traced a symbol, his father's old lessons flickering in his mind. Valorian ciphers used patterns, not magic, to hide their meaning. A shift here, a mirror there—his pencil scratched furiously, decoding one word: Treason. His heart thudded. Another: Draven. This was it, the thread to unravel their lies.
The door creaked, and Adrian shoved the letter under his blanket. Lira slipped in, her scarf loose, eyes wide. "You're up late," she whispered. "Toren told me about the archive. You okay?"
He hesitated. Lira's concern was real, but the letter was his burden. "Fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just… studying."
She frowned, not buying it. "Cassian's bragging about getting you expelled. Says he's got proof you broke curfew."
Adrian's stomach churned. Proof meant someone had talked. Toren? He'd sworn on his family's name, but oaths could be empty. "Let him try," Adrian said, his voice sharper than he meant. "I'm not running."
Lira sat on the cot's edge, her voice soft. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. Whatever you're hiding, I'm on your side."
Her words hit hard, but trust was a risk he couldn't take. Not yet. "Thanks," he muttered, looking away. "I'll figure it out."
She left, and Adrian returned to the letter, decoding faster now. By dawn, he had it: House Draven bribed Lord Kael to forge treason evidence against Valorian. Proof in royal vault. His hands shook. The royal vault was untouchable, but this was the truth—his family was innocent. The Dravens had played the court like a lute, and he'd make them pay.
He hid the letter in his cloak and headed to class, exhaustion dragging at his steps. The lecture hall buzzed, students whispering about the coronation, now days away. Professor Elara's voice cut through: "Next assignment—individual research. Access to restricted archives for top performers."
Adrian's pulse spiked. Another shot at the archives could uncover more on the vault. He had to excel, no matter the cost.
After class, Toren caught him in the courtyard, his usual grin gone. "Cassian's got a professor in his pocket," he said, voice low. "They're pushing to search your dorm. Tonight."
Adrian's blood ran cold. The letter. If they found it, he was finished. "How do you know?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
Toren shifted, uneasy. "Overheard it. I'm trying to help, Corveth, but you keep looking at me like I'm the enemy."
"Because I don't know you," Adrian snapped. "Someone's feeding Cassian intel. If it's not you, who?"
Toren's jaw tightened. "Figure it out fast, or we're both done."
Adrian stormed off, mind racing. He needed to move the letter, but where? The workshop was too open, the library too public. His only option was to keep it on him, a risk that made his skin crawl.
That afternoon, he buried himself in the library, researching the royal vault. It was a fortress, guarded by magic and men. Getting in was a fantasy, but he'd find a way. He always did.
As dusk fell, he returned to the dorm, only to find chaos. Two professors stood at his cot, Cassian smirking behind them. "Search it," Cassian said. "He's hiding stolen records."
Adrian's heart stopped. The letter was in his cloak, hanging by the door. He lunged, but a professor blocked him, her magic pinning his arms. "Stay put, Corveth."
They tore through his things, tossing books and clothes. Cassian's eyes gleamed, but when they checked the cloak, his smirk faded. The pocket was empty. Adrian blinked, confused—then saw Lira in the corner, her hand subtly tucked in her sleeve. She'd taken the letter.
The professors found nothing, and Cassian's face twisted with rage. "He's guilty!" he spat. "You're protecting a thief!"
"Enough," the lead professor snapped. "No evidence, no charges. Corveth, watch yourself."
They left, and Adrian sagged against the wall. Lira slipped him the letter, her whisper fierce. "You owe me. And an explanation."
He nodded, guilt and gratitude warring in his chest. "Later," he promised. "Somewhere safe."
That night, he met Lira in the workshop, the letter between them. "It's about my family," he said, voice low. "They were framed. This proves it."
Her eyes widened, but she didn't pry. "Then keep it hidden. Cassian's not done, and the coronation's close. Whatever he's planning, it's big."
Adrian gripped the letter, its weight a vow. The Dravens thought they'd won five years ago, but he was their reckoning. The vault, the truth, his name—he'd claim them all, or die trying.