A name

The sigil glowed faintly in the torchlight, like a wound that refused to heal. Sharp lines, jagged curves, and there in the middle—Lucien’s name, etched as if the wall itself had always been waiting to reveal it.

Nobody spoke. The silence pressed heavier than the damp night air.

Lucien’s heart thudded too loudly in his ears. His own name looked foreign carved into stone, almost mocking him. He wanted to look away, but his gaze kept dragging back, as if daring him to deny it.

Toren broke first, his voice cracking. “Well. That’s subtle.”

No one laughed. Not even him.

Caelith’s expression hardened. “This isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t—” Toren stopped himself, pressing his lips together. He shoved his hands into his pockets like he could stuff the words away too.

Arian turned on Lucien. His stare wasn’t cruel, but it was sharp enough to cut. “Why you?”

Lucien blinked. His throat felt like sand. “I—I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

The words landed with the weight of a verdict.

Lucien bristled. “I don’t.”

Arian’s gaze didn’t flinch. His voice stayed quiet, but every syllable struck hard. “It’s been you from the start. The strange messages. The shadows following you. The dreams you keep half-buried. You’re tangled in this whether you admit it or not—and now your name is literally carved into their messy ritual.”

Lucien opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His denial caught in his throat like a splinter.

“What dreams?” Darius asked suddenly, frowning at Lucien. His tone wasn’t angry yet—just confused, worried.

Lucien’s stomach sank. He hadn’t wanted this.

Arian didn’t hesitate. “The ones he’s been keeping from us. Every time something happens, Lucien’s already wound tight, like he saw it before we did.”

“That’s not—” Lucien’s voice cracked. He forced it louder. “That’s not fair!”

“Maybe not,” Arian shot back, “but it’s true.”

The words hung there, heavy, like a stormcloud about to break.

Arian felt distant. Like someone Lucien wasn't familiar with. Not to mention Arian didn't talked much but that was unlike him.

Toren lifted his hands quickly, stepping between them. “Okay, okay, enough. We’re standing under a bloody murder-mark with Lucien’s name in it. Maybe let’s not start tearing into each other right now?”

“I’m not tearing,” Arian said, eyes never leaving Lucien. “I’m asking. Because if this is tied to him, we deserve to know before it swallows him whole.”

Lucien clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Anger fought with fear, twisting his insides. “You think I don’t want to know? You think I like waking up choking on whispers I can’t understand? Or seeing symbols burned into the dark? If I’m tied to this, then I’m just as lost as you are.”

His words echoed, thin and ragged, swallowed by the night.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Darius shifted uneasily, rubbing at the scar along his forearm. “So… what, you’ve been having nightmares? And you didn’t say anything because… what? You thought we’d laugh?”

Lucien swallowed. “Because I didn’t want to make it real.”

The admission seemed to drain the tension from the air. Arian’s jaw unclenched, though his eyes stayed sharp.

Caelith finally spoke, calm and steady. “Then we make it real together. Target or key or bait—it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is we don’t let them isolate you.”

Darius exhaled, rubbing his face. “Right. No lone hero nonsense. We stick.”

Toren clapped once, the sound too loud against the courtyard walls. “See? That’s the plan. Stick together, survive the week. Easy.” His grin wavered. “Now maybe we should leave before the guards catch us admiring graffiti.”

No one argued.

Lucien met Arian’s eyes again. His friend’s expression had softened—not forgiving, but steadier.

“Together,” Arian said finally. “But Lucien—if something else happens, and it points back to you… don’t you dare shut us out again.”

Lucien’s voice shook. “I won’t.”

It felt like a promise and a noose all at once.

---

They smudged the sigil before leaving. Toren scraped his boot hard across the stone until the name blurred into streaks. It didn’t erase the truth, but at least it wouldn’t scream at the next passerby.

By the time they crept back to the dormitory, exhaustion hit like a wave. Toren fell face-first onto his mattress without even removing his boots. Darius muttered something about extra patrols and was snoring within minutes.

Caelith sat cross-legged, sketching the sigils again with quiet precision. His quill scratched steadily, the sound oddly soothing.

Arian stayed by the window, leaning against the frame, the moonlight silvering his features.

Lucien couldn’t rest. His body buzzed with leftover panic. He paced instead, boards creaking beneath his steps.

“You’re going to wear a hole through the floor,” Arian said without looking at him.

Lucien stopped, jaw tight. “Couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

“Same.”

The quiet stretched, broken only by Darius’s soft snoring.

“Arian,” Lucien said finally.

Arian turned slightly. “What?”

Lucien hesitated, words heavy. “Do you really think… I’m the reason this is happening?”

Arian was quiet for a long time. Too long.

“I don’t think you’re causing it,” he said at last. “But I think… whoever is? They want you at the center.”

Lucien’s skin prickled.

“You ever notice,” Arian continued carefully, “that your shadow doesn’t always… follow right?”

Lucien’s blood went cold.

“What?” His voice came out sharper than intended.

Arian turned fully now, studying him. “When you move. Sometimes it lags, like it’s deciding whether to copy you or not. At first I thought it was the candlelight. But I’ve been watching. It’s not the light.”

Lucien swallowed hard. “You’re imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Arian allowed. “But maybe not. You tell me.”

Lucien thought of the dream—his double rising, whispering you don’t belong here. Thought of the stairs, when his shadow stretched too long, too wrong.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Gods, I don’t know anymore.”

Arian sighed, turning back to the window. “Then we watch. Together. Whatever’s creeping at you, we’ll catch it before it does worse. So at least tell me when it gets hard for you. You don't have to shoulder this alone you know.”

Lucien wanted to believe him. Wanted it badly enough it hurt.

But when he glanced at the floor, the candlelight flickered across the boards.

Arian’s shadow stretched neat and thin.

Lucien’s… for the briefest second, it twitched against the grain.

And smiled.

Should I share all this problems? But they might think I have gone crazy—

•••