The sun burned over Ouroboros Academy, its light too bright for the shadows in Asher's head.
Asher stood in front of the Academy, the clocktower looming, its tick louder than a heartbeat.
The courtyard was quiet, but the air hummed, heavy with secrets.
His eyes locked on the spire, his thoughts a storm:
I never met Victor, but his shadow hangs over us.
Nico told me everything—how Victor shoved a drawing into Lira's hand, his last stand against Kal,sacrificing himself to save them.
It's been a week since we buried his body, and nothing's the same.
Nina and Nico patched us up—Rowan's migraines, Theo's bruises, Darel's deep wound.
The good news? We know who we are going against. The bad news? We don't know why or what he plans to do.
Kal's gone silent, like a snake coiled in the dark.
We found Victor behind the clocktower, crumpled, skin like ash, pale and dried.
The Academy didn't care.
"A nobody," they called him, no friends, no fuss.
They didn't know he faced Kal to save Lira.
We gave him a funeral, just us—Lira, Nico, Rowan, Theo, Darel, me. Under the moonflowers, we tossed starlilies onto his grave, their sweet scent thick in the air.
Lira's hands shook, her eyes wet, clutching the paper, which had a drawing in it, like it was her lifeline.
The neon-blue lanterns flickered, like the Academy felt her pain.
We stood in a circle, silent, the starlilies glowing under the moon.
Lira barely spoke, her fingers tracing the drawing's edge, her face a mask of grief.
I didn't know Victor, but I felt his loss in her eyes, in Nico's broken voice when he told me the story.
Lira's shut us out since then.
She stays in her dorm, sketching, barely talking.
Nico says she's a ghost now, her vibe dull, like the light's gone from her eyes.
She doesn't hate us—she's still our friend—but she keeps her distance.
Except with Darel.
With him, she's Lira again.
I saw them yesterday, tending moonflowers, her fingers brushing petals like they held his memory.
Darel gets her—they're bound by loss.
She lost Victor; he lost his badge to Theron's schemes.
Two wounds, one pain.
I watched from the courtyard, her soft laugh cutting through the silence, a sound I hadn't heard in days.
The moonflowers seemed to let her breathe, let her be Lira, even for a moment.
Nico tried reaching her, desperate to fix what broke.
Two days ago, by the greenhouse's cracked glass, the air heavy with earth and grief.
"Lira, you good?" he called, voice soft, scared to push.
She looked up, eyes flat and muttered, "Yeah." Then she turned, walked off, her steps heavy, leaving Nico staring at her back.
His shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets, guilt eating him alive.
He told me later, voice low, how he blames himself for Victor, aging himself to heal Darel.
He sees Lira smile with Darel and feels a stab of jealousy.
Lira's pain is his, but she won't let him in.
I caught Lira later, through her dorm window, under a flickering lamp.
She wasn't sketching Victor, like Nico thought—just starlilies, petals jagged, streaked with red ink, like blood on the page.
Her hands trembled, a crumpled drawing beside her.
Victor's drawing, the one Nico said he gave her in the rift.
Nico described it:
Lira's smile, bright as moonlight, starlilies around her. Victor's eyes weren't on the flowers—they were on her, soft, like she was his everything.
Lira traced it, smiled for a second, then sobbed, tears smudging the ink. It's her anchor, that drawing, keeping Victor close even as she pushes us away.
Kal's been quiet all week, no sign of his red-black skin or jagged scars.
Rowan, Theo, and I checked the clocktower Tuesday night, dodging prefects in the dark.
The rift was gone, the wall smooth, like it never existed.
The air hummed, heavy, like the Academy was holding its breath.
Rowan's been off since, rubbing his temples, but he won't say why.
I know he's hiding something—his migraines are worse, like he is hiding something but won't talk about it.
We think Kal's hiding, waiting to hit when we're off guard. The clocktower's tick feels like a countdown, each beat sinking into my bones.
Lord Theron's death shook the Academy.
His carriage burned that night, flames lighting up the courtyard like a warning.
The wake was cold, all stiff suits and fake tears under the chandeliers.
They'll investigate, but good luck finding who did it. I know what happened that night.
I walked in on Blake,stopped him. Theron fled the room, pale.
Blake turned on me, tears streaming, hands shaking on my jacket. "Twice now" he said, voice breaking.
But he's gone now.
Rowan saw him Tuesday, packing out of our dorm, bag slung over, eyes hard as stone.
A charred Farrow crest was found in the wreckage—Blake's mark.
I haven't told anyone about that night, his tears, his rage. The secret's heavy, like a stone in my chest.
Something strange happened yesterday.
Elara found me by the library, eyes darting like someone was watching.
"Asher, we need to talk," she said, voice low, urgent.
"I've got something to share, but I have a busy schedule. I'll call when I'm ready." Her sleeve brushed me.
My scars burned, gut twisting—why now, after all this while? She's been off since Morgan's death.
Her words felt real, but my instincts screamed trouble.
The week's been heavy, but life at the Academy didn't stop.
We still drag ourselves to classes, sitting through lectures on sigils and history while prefects patrol tighter since Theron's death.
Talus gave a speech at the wake, all calm and control, but his eyes flicked to the clocktower too often.
Yul's been watching us, his smile sharp, like he knows something.
Right now we're just waiting, letting things cool, but it feels like the calm before a storm.
Morgan's photo, is half-clear now, but the image still blurs.
It's not ready, but soon we'll know.
It's our next step, our next adventure, whenever it calls.
"Asher!" a voice called, snapping Asher out of his thoughts.
Nico jogged up, his hair grayer from the rift, eyes tired. "Hey, man," he said, voice low.
"Hey," Asher said back, forcing a smile.
Theo ran up, out of breath. "Yo, something happened," he said.
"Cafeteria lady found a rat and its family in the stew. They're still serving it—don't eat it."
Rowan walked up, smirking. "It's always been like that, didn't you know?" he said, his voice light despite his scar-touched nose.
Asher's face twisted. "Are you serious?" he asked, stomach turning.
Rowan laughed, eyes glinting. "Nah, man, relax."
Asher shoved him playfully, grinning. "You're the worst."
Lira appeared then, her steps slow, eyes distant. "Hey," she said, voice soft, nodding at us all.
"Hey, Lira," we said back, almost in unison.
Nico opened his mouth, trying to say more, but she looked away, her face closing off.
"Let's go," she said. "We'll be late for class."
They walked toward the Academy, together but apart.
Rowan and Asher argued in the background, his laugh echoing as I called him out for the rat prank.
The clocktower stood behind us, its face watching, the tick louder than ever.