Chapter 9: The Touch of Ash

No one spoke for a long time.

Not after the last cultist burst into dust. Not after Iris pulled herself off the rocks with blood down her chin. Not after Leon vomited bile from the side of his mouth, teeth chipped, sword broken. Only Vaelra's steady chants broke the silence, her bloodstained fingers drawing healing glyphs over their skin as her lips trembled.

Cid didn't look at them. His eyes were still locked on the spot where the cultist had vanished. Where that voice had whispered.

"You'll remember this… when the King wakes."

He heard it again in the wind, even though there wasn't one.

When they returned, it was through the original portal—the one opened by Vaelra before the ambush. She'd anchored it in the ruins of the chapel, a tether to bring them back to Veilborne if things went wrong.

Things had gone very wrong.

The moment they stepped through, the darkness of Hollow Vale peeled away—and the Academy's obsidian halls swallowed them whole again.

The Veilborne Academy stood unchanged: spires of screaming stone, lanterns lit with soulflame, wards humming with secrets. But something felt different now. The shadows clung tighter. The halls echoed too long. The air was watching.

They were brought before the Headmaster within the hour.

His chamber was carved from the deepest part of the central tower, the walls etched with silent wards, the floor an ancient rune-circle sealed in glass.

At its center sat Caldrein Mourn, Headmaster of Veilborne Academy.

He looked more statue than man. Skin like polished bone. Robes of black velvet laced with runes that pulsed faintly—like they were feeding on the room. His eyes were milk-white, and yet he saw everything.

At his side stood a tall, curvaceous woman with crimson hair cascading like blood down her back. Her eyes gleamed violet, lips curled in amusement as she leaned against a staff made of polished ribs.

Professor Nyxa Vire. Cipher Theory. Dangerous. Seductive. Respected. Rumored to have broken more than a few students—and kept their Ciphers as souvenirs.

Behind them, watching from a shadowed alcove, stood a third woman. Cloaked. Silent. Her presence unnatural, as though reality curved slightly around her.

Mistress Vaelith. Head of Ritual Lore. Rumored to be the last living founder of the Academy.

Caldrein's voice was little more than breath on tombstone. "Report."

Leon stepped forward but stumbled. Blood still stained his side.

Cid moved in his place, voice steady. "Ambush. A cult. Not Hollowspawn—people. Twisted by Cipher overuse. Or worse."

Nyxa's lips parted in interest. "Ascendants?"

Cid nodded once.

"They weren't guarding anything. They weren't corrupted. They were willing. And they wanted me."

Vaelra limped beside him. "One of them spoke a Name. And summoned… something."

"Something?" Caldrein asked.

Cid's voice dropped lower. "A limb."

Nyxa stepped forward, eyes hungry now. "The Hollow King showed you a piece of itself?"

"No," Iris said softly, from behind them. "It remembered him."

A pause.

Vaelith's head tilted in the shadows. "Interesting."

That night, the Academy was silent. Unnaturally so.

Cid didn't sleep.

He stood at the edge of the north tower, staring into the void beyond the cliffs. The Hollow Vale pulsed faintly in the far distance, glowing beneath the clouds. His hands still itched with residual magic. The chains under his skin writhed like sleeping snakes.

Behind him, the door opened.

Iris stepped inside, already slipping off her coat.

"You let her flirt with you," she said flatly.

Cid turned.

She wore only thin nightcloth now. No underlayer. Her pale skin glowed blue in the moonlight. Her eyes shimmered like poison dressed in silk.

"She wanted to," he replied.

"I want to slit her throat."

"Don't," he murmured, stepping toward her. "I like her mouth."

Iris's eyes blazed. "Do you like mine?"

He kissed her roughly in answer.

They slammed into the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist. She bit his lip until it bled. His hands gripped her thighs, pulled her tighter, dragged a moan from her throat as she ground against him. It wasn't love. It wasn't gentle.

It was claiming.

Later, when her breath finally slowed and her nails had left fresh marks down his back, she whispered, "I'd rather die than lose you."

He smiled against her neck. "You might."

Elsewhere, in a sanctum beneath the Academy, Nyxa stood nude before a mirror of black water. Blood pooled at her feet—fresh. Not hers.

Vaelith stood behind her, one skeletal hand resting on Nyxa's shoulder.

"He's stronger than I thought," Nyxa murmured.

Vaelith's voice was dust. "He's breaking the Chain Law. His Cipher is beginning to bleed. If he continues, the Hollow King will awaken faster."

"Do we stop him?"

"No," Vaelith whispered. "We prepare the altar."

The next morning, Cid didn't go to class.

He found a girl waiting for him outside his room.

Rhiannon Evernox.

Second-year. Highblood. Her uniform was tailored too tight, her jacket undone at the chest, revealing curves crafted for corruption. Her eyes were honey, her smile sharper than most daggers.

"I heard you made a cult explode," she said sweetly.

"I made them beg first."

She leaned forward, brushing her chest against his arm.

"Show me sometime?"

He didn't smile. He just opened the door.

She followed.

They didn't make it to the bed.

When Iris found him later—shirtless, covered in runes and bite marks—she didn't say a word. Just smiled.

Because deep down, she knew:

Every time he slept with someone else… they came back a little less.

And she was the only one who'd ever see him whole.