i was the ocean
you wanted rivers
i was the moon
you chased the stars
in the end
even stars
choose destruction
over life
…
Katsu woke to the sting of snow against his cheek and a dull, throbbing ache running down his spine.
The sky above was bone gray, cloudless. He blinked. Tried to lift his head.
The world spun.
His hands fumbled at the frozen aelbyrn, half-buried in ice, sleeves heavy with river water.
Boots crunched nearby.
Voices. Too many, all sharp and urgent.
Before he could focus, hands were already on his arms and shoulders, gentle but insistent.
Someone knelt beside him, wrapped him in a thick blanket, checked his pulse.
He saw the flash of a staff, a medic's blue insignia, a woman murmuring to keep him awake.
"He's conscious. Keep his neck steady. That's it—easy, easy."
They rolled him onto a stretcher, lifted him above the frost-bitten grass. Katsu's teeth chattered.
He couldn't feel his legs.
Every time he shut his eyes, all he saw was dark water, a blur of screaming faces, and a roaring sound that wouldn't leave his ears.
They carried him through the woods, past figures in gray robes and leather armor, past a ring of teachers who parted to let the medics through.
Someone took his name. He heard it passed along—Nori, Katsu, House Velthra—like it belonged to someone else.
Inside, the Academy's infirmary was warm, too bright, humming with the scents of bitter herbs and old stone.
They moved him to a bed, stripped off his wet coat and boots, pressed warm cloths to his hands and feet.
A doctor leaned over him, hair silver and clipped, eyes unreadable. She ran a light over his eyes, checked his pulse, took his temperature, marked it all down with a sigh.
"Katsu? Can you hear me?"
He nodded, jaw tight.
"Tell me what happened at the river."
He hesitated. Memory shivered, slippery as a fish in oil. "I… I was pushed. There were students. We were walking. I slipped. I blacked out. I don't remember anything after that."
The doctor's pen paused. "Nothing?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
She studied him for a long second.
"The others—your classmates—they're not doing so well. Most are sedated. Some are screaming, talking about monsters, shadows in the water. Some can't stop crying. None of them make sense."
Katsu's mouth went dry. "Are they…?"
"They're alive. But shaken." The doctor folded her notes. "You're the only one who woke up lucid. But that doesn't make you suspect. Trauma does strange things."
He nodded again, staring at the blanket. The ache in his shoulder throbbed, but it felt far away.
A man in a deep blue cloak stepped in—a teacher. "We need a statement."
The doctor nodded, stepping aside. The man sat at the foot of the bed, his eyes calm, expectant.
"Just the facts, Katsu. Anything you can tell us."
He ran through the story again.
The hike, the cliff, the fall, the dark. No memory. Nothing out of the ordinary.
The teacher looked disappointed, but not suspicious. "You're not in trouble. Just rest. If you remember anything, tell the infirmary staff."
He left. The room quieted.
Katsu tried to sit up, but his limbs felt full of sand.
A familiar face slipped in. Kairos, tall and grim, and Virenth, smaller, voice softer but eyes sharper. They closed the door behind them.
Kairos sat beside the bed, arms folded.
"All right. What really happened?"
Virenth leaned against the wall, watching Katsu's face. "You're safe. Nobody's blaming you. But we need to know."
Katsu met their eyes. He wanted to spill everything, but the words knotted in his throat.
"I don't know. I was with them, and then I wasn't. I don't remember anything after falling. I swear."
They watched him, silent. The air in the room tightened.
After a moment, Kairos sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. That's enough for now. Don't talk about this to anyone else. Not the staff. Not your classmates. Just keep quiet. Understood?"
Katsu nodded.
Virenth gave him a long look, then nodded too.
"Rest. We'll handle the rest."
They slipped out as quietly as they'd come.
The hum of voices in the hall faded.
Katsu stared at the ceiling, hands clenched in the blankets, listening to the echo of the river and the memory of teeth in the water, wondering if any of it would ever feel real.
He sat there, letting himself zone out.
His chin drooped.
Eyes blurring as his psyche seemed to drip out of him and into the white hospital sheets.
Every sound grew distant, the world soft and formless at the edges.He hardly noticed the hand until it pressed warm and steady against his cheek, tilting his face upward.
He blinked, struggling to focus, and his vision sharpened on a figure that shouldn't be there.
A gold crown, delicate and cruel, caught the sterile light.
An ivory cloak draped her shoulders, the fabric pooling in impossible folds that seemed both ancient and untouched by time.
Her hair was ink-black except for a blade of white falling clean over one eye.
Her skin was warm, sun-burnished, her jaw sculpted with the arrogance of royalty and the calm of something old as sin.
Her eyes were gold, not like coin or sunlight but like relics stolen from a dead god.
Piercing, patient, unreadable.
Her mouth curled in a smile that was almost holy; it could have been mistaken for the smile of a saint if not for the hint of hunger at its edges, a secret the priests would never confess.
He tried to speak, but her hand kept him silent.
Thumb gentle against his jaw, her other fingers curved with reverence and ownership.
As if she already knew every secret pulsing behind his eyes.
She eased herself onto his lap, straddling him. Her knees bracketing his hips, gaze locked to his.
She weighed nothing, a presence more spirit than flesh, but the air seemed to bend around her as if gravity itself answered to her will.
"My king…" Her voice held no heat, only recognition, a vow written in the bones of her words. "No one will ever treat you like that again."
His throat tightened.
"…Why did they do it? They could've just ignored me. Why make me the target?"
She studied him, head angled, eyes unreadable.
"Because they aren't ready for you—yet."
Her hand traced the line of his jaw, not gentle, not cruel, just certain.
"You lean too hard on what you were born with. Let them see your weakness. Say you have no basic magic, or that you lost it in the fall. Your choice. Either that, or break your promise to your father."
He swallowed, eyes darting away from hers.
Shame prickling under his skin.
"If I tell them I forgot, they'll think I'm broken."
She leaned closer, breath cool against his ear.
"Let them. The greatest power is patience. A predator never bares its teeth before the prey is worth it."
He felt her fingers trace his temple.
Soft and unhurried.
"You're House Velthra now. That name is a mirror and a blade. They'll try to define you by rumor and fear; let them talk. Give them nothing real to hold on to."
He hesitated. "And if they push again?"
Her mouth curved. Sweet, predatory.
"Next time, you'll know who your enemies are. Next time, you'll be ready to choose what you become."
She pressed her forehead to his, golden eyes filling his world.
"Remember, my king: hiding is not weakness. Waiting is not surrender. You are the storm behind the clouds, not the thunder they expect."
Then she vanished, warmth fading from his skin, the hospital lights flickering back to sterile white.
He sat frozen, her words burning beneath his ribs, the weight of choice settling deep in his bones.