The Tower of Healing was a world of white marble, hushed whispers, and the clean, antiseptic smell of mending-draughts. For three days, I was a prisoner in a different kind of cell. My body, which I had pushed to its absolute limit, was now being forced to heal at a magically accelerated rate. The bones in my arm were knit, the seared skin on my shoulder and chest was new and pink, and the concussion had faded.
But the pain had been replaced by a heavy, profound silence.
The academy was reeling. I was, for a brief, bizarre time, the center of its attention. Not as Lucian, Damien's shadow, but as "the victim." Healers spoke to me in gentle, pitying tones. Even Professor Valerius, the stern duel-master, had come to see me, his face grim. He'd offered a stiff, formal apology for "letting the duel get so out of hand."
I had just nodded, the mask of the brave, stoic victim fitting me as easily as all the others.
My true "reward," however, was Damien's attentiveness. He didn't just visit; he managed my recovery. The finest foods from the kitchens were sent to my room. Books of history and advanced mana theory—subjects I was now "allowed" to be interested in—appeared on my bedside table. He was a master polishing his most valuable tool, ensuring his "asset" was returned to pristine condition. Every kindness was another bar on the cage.
On the fourth day, I was finally cleared to leave. As I was dressing, Marcus Thorne, of all people, sauntered into my room.
"Greyfall," he said, a look of newfound, grudging respect on his sneering face. "Heard you were finally rejoining the living. That was... quite the show you put on."
"It was just a duel," I said, my voice rough from disuse.
"A duel?" He laughed, a short, barking sound. "Don't be modest. It was a culling. You took that commoner filth, and you made him show his true colors. You played him like a fiddle, and he snapped. Got him tossed out on his ear. My father was in the stands. He was very impressed. Said House Vrael has a man of true talent in its service."
The "man of true talent" line was aimed at Damien, of course. I was just the instrument.
"What... what happened to the others?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral as I buttoned my fresh uniform.
"The others?" Marcus scoffed, clearly not having considered them. "Oh, the little shield-maiden? Mara, was it?" He waved a dismissive hand. "She's gone. Vanished. The day after Aris was expelled. Apparently, she just... walked out of the dorms and never came back. Probably crawled back to whatever slum she came from." He shuddered in mock-disgust. "No great loss. The academy is cleaner for it."
He slapped me on my good shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie that felt like a brand. "Come. Lord Vrael is holding a small celebratory dinner tonight. And you, my friend, are the guest of honor."
My stomach churned, but I just nodded. The trio was gone. Thomas, crippled. Leonidas, expelled and magic-bound. Mara, broken and vanished. The "elegant harvest" was complete. I had, in a single week, successfully and utterly destroyed them all.
My first act of "freedom" was not to go to my dorm. I needed air. I found myself walking, my steps automatic, to a small, secluded garden near the Tower of Healing. It was my first time truly alone since the duel.
"I had hoped I was wrong."
The voice, cold and clear as a winter morning, cut through the silence.
I turned. Seraphina Vael was standing on the path not ten feet away. She was not in her uniform, but in a simple, dark blue dress. Her arms were crossed, and the pity, the curiosity, the contempt... it was all gone. Replaced by a cold, settled, and profound disappointment.
"Seraphina," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The one person who knew.
"I watched the healers work on you," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You were in agony. You were crying. I thought, for a moment, that maybe the man I saw in the courtyard—the prisoner—was still in there."
She took a step closer, her sapphire eyes searching my face. "But it wasn't guilt, was it? It was just pain. The cost of doing business."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, the words a weak, pathetic reflex.
"Don't," she snapped, the first flash of anger I'd seen from her. "Don't you dare insult my intelligence with that mask. Not after this. Not after what you did."
"I did nothing," I said, my voice hardening. "I was attacked."
"You were a matador," she shot back, "waving a red cape at a wounded, enraged bull. You didn't just let him lose control. You forced him to. You stood there and you goaded him, using his friends as your weapon. You knew what he would do. You needed him to."
She was right. She had seen the entire, invisible performance.
"Thomas's mind," she continued, her voice a low, trembling list of my sins. "Mara's brother. Leonidas's expulsion. You. It was all you. You, hiding in Damien's shadow, doing his dirtiest, most horrific work for him."
She finally stood directly in front of me, close enough for me to see the absolute, icy clarity in her eyes. "He was my friend, Lucian. He was rash, he was emotional, but he was good. And you... you, with your brilliant, twisted mind, you took that goodness and you poisoned it. You turned it into a weapon against him and destroyed him with it."
"He was... in my way," I said, the cold, pragmatic lie from the courtyard feeling even more hollow now.
"He wasn't in your way," she said, her voice filled with a sudden, weary sadness. "You're not even a person, are you? You're just a thing. A tool. And the worst part?"
She looked me up and down, from my fresh uniform to my arm in its sling. "The worst part is that you think you've won. You've gotten rid of the hero. You're Damien's favorite. You're the guest of honor."
She turned, her back to me, the ultimate gesture of dismissal.
"Congratulations on your new, golden cage, Lucian. I hope it was worth it."
She walked away, her footsteps silent on the grass, leaving me standing alone in the garden.
Her words, "golden cage," echoed in my mind. She was right. I had graduated. I was no longer a sidekick, no longer a simple tool. I had become something far worse.
I was the prized, monstrous pet of the villain, with a brand-new, diamond-studded collar, and a permanent, inescapable place at the foot of his throne.