Shadows of the East Wing
Snow lay heavy across the Royal Academy, softening the sharp lines of towers and cloisters, muting even the bells that tolled each hour. Yet within stone walls, whispers traveled unhindered: of the duel between Arthur and Draven; of the Grimoire's forbidden pages; and most recently, of shadows stirring in places long thought silent.
Arthur stood at the edge of the East Wing cloister, breath misting in the cold air. Fenrix waited at his side, fur bristling despite the calm. The East Wing had been sealed years ago, its doors barred after fire and rot made the walls unsafe. Few dared step near, save for the bravest—or the most desperate.
Yet this morning, a rumor reached Arthur's ears: of a student caught in that ruin, eyes alight with power no class had ever taught, and runes curling black along his skin.
Forbidden magic. The same taint Arthur himself bore.
---
Lilith found him there, boots crunching frost as she approached. "You heard?" she asked, voice low.
"I did," Arthur replied. "And I mean to see for myself."
She hesitated, glancing at the locked archway. "If the magisters discover you there—"
"They'd see what they already fear: that the cursed recognize their own."
"And if it's a trap?"
Arthur's gaze held hers. "Then I spring it with eyes open."
She said nothing more, but fell in step beside him.
---
The East Wing door had once been barred with oak and iron. Now only rusted hinges and cracked timbers remained. Arthur pushed gently, and the door groaned inward, spilling stale air tinged with ash.
They stepped into shadow. Frost rimed the broken stone floor, and old tapestries hung in tatters, their colors swallowed by soot and time.
"Over there," Lilith whispered.
Beyond a half-fallen arch, a figure knelt, back to them. Cloak torn, hair dark with sweat, breath ragged. Shadows seemed to cling to his shoulders, moving as if alive.
"Who are you?" Arthur called softly.
The figure jerked around, eyes wild—and in them, Arthur saw the echo of something familiar: power unasked-for, alive and hungry.
---
Runes pulsed along the boy's forearm, black and ragged as old scars. Smoke curled from his fingertips, drifting over cracked tiles.
"I didn't mean—" the boy rasped, voice raw with panic. "It wouldn't stop."
Arthur stepped closer, Fenrix at his side. "Your name," Arthur urged, voice gentle but firm.
"C-Corwin," the boy stammered. "Second year. I—I thought I could control it. But the magic… it came alive."
Arthur's gaze traced the runes: familiar, yet distorted. Not true Anti-Heal, but something kin to it—shadows feeding on fear.
"You've been hiding it," Arthur said quietly.
Corwin nodded, tears streaking soot on his face. "They'd expel me. Or worse."
"And now?"
"I can't stop it," Corwin whispered. "It's inside me. Whispering."
---
Lilith's voice cut the hush. "What does it say?"
"That I should burn them all," Corwin sobbed. "The ones who mocked me. The ones who called me half-blood and worse."
Arthur knelt, ignoring the cold that bit through cloth. "Listen to me," he said, voice calm despite the darkness coiling between them. "The magic is not master. You are."
"But it feels alive—"
"I know," Arthur said. "I know better than most. But you must name it, or it will name you."
Corwin's breath caught, tears shining in flickering torchlight.
---
Outside, voices echoed faintly—students searching, or guards drawn by rumor.
Arthur reached for the Grimoire, opening to a page edged in his mother's hand. "These runes," he murmured, tracing them in air, "bind, rather than destroy. Repeat after me."
Corwin hesitated, shadows flickering across his skin. But then he spoke, voice breaking:
"By will, not fear… by name, not whisper… I bind thee, shadow-born…"
The runes along his arm pulsed, then dulled, smoke fading into stillness. Corwin sagged forward, breath coming in ragged sobs.
"It stopped," he gasped. "It finally stopped."
Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, careful, steady. "It isn't gone. But it listens now."
---
Lilith watched, expression unreadable. "What will you do now?"
Corwin looked up, fear still raw in his gaze. "They'll still hate me. Expel me."
Arthur's answer came without hesitation. "Then let them. But you stand. Even if they turn their backs."
Corwin's eyes glistened. "How? Alone?"
Arthur rose, shadows swirling faintly around his hand. "You're not alone. Not anymore."
---
They led Corwin from the ruin, shadows trailing them like silent witnesses. At the East Wing's threshold, he paused, glancing back.
"Will it always be like this?" he asked.
Arthur's voice came quiet, but sure. "Yes. But you'll grow stronger than the fear."
And for the first time, Corwin nodded.
---
That night, Arthur sat by candlelight, Grimoire open on his knee. Fenrix lay beside the hearth, breath slow and even.
Lilith stood by the window, moonlight silvering her profile. "You saw yourself in him," she said.
"I did," Arthur admitted. "And I saw what I might yet become if I lose the will to choose."
"And if others come?"
"Then I'll face them too," Arthur said. "Because no one else will."
Lilith stepped closer, voice barely a whisper. "You do not have to carry them all."
"I know," Arthur replied softly. "But I will, all the same."
---
Outside, snow drifted in silent flurries, cloaking the Academy's scars in cold white. But in the ruined East Wing, where fear had once whispered loudest, hope stirred—a faint, stubborn flame kept alive by a cursed heir who refused to let shadows claim another soul.
**To be continued...**