A quiet hum of conversation drifted through the great hall, mingling with the faint clatter of silverware against plates. The torches lining the stone walls burned low, their flickering light casting elongated shadows across the high-arched ceilings. Outside, the rain whispered against the windows, a ceaseless murmur beneath the subdued atmosphere of breakfast.

  At the long table where the professors dined, an arrival shifted the air.

  Eris entered, her movements measured to hide the pain that still lingered in her bones. The sacred essence she'd used to save Einar had taken more than just power—it had consumed a part of her very being.

  Her long, high-collared black gown adorned with silver embroidery hugged her form, its fabric carrying the faint shimmer of enchantment, concealing the bandages beneath. The tightly laced corset and high-waisted leather trousers, adorned with chains and belts, whispered of a woman who balanced elegance with something far deadlier. Thigh-high boots, inlaid with silver filigree, tapped softly against the stone floor as she moved with unhurried grace, each step a careful dance between dignity and pain.

  Her silver-white hair, streaked with the faintest traces of gold, framed her face in soft waves, cascading past her shoulders—though it had lost some of its ethereal luster since her essence had shattered. Crystal-blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, carried a weight that few could meet, now touched with a mortal's vulnerability, she was still learning to accept.

  She took her seat beside the headmaster, whose spoon stopped mid with his old eyes held in immediate concern as he studied her pale features.

  "You shouldn't be here; I had servants prepared for you," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "The essence you used... it's killing you. You promised not to use it… then why?"

  Eris didn't answer immediately. Her gaze had found what it sought—the young man sitting alone in the corner at the Drakenhall table. Einar. He sat with his back straight, movements efficient as he ate, crimson eyes focused on his meal with quiet intensity. Living, breathing, whole—because of what she'd sacrificed.

  A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.

  “There’s no need for that, headmaster. Just a little rest would have me get as good as new.”

  “You know better it won’t.” He gazed at her with concern, but her eyes were still on the young man. “Why—”

  "Who is that boy?" Headmaster asked, following her gaze. "You keep looking at him..." He trailed off, understanding dawning in his ancient eyes.

  Eris's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her goblet, though whether from weakness or emotion, even she couldn't tell. "Not just any boy, headmaster," she whispered, voice heavy with centuries of waiting. "He is him. Einar Emberheart. Vratar of Aevadom. He is the one I was waiting for." She paused, the words catching in her throat. "My heart. My bond."

  Headmaster Syrus inhaled sharply, his posture stiffening. "By her grace..." He studied Einar with new understanding before turning back to her. "Then yesterday, when you..."

  "Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I couldn't leave him be. Not again. Not when we've waited so long."

  "At the cost of your own life?"

  “It’s already his. My life. My soul.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Headmaster's voice held both awe and reproach. "The sacred essence was all that remained of your divinity. Without it—"

  "I am mortal," she finished, a strange peace in her voice. "As I should be. What use does my blessing be if I must watch my love die again?"

  “Valeria. You have to look after your health. I have taught you everything, but it was not because of our pact.”

  Eris looked at his concerned face. “Worry not, old mad. I won’t be dying anytime soon. You have treated me as a daughter, for that I will always be in debt to you.”

  A flicker of recognition blazed in the old man’s eyes as he studied Einar with newfound intensity. "His magic runs wild..." His words ghosted through the air between them, barely more than a breath. “flowing with tainted energy… curse? And those eyes? Zeroth’s mark?"

  Eris's fingers curled against the ancient wood of the table, her knuckles bleaching white with tension. "An old one… far older than both of us. Even I cannot remove it, only calm it with my essence." The words carried no pity, only a deep sadness. "Is that not why your people opened their gates to me? Because of my pure essence? Purest of them all. Your people treated me like a vessel of . Remember?" Her eyes darkened, words deep. "But what of him? World has been poisoned against those who carry his mark, their minds clouded by decade of lies. Would they embrace him if they glimpsed even a shadow of the truth? No..." She shook her head slowly. "They would recoil in terror. Hate would bloom in their hearts. Just as it did in the times before."

  "You speak of the Purge of Kings," Headmaster said, his voice heavy with the weight of witnessed history. "When royal hands rewrote truth in blood."

  "When they hunted their own like rabid beasts, drunk on lies and false prophecies," she corrected, disgust etching deep lines around her mouth. "When they massacred those who had stood as shields against the demons. The faithful of were slaughtered like cattle, their only crime sharing prayers with the very demons they fought against. Their divine blessing became a death warrant." Her gaze remained fixed on Einar, unflinching. "Surely you remember the horror of it, old man? When brother turned blade against brother, when the air was thick with the smoke of burning flesh, when infants were dashed against stones for bearing the marks of ancient power.”

  Headmaster Syrus nodded, his ancient eyes carrying the weight of history. “The moment the dragons withdrew to their peaks... the mortal races stumbled into madness. And this happened ‘after’ himself intervened.”

  “Thimir… avatar of . He was forced to wade into mortal affairs because we failed in our sacred duty. Even that divine intervention could not stem the tide of hatred. Such bitter shame we bear."

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  Headmaster sighed. "Men believe in what’s written in history pages, and the royals have ensured those writings serve them well. Altered history that better suited them. Spread his influence, his faith, while turning on others. Faith was a sensitive matter then."

  Eris chuckles. “It’s funny how they embraced the one who gave them life but denied the one who takes it.” She sighed. “Death is nothing but a candle that keeps its light.”

  Headmaster turns to her. “Many will debate that. Many did. But truth has a way of clawing through the veil of lies, whether the world wishes to see it or not."

  Eris leaned back slightly, a wave of dizziness washing over her. "We can only prepare for the future," she murmured. "Let's hope they don't do something that will threaten the very fabric of life itself."

  Headmaster's gaze sharpened with paternal concern. "And him? He is your student now, Valeria. Do not let your past cloud your duties. Especially not when you're—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

  A soft, knowing chuckle left her lips. "There is something you must understand, old man," she said, standing from her seat with effortless grace that belied her weakening state. "A wife can also be a perfect teacher for her love. Even if he doesn't remember, even if this body fails me, I will guide him. I must guide him for the future of my people. The prophecy looms over our fate, the sacrifice was greater, the fruit shall be sweet."

  "Very well," he sighed, "but do not make it obvious. You are a dignified professor of this school."

  Eris tilted her head, a knowing smile touching her lips. "There won’t be any issue."

  Headmaster studied her for a moment, his ancient eyes unreadable. "Prepared everything for today?"

  She leaned back, adjusting the high collar of her black gown. "What is there to prepare? I will do as I always have." Her tone was even, but her gaze flickered toward the far end of the hall. "And you? Have you met your granddaughters?"

  Headmaster exhaled, his shoulders heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. "Not yet. Busy with assessments for days. And now, letter from the Council. They insist on taking us 'under' their wings."

  Eris let out a quiet laugh. "Control. That is what they want. Control over one of the oldest schools and most mysterious out of the five. Even the ground report on ‘Stonehaven’ did not satisfy them. They think we are hiding something from them for our benefit."

  "Didn’t we?" Headmaster Syrus asked simply. His voice held no remorse. "I was surprised to hear of the secret passage. They needed an excuse, and we gave them one. High King is on his last leg, won’t even survive a year—there are few left to reason with on the Council after the first prince took over. The power scale has shifted toward humans, and whenever that happens, blood spills on the land for control. History is repeating itself."

  Eris traced the rim of her goblet, lost in thought. "And this time, they will not be the only ones taking part in it." Her fingers tightened slightly. "It is only a matter of time before he comes. Before they comes…”

  “Devil’s Gate has long been fallen into their hands. Dark forces are yet again rising like two decades ago… but this time they are silent… crawling in shadows… gathering. Waiting for something… for someone.”

  “Everyone knows who controls them now, but no one speaks against them.”

  “We had never intervened in politics, and they took full advantage of that, through and through."

  She met his gaze. "I will still ask you again to grant me access to your brother’s records. Previous headmaster knew more than he ever wrote. This school itself stood while everything around it perished in the old era. There must be a reason for that."

  Headmaster Syrus rose from his seat, the dark green of his robes rustling as he did. "In time, Eris. For now, focus on your students. They are our hope."

  With that, he left, his footsteps quiet against the stone floor.

  Eris sat still for a moment before glancing down at the untouched meal before her. She was not angry, nor sad—only mildly disappointed. But the emotion faded when her gaze drifted back across the hall to him.

  Einar's hand stopped mid-motion, his fingers curled around a piece of honeyed bread. His body went still, breath caught in his chest. A slow tension coiled in his spine, his senses sharpening, as if something unseen had brushed against the edges of his mind.

  His gaze lifted. Searching around the hall for someone, before his eyes met hers.

  Eris has changed significantly after her essence has shattered. She was no longer the same. But she felt the weight of recognition, even if his mind did not yet understand it. It was not memory that stirred within him, not knowledge of what had been, but his very own instinct. His nature.

  His instinct was unshakable with certainty that she was someone who mattered. That she belonged in the spaces between his breaths, in the moments his guard lowered, in the corners of his mind where reason held no power.

  For the first time in this lifetime, their eyes truly met.

  And Einar… froze.

  The world around him blurred. The noise of the hall, the flickering of torches, the scent of food—it all fell away, drowned beneath the quiet thunder of his pulse. He had seen beauty before, but this was different.

  She was different.

  The silver-white of her hair caught the dim light like woven starlight, its golden strands glinting with each subtle movement. Her crystal-blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, held something in them he could not name. A knowing. A patience. A depth that sent something cold down his spine and something warm into his chest.

  She looked at him not with curiosity, nor the idle interest of someone meeting a stranger’s gaze, but with a familiarity that unsettled him. A certainty that did not belong to the briefness of their supposed first meeting. She had been waiting for him to gaze upon her.

  Eris did not break the moment. She simply let it linger, held him there in the quiet pull between them, the unspoken tension humming in the space that separated them.

  Then, she smiled. Soft. Warm… Devastating.

  Einar’s fingers clenched around the piece of bread, the texture forgotten beneath his grip. His heart—so steady, so controlled—stumbled for the briefest moment. A fraction of hesitation. A heartbeat of something unknown.

  She lifted her fingers, reaching into the folds of her gown, she pulled out a ring. The dark metal cold against her skin. She traced her finger over the edges, its gemstone gleaming dully in the candlelight.

  She closed her fingers around it and whispered, so softly the words were barely spoken at all. "We will meet soon, my love."

  Einar inhaled sharply.

  Then she turned, the movement as fluid as water, her silver hair cascading behind her as she strode toward the door. The chains at her waist chimed softly, her boots clicking against the stone floor in a slow, unhurried rhythm.

  Einar remained frozen.

  He did not know why his chest felt tight. Did not know why his instincts screamed at him to rise, to follow, to stop her before she vanished like thin air.

  Did not know why his blood burned as if he had lost something he had only just found.

  But by the time his body responded—by the time he forced himself to move, to stand, to call out—She was gone.

  And Einar was left sitting in the feast hall, surrounded by voices that no longer mattered, staring at the doorway where a stranger had left. A stranger who was anything but.