Chapter 13: Cracks in the Ivory Tower

The enchanting melody of a magical lyre drifted from the common lounge of the elite women's dormitory. The soft morning sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows adorned with rainbow-hued lilies, casting a mesmerizing glow upon plush fur rugs and silk-upholstered chairs. The air was thick with the scent of warm tea and a faint trace of rose-infused perfume. It was a world far removed from the dark, filthy alleys and the violence I had heard rumors about this morning—a world I once believed to be a safe haven.

I sat by the window, attempting to focus on my introductory defensive glyph textbook, but the words wavered and blurred before my eyes. My thoughts were far too vivid—painted images in my mind sharper than the ink on the pages. I saw him: Caelen Stonehand, the young man I had never met in person yet felt inexplicably connected to through the stories I had heard and the secrets I had unearthed. Was he lying injured somewhere after last night's "attack"?

Rumors had spread like wildfire across the university. Some claimed it was a mere drunken brawl. Others whispered that it was a mugging gone wrong. But I, who knew a little more than most—who knew about the land disputes, the hidden power struggles, and Caelen's quiet defiance against the authorities—could not shake the feeling that this was a message. A warning, just as old Borin had once cautioned Caelen in my imagination. Worse still, there were murmurs that this was no ordinary assault but an attack carried out with "dark magic" or some sort of enchanted artifact.

A chill of fear and guilt twisted in my gut. Should I have warned him? Should I do more than just pass along bits of information to Elara? But what could I possibly do? I was just a third-year student with nothing but a talent for plant magic and minor illusions. How could I stand against the darkness that dared to strike even within the capital's walls—even if only in the shadows?

"You look as pale as a boiled chicken, Lyra."

A familiar, lilting voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. Seraphina gracefully lowered herself onto the silk-cushioned armchair beside me, a porcelain teacup delicately poised in her hand. "What's wrong? Still sulking over our little argument the other day?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, it's not that, Seraphina. I just... heard rumors about Mr. Stonehand."

Seraphina took a slow, measured sip of her tea before setting the cup down with an elegant clink. "Oh, that? Yes, I heard about it too. Quite pitiful, really. But then again, people who insist on making trouble for themselves often find trouble, don't they? Who told him to stand against Lord Thorn? The man is trying to advance the kingdom, after all." Her tone was calm, devoid of sympathy.

"But this isn't just some petty defiance, Seraphina!" My voice wavered with frustration. "People are saying he was attacked with magic! That's... that's beyond cruel!"

Seraphina arched a delicate brow, her gaze laced with mild amusement and reproach. "Magic? And who told you that, Lyra? Some loose-lipped townsfolk? Or perhaps that little street-scholar friend of yours again? Honestly, you shouldn't believe such nonsense. For all we know, he might have simply been drunk and fallen, cracking his head open like a fool." She shrugged dismissively. "You should stop concerning yourself with these things. They have nothing to do with us. You'd be better off focusing on the upcoming Spring Gala. I hear the Windsors might send our family an invitation!"

Her words struck me like ice water splashed across my face. "Nothing to do with us?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Seraphina! A man was attacked for standing up for what he believed in! The Whispering Forest is on the verge of destruction! And you say it's not our concern?"

"That's right! It's not!" she snapped, her eyes turning cold. "Our duty is to study, to uphold our family's reputation, to remain within the right circles. Not to entangle ourselves with uneducated peasants or radical dissenters. You've changed, Lyra. Ever since you started listening to those ridiculous tales about the forest and the trees, you've been acting strange. Your parents would be horrified if they knew."

Her final words cut deeper than I expected, slashing open a wound that had already begun to form. I looked at my closest friend—the one I had believed understood me—only to find a stranger staring back. A stranger who lived in a different world, one where comfort and social standing mattered more than justice or truth.

A hollow, aching coldness settled in my chest. It wasn't anger but a profound disappointment—one that felt irreversible. Slowly, I rose to my feet, gathering my books in silence.

"Where are you going?" Seraphina's voice was still laced with irritation.

"The library," I answered evenly, avoiding her gaze. "I have some research to do… about defensive glyphs."

I stepped out of the opulent lounge, leaving behind the elegant music, the perfumed air, and the illusion of safety. I felt as though I were walking away from the ivory tower that had sheltered me for so long—only to realize it was a gilded cage, blinding me to the harsh truths of the world beyond.

The crack between Seraphina and me was no longer something that could be mended. And perhaps… that was for the best. Staying in her world any longer would have made me deaf to the voices calling for help.

I clenched my fists as I strode through the marble halls, a strange energy humming beneath my skin. It was a force that connected me to the earth, to the trees and the whispering wind. It was a voice urging me to listen.

Something greater, something darker than mere political corruption was unfolding.

And I could no longer ignore it.