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Chapter 9: Golden Hour
The sun spilled across the courtyard in molten gold, painting the towers of Qasr al-Jinan in soft firelight. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and roasted bread, the usual scent of early evening before the next round of training began.
Zamira sat at the stone table under the shade of a massive willow tree, poking idly at her food. Rami was beside her, balancing an apple on his knife tip like it was a sword trick. Sirius leaned against the pillar nearby, quiet as always, flipping through a spellbook with his usual calm detachment. Rosalith and Nova were arguing about who had stolen whose hairpins.
It had been three weeks since the incident with Kael and the gang from Flame Tower — three weeks since the whispers had finally started to die down. Qasr al-Jinan had gone back to its usual rhythm: the rush of lessons, the chaos of training fields, and the echoing laughter that filled the corridors after curfew.
Except now, Zamira found herself laughing a little more than before.
It started a week ago — the first morning Lucas had joined their table.
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A Week Ago
"Don't listen to them," said a voice from behind her, cutting through Kael's taunting like a blade through fog.
Everyone turned.
A tall boy stood near the fountain, sunlight bouncing off his light-brown hair and copper-tinted skin. His uniform was wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up, and his grin — easy, fearless, and kind — seemed to disarm even Kael for a heartbeat.
"I'm just saying," Lucas continued, strolling closer, "you'd think someone who brags so much would be better at insulting people. That was weak, mate."
A few students gasped; others chuckled. Kael's face twisted.
Lucas just smiled wider. "What? Didn't your mother teach you not to talk with your ego full?"
Even Rami choked on his drink.
Kael stormed off, his gang muttering behind him. And just like that, the tension in the courtyard cracked apart, leaving only laughter in its wake.
When Zamira finally looked up, Lucas was grinning at her. "You're welcome. I'm Lucas, by the way. Regulus Tower. And you—" his grin softened, "—you don't deserve any of that."
"Zamira," she said quietly, unsure what to think of him.
"Cool name," he said, sitting beside her without asking. "Means songbird, right?"
Her lips twitched despite herself. "It does."
"Then it suits you."
---
From that day on, Lucas became part of their group as if he had always been there.
He was kind without trying, funny without being loud. He'd steal bites from Rami's plate and somehow get away with it. He'd argue with Rosalith about sword forms, let Nova braid his hair during study hours, and even convinced Sirius to laugh once — a small, reluctant sound that made everyone freeze in shock.
Every afternoon, they'd train together. Zamira sparred with Lucas often; his movements were unrefined but fast, pure instinct born from surviving the streets. He wasn't as powerful as the others, but he was clever — turning mistakes into feints, losses into laughter.
He reminded her of sunlight — bright, fleeting, and almost painful to look at for too long.
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Present
Now, sitting at the courtyard table again, Zamira caught herself glancing at the empty seat across from her.
Lucas wasn't there yet. He was always late, but he always came running with that apologetic smile and some ridiculous excuse about chasing pigeons or helping a first-year find her way.
But tonight… the shadows grew longer, and he still hadn't shown up.
"Where's your sunshine boy?" Rami teased, elbowing her.
She rolled her eyes. "Probably lost again."
But a small thread of unease tugged at her chest.
Time skip
Morning at Qasr al-Jinan never stayed quiet for long.
The sun hadn't even climbed past the citadel spires when the courtyard filled with clattering trays, clashing voices, and the smell of toasted bread.
Zamira's spoon hovered halfway to her mouth. Across the table, Rami was whispering something to Rosalith while pretending to read a spell sheet upside-down. Lucas leaned over his bowl of porridge, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
"What are you plotting?" she asked flatly.
"Nothing," Rami said—too quickly.
Rosalith grinned. "Just… improving campus morale."
Zamira narrowed her eyes. "By 'morale,' you mean chaos."
Lucas slammed his hand on the table, unable to contain himself. "Okay, fine, fine. We're going to fix Kael's attitude problem."
"Oh no," she groaned, already knowing where this was going.
"Come on, Zamira," Rami said, leaning close. "After what he said last week, he deserves it. Just a harmless glamour spell. Temporary. Two hours tops."
Rosalith fished a tiny crystal vial from her pocket. The liquid inside shimmered pink. "Color transmutation potion. One drop in his hair oil and—poof!—instant fashion statement."
Lucas added, "Neon pink. Blindingly neon."
Zamira sighed but a smile tugged at her lips. "You're all impossible."
"Exactly why you love us," Lucas said with a wink.
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The Operation
They struck between morning lectures, when Kael always stopped by the Hall of Mirrors to preen. Rosalith distracted him with fake compliments about his "impeccable jawline," while Rami slipped the potion into the hair tonic bottle sitting on the vanity shelf.
Zamira and Lucas waited outside the corridor, suppressing laughter.
Moments later came a horrified yell that echoed through three towers.
Students poured into the hall as Kael stumbled out, golden hair now glowing electric pink, brighter than dragonfire.
"What in the seven towers—?!" Kael shrieked, pawing at his head. His reflection in every mirror around him screamed back.
Rami doubled over, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Rosalith clutched her stomach. Even Sirius, who had wandered in mid-commotion, muttered under his breath, "Subtle."
Nova appeared just in time to witness the chaos. "What happened?"
Lucas grinned. "Fashion revolution."
Kael spun on him. "You! You did this!"
"Correction," Lucas said sweetly, "we did this. Consider it a public service."
Kael stormed off to the alchemy lab, leaving a trail of glittering pink strands. The entire hall burst into applause.
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Revenge, Round Two
By afternoon, word had spread across Qasr al-Jinan. Kael's hair became the talk of every tower, and the pranksters walked around like minor celebrities—until Nova found the empty vial in Rosalith's pocket.
"You pranked him," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Without us?"
Rami gulped. "We were… protecting you?"
"From fun?" Nova crossed her arms. Sirius stood beside her, unreadable as ever, though Zamira swore she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Rosalith nudged Zamira. "Time for payback?"
"Oh absolutely."
They waited until evening drills. Sirius and Nova were practicing elemental synchrony—Nova channeling light, Sirius lighting. When the energies met, they sparked like fireworks.
Rami whispered, "On my mark."
Lucas released the trigger charm. A faint puff of powder drifted through the training hall.
The next flare erupted not in gold and shadow—but in a cloud of glitter. Actual, multicolored glitter.
Nova gasped as sparkles coated her hair. Sirius blinked through a haze of shimmering dust, his normally dark robes now gleaming rainbow.
For the first time in recorded history, Sirius sputtered. "What—what is this?"
"An upgrade!" Lucas shouted, darting behind a column.
Rosalith and Rami were already running. Zamira tried to stay serious, failed completely, and doubled over laughing. Even Sirius's glare couldn't kill the hilarity.
Nova looked down at herself, sighed, then burst out laughing too. "Fine! Fine, you win this time."
Rami raised his hands in victory. "Team Chaos forever!"
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Aftermath
As the sun dipped behind the glass domes, the six of them collapsed on the grass near the fountain, breathless from laughter. The air shimmered gold—the perfect, glowing hour that made the entire academy look like a dream.
Zamira leaned back on her elbows, feeling the rare warmth of peace settle in her chest. Rami was telling some exaggerated story about how Sirius had once smiled twice in one day. Nova threw a pebble at him. Rosalith was sketching Kael's new hairstyle in her notebook.
And Lucas—he was lying beside Zamira, arms folded behind his head, watching the sky burn orange and red.
"See?" he murmured. "Life's not all bad, you want to know something ." What is it? she says your like the sister i never had he says softly
She turned to look at him. His grin was softer now, almost wistful. Same for me your like the brother I never had. " obviously your never gonna find a brother better then me" he states.
For the first time, she thought maybe he wasn't laughing just for fun. Maybe laughter was how he kept from falling apart.
The bell tower chimed, calling them back to their dorms.
Lucas sat up, stretching. "Race you back?"
"Not fair," Rami protested. "You cheat."
"Me? Never."
They sprinted off, their laughter echoing through the courtyard until only the sound of wind remained.
And in that fading light, for the first time since she'd arrived at Qasr al-Jinan, Zamira felt something almost like belonging.
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The night had a way of softening everything—the laughter, the noise, the ache.
By the time the moon rose above the glass spires, the others had all gone inside, leaving the courtyard bathed in silver.
Zamira stayed.
The fountain still glimmered faintly from the earlier glitter explosion, each droplet catching starlight like shattered jewels. She breathed in the quiet, the cool air brushing against her skin. It was peaceful—until she heard it.
A sound, muffled but raw.
Crying.
She turned toward the old amphitheater near the edge of the courtyard. A shadow sat hunched on the stone steps, arms wrapped around his knees.
"Lucas?"
He stiffened. Quickly wiped his face. "Hey—uh, didn't think anyone was still out." His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
She walked closer, quiet but firm. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not." He laughed, but it was hollow. "Just… allergies."
"Right," she said dryly, sitting beside him. "Allergies that sound like heartbreak."
Silence. Just the whisper of the wind through the ivy.
Then, softly: "You ever feel like laughter's the only thing keeping you together?"
Zamira tilted her head. "Lucas…"
He looked up at the sky, eyes glassy in the moonlight. "You saw me today—smiling, joking, all that. Everyone thinks I'm this… bright person. But that's just noise. A cover."
Her chest tightened. "A cover for what?"
He swallowed hard. His next words came out like broken glass.
"For the fact that I don't have anyone left."
She didn't interrupt. Didn't move. Just let him speak.
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His Story
"I grew up in the lower districts of Summer Court. Not the pretty parts you see in stories—the alleys where the light never quite reaches. My mom worked at a glassblowing forge. My dad fixed carriages. We didn't have much, but we had enough.
Until one winter…" He paused, trembling. "There was a fire. A whole block went up. The forge collapsed before the guards even showed up. I… I tried to get in. I tried. But the flames—"
His voice cracked again, and he pressed his fist to his mouth, choking back a sob. "I remember the sound of glass shattering. That's the last thing I ever heard from her. The fire took both of them. I was twelve."
Zamira felt the world still around them.
"I bounced between orphanages after that," he continued, quieter. "Most kids there didn't care. You learn to be loud or you disappear. So I got loud. Funny. Charming. The kind of person nobody can hate. Because if they like you, they can't leave you."
He let out a humorless laugh. "It worked. Mostly. Until it didn't."
Zamira asked, softly, "What do you mean?"
"There was this kid, Arlen. He was my best friend. We were supposed to leave the city together, join a crew, maybe make something better of ourselves. But the night before we left, the guards came. They said we'd stolen food rations. I swore we hadn't, but they didn't care."
His voice went small. "They beat him until he couldn't stand. I hid. I didn't help him. And he… he didn't make it."
Zamira's throat burned. She wanted to say something—anything—but every word felt too small.
---
Lucas wiped his eyes again, forcing a laugh that broke halfway through. "So yeah. That's me. The street boy with no one left, trying to make everyone laugh so I don't remember the sound of glass breaking."
The moonlight caught the wet trail down his cheek. He looked impossibly young in that moment—just a boy still haunted by smoke.
Zamira reached out, hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder. "You did what you had to. Surviving isn't the same as running away."
He looked at her, startled by the gentleness in her voice.
"You're not alone now," she said simply.
For a second, he didn't speak. Then he exhaled—a long, shaky breath—and leaned forward, forehead resting against his hands.
"Thanks, Zamira."
"Don't thank me," she murmured. "Just don't ever hide like that again."
He nodded, and she could see him fighting back the tears again.
---
They sat there for a long time, listening to the fountain's quiet rhythm. The night around them was heavy but soft, like the world had decided to give them a moment of stillness.
When he finally looked up again, there was the faintest hint of a smile. Not his usual loud, bright grin—something smaller, truer.
Zamira met his eyes and smiled back. "You know," she said, "I kind of liked the old you. But this one's better."
He laughed, weakly. "Then I guess I'll keep him around."
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As they walked back to the dorms, Lucas glanced up at the stars and whispered, almost to himself,
"Maybe they can see me now."
Zamira didn't ask who "they" were. She just reached out and took his hand before he could shove it back in his pocket.
And for the first time, Lucas didn't pull away.
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