Aveline returned to her room in the girls’ dormitory just as the last light of evening faded beyond the horizon.

Her room was located on the piano nobile level, the grand floor above the ground level where the Arcanum’s public halls, receiving chambers, kitchens, administrative offices, and guards’ quarters were arranged; the floor was exclusively reserved for royals and higher nobles.

She had not paid much attention to it before, too overwhelmed by everything else to notice, but now that she looked carefully, she realized something strange.

Her room was positioned at the southern corner of the building.

Even with her limited understanding of architecture, she recognized what that meant.

Back when her parents were alive, before her life had become cold hallways and locked doors and cruel voices, her own room in the Willowgrave estate had occupied that exact position. The southern corner had always been considered the finest placement in noble residences, where sunlight lingered longest, and the views were best.

And this room...

This room had been chosen for her... by Theron.

Slowly, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Hamilton jumped down from her stuffy pocket and rushed to the big canopy bed that was lined with fur and warm blankets even though autumn was yet to arrive, because she had told him she was starting to feel cold. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Two enormous windows occupied adjacent walls, their glass reflecting the soft gold of the dying sky. Beyond them stretched the gardens of the Arcanum, elegant pathways winding through flowers and silver-leafed trees, while farther away the lake shimmered beneath the darkening heavens like molten glass. There was even a small balcony wrapped in climbing roses, their petals blooming richly despite the cool evening air.

The curtains were heavy silk. The carpets soft beneath her feet. The furniture polished and expensive. Everything about the room whispered comfort. Safety. Care.

And then her eyes landed on the vase resting quietly near the window.

The roses.

The very same roses Theron had bought for her in the market at Aurelmont.

For a moment, Aveline could only stare at them.

Something inside her chest tightened painfully.

Theron had arranged all of this for her before bringing her here. Every detail. Every comfort. Every hidden kindness she had failed to notice before. He had prepared this room not like a cage for someone inconvenient, but like a sanctuary for someone precious.

For her.

And now...

Her vision blurred.

Aveline sucked in a sharp breath and quickly looked away, pressing her lips together as she fought back the tears threatening to spill.

No.

If she started crying now, she feared she might not stop.

"I’ll find you," she whispered softly into the quiet room.

The determination in her voice sounded fragile, but it was there.

She was in the capital city. Theron was the Crown Prince. How difficult could it truly be to find where he lived?

Surely someone would know. Surely she could reach him somehow.

That night, after the servants delivered dinner to her room and prepared a warm bath for her, Aveline changed into more comfortable clothes and decided to explore. She could not sit still any longer. The walls felt too quiet, too heavy with his absence.

But she quickly discovered the truth.

She could not leave.

The students of the Arcanum were permitted movement only within designated areas, and even during classes, they were forbidden from leaving the grounds entirely. The gates were guarded. The exits were monitored closely. The academy itself functioned almost like a beautiful prison hidden beneath scholarly prestige.

Aveline stood near one of the corridors afterward, staring at the distant gates with a hollow feeling settling slowly in her stomach.

She was trapped here. That was her situation.

And so, for the next few days, Aveline did not rebel.

She observed.

Quietly.

Carefully.

She watched the students moving through the halls in neat uniforms separated subtly by status and lineage. She learned which professors favored noble heirs and which looked down upon them. She learned where rumors gathered fastest, which servants spoke too freely, which guards were strict, and which students carried themselves like future rulers.

Most importantly, she listened whenever the royal family was mentioned.

But no one spoke of Theron.

Not properly.

Whenever his name surfaced, voices lowered. Expressions tightened. People spoke of him with caution, admiration, fear, or fascination... but never intimacy. Never warmth, as though the Crown Prince was less a man and more a distant force of nature.

But she didn’t hear any terrible news. At least, Theron was safe.

She would feel the presence of the Vantaris family members at times, in hallways, in the shadows, but not Kael. He never got anywhere near the Arcanum. And there went her other plan.

And each night, after returning to her room, Aveline would take out the broken, lifeless token and hold it in her hands before sleeping.

Waiting.

Hoping.

As if somehow, one day, it might glow again.

That day, Aveline walked to class with her hands folded neatly in front of her and her expression carefully composed.

Over the past few days, she had developed the habit of taking different routes to class each morning. Part of it was caution. Part of it was curiosity, and if she was being honest...

Walking longer meant thinking less about Theron.

Because whenever she stopped moving, the ache returned.

That terrible emptiness in her chest.

That cold silence from the token.

That unbearable realization that no matter how many times she whispered his name now... he never answered.

Aveline lowered her gaze slightly and inhaled slowly, forcing the thought away before it could swallow her again.

Just then, a tall figure suddenly barreled past her so quickly that his shoulder nearly knocked her sideways.

"Step aside, boy," the man said impatiently, not even slowing down as his long crimson robe whipped behind him like a streak of fire.

In one hand, he carried a massive glass jar that glowed faintly from within.

Aveline stumbled back in shock before immediately glaring at him.

"I’m not a boy!" she shouted after him, irritation bursting out far faster than dignity could stop it.

Honestly, her mood had already been ruined simply by the existence of classes.

The tall man stopped.

Slowly, he turned around.

And for the first time, Aveline properly saw him.

He looked utterly disheveled.

Dark stubble covered his jaw as though he had forgotten shaving existed. His hair was tied carelessly behind him, half of it escaping loose around his face, and his crimson robes looked as if they had survived an explosion. Ink stains marked his sleeves. Burn marks covered the cuffs.

But his eyes...

His eyes were striking.

Bright amber.

Sharp.

Almost glowing.

The kind of eyes that seemed capable of seeing far too much.

"You..." he muttered, narrowing his gaze at her. "Boy..."

Aveline’s eye twitched.

She opened her mouth to correct him again, but the man had already begun walking closer.

And closer.

Until he stood directly in front of her.

Aveline stiffened instinctively.

The shadows around him moved strangely.

Not twisted like Aelion’s. Not rotten and vile like the creature she had faced.

No...

They fluttered chaotically around him like sparks from a fire, restless and erratic, constantly shifting shape as though his thoughts moved too quickly for even shadows to follow properly.

He looked less like a dangerous man and more like an eccentric scholar who had forgotten how ordinary humans behaved centuries ago.

Still, the longer he stared at her, the more uncomfortable Aveline became.

"You look different," he murmured.

Aveline unconsciously took a step backward.

The man immediately followed by bending down until his face was level with hers, his glowing amber eyes studying her with unsettling intensity.

"I can see you," he whispered.

Aveline blinked at him.

Of course, he can see me!

What kind of statement is that?

He is standing this close. If he couldn’t see me, then that would be concerning.

She stared at him suspiciously, wondering if this academy secretly collected lunatics.

The man, however, suddenly looked almost... pitiful.

His brows furrowed tightly as though he were struggling to understand something impossible. He began muttering under his breath, words too soft and rapid for Aveline to catch properly.

"...not faded... impossible... after all these years..."

Aveline frowned harder.

This man... definitely is insane.