Ghost pie

“You all heard him,” Lucien whispered, his voice frayed as if it might break. “He said I was bait.”

The word still tasted sour, bitter on his tongue.

The group had barely emerged from the hidden chamber, dust and fragments of broken runes clinging to their boots. The Academy halls above should have felt safer, but they didn’t. Shadows still pressed close, and the cold of the tunnels clung to their skin.

Fenris walked so close that Lucien nearly tripped over him. The cub’s growl was constant, low and warning.

“Bait,” Arian repeated flatly, his golden eyes narrowing. “And you expect us to brush that aside?”

Lucien turned, his fists tightening. “I didn’t ask for this!” His voice cracked. “I don’t even know what they meant!”

Why is this happening with that too is my question. Is it because I'm not from this world? 

Arian’s shadow stretched unnaturally across the stone floor. Sylveira prowled in that shadow, her tail lashing like a whip. 

“You always say you don’t know.” His voice was quiet but edged with a venom sharp enough to cut. “But somehow, the trouble always circles back to you.”

“Don’t do this,” Toren said quickly, moving between them. “Seriously, Arian, maybe save the murder-glare until we’ve had food and, I don’t know, twelve hours of sleep?”

“You think this is a joke?” Arian’s tone was ice.

“I think—” Toren jabbed a finger at him “—that if we keep snarling at each other like a pack of half-starved dogs, we’re going to hand-deliver ourselves to the next robed creeps who show up. And I’m not dying in a basement, thank you very much.”

Darius’ deep voice rumbled behind them. “He’s right. Not about the dying-in-a-basement part.” His Stag lowered its head, obsidian antlers glimmering faintly in the torchlight. “But about the fighting. If Lucien was targeted, then so were we. If we break now, it won’t matter who the bait is.”

The words lingered.

Lucien wanted to speak, but Elira’s voice cut in first. “He doesn’t know.”

Everyone turned toward her. Emeris, the serpent coiled loosely around her shoulders, flicked its tongue, as if echoing her certainty. Elira’s dark eyes didn’t waver. “I can feel it. If he knew why they wanted him, I’d sense it. He’s afraid. Confused as us. Not hiding.”

“Afraid doesn’t mean harmless,” Arian muttered.

Lucien’s temper snapped. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“Because it keeps us alive,” Arian shot back instantly. His lynx growled, tail slashing.

“Enough.” Caelith’s voice was soft, but it cut through the tension. He was scribbling even now, quill scratching across parchment, though his eyes were sharp. 

“Listen to yourselves. Fear. Accusations, suspicion. Exactly what those figures wanted us to drown in.” He lifted his gaze at last, Nyx landing on his shoulder with a soft beat of wings. “If we fracture here, they’ve already won.”

The silence stretched.

Then Toren, ever incapable of letting silence last, cleared his throat. “So, uh… group vote: can we all agree not to stab Lucien tonight? Or, you know, stab each other? Maybe sleep on it? Maybe with pie?”

Elira actually huffed something like a laugh, quiet and fleeting. Darius gave him a side-glance, almost a smile. But Arian’s jaw remained clenched.

Lucien swallowed hard. His hands shook, though he tried to hide it by stroking Fenris’ fur. The cub pressed closer, protective.

He whispered, almost to himself, “I didn’t ask to be bait. I don’t want any of this. If you're worried of then you can leave me alone.”

For a moment, no one replied.

Arian's jaw was clenched so hard like he's trying to broke it. 

Then Darius spoke, steady as stone. “Want it or not, you’re in the center now. Which means we stand with you. All of us.” He gave Arian a hard look. “Even you.”

Arian’s lips pressed into a thin line. However said nothing.

---

They walked the rest of the corridor in tense silence, footsteps echoing too loud. The torches hissed faintly as if mocking them, and every turn of the stone halls felt like another ambush waiting to happen.

Finally, Toren muttered, “You know what’s weird? Not the creepy runes, not the cultists, not the part where Fenris turned into a ball of angry starlight—though, Lucien, good job on that, by the way. What’s weird is that none of the teachers ever mention these tunnels. Like, never.”

“Because they’re not supposed to exist,” Caelith murmured. His quill scratched again. “Which begs the question: why leave them untouched? Unless…” He trailed off, brow furrowing.

“Unless they’re being used,” Elira finished softly.

Darius’ jaw tightened. “That would mean the Academy itself is compromised.”

“Or,” Toren said, throwing his hands up, “we just stumbled into a secret wine cellar and some very cranky monks chased us off. Totally reasonable.”

No one laughed.

Lucien tried, and failed, to shake the memory of the taller cultist’s voice. The bond is flawed. The Academy will burn with it.

Flawed. The word echoed in his skull. Fenris pressed close again, and Lucien stroked the cub’s head absently. If the bond was flawed, then what did that mean for them both?

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Arian said suddenly, his tone sharp.

Lucien blinked. “What?”

“You’re radiating doubt like a torch. Control it, or you’ll drag yourselve down.”

Lucien’s chest tightened, anger sparking. “I’m not trying—”

“Then try harder.”

“Alright!” Toren burst in, waving his arms. “Before someone actually throttles someone else, maybe let’s ask the big questions? Like, who the hell were those guys? Anyone recognize the creepy robes?”

“They weren’t Academy,” Darius said. “That much is certain. The runes—they predated even the Academy walls. Whoever they were, they knew where to look.”

“They knew about Fenris,” Caelith added softly. His quill stilled, and his gaze flicked toward Lucien. “Which means someone told them.”

The words landed like a stone in water.

Elira frowned. “You think there’s a traitor?”

Caelith didn’t answer directly. “Information doesn’t vanish nor come from thin air. Someone is feeding them. And it’s not just about Fenris—it’s about the Academy’s foundations.”

The group fell into another uneasy silence.

---

They reached the stairwell leading back toward the upper halls. Toren was the first to break the tension again. “Okay, so if we all get murdered in our sleep tonight, just remember I called dibs on haunting the kitchens. Ghost pie forever.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Arian muttered.

“Nope,” Toren said cheerfully. “It’s either this or panic, and I’ve got a strict no-panic-before-midnight policy.”

For once, even Arian’s scowl didn’t quite kill the mood. Lucien almost smiled, though it felt wrong, fragile, like glass ready to crack.

They hadn’t even made it to their dormitory when a cold voice stopped them.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The group turned sharply.

Aldwyn stood in the corridor’s shadow, as though he had been waiting. His presence filled the air with something heavier than smoke, heavier even than fear. His gaze swept the group, sharp as a blade. When his eyes locked on Lucien, Lucien’s heart stuttered.

“I warned you,” Aldwyn said softly. “And yet you wander into graves best left untouched.”

Fenris growled, a low rumble. Sylveira bristled. Even Darius’ Stag lowered its head, but Aldwyn didn’t flinch. His eyes never left Lucien.

“You’ve drawn notice,” Aldwyn continued. “More than you realize. The question now is whether you can survive it.”

Lucien’s throat went dry. “Why me?”

Aldwyn tilted his head slightly, as if the question were foolish. “Because the world always hungers for a center. A fire, a bond, a boy with too much weight and not enough strength to carry it. Shadows will always gather there.”

The words pressed on Lucien like chains.

“What do you know about those cultists?” Darius demanded, stepping forward.

Aldwyn’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “Enough.” He turned, his cloak whispering against the floor. “Go. Rest. Tomorrow, you’ll face more questions than answers.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the Academy’s endless corridors.

---

The group stood frozen for a moment, as if waking from a spell.

“Well,” Toren finally said. “That was comforting. Anyone else feel like we’re all marching toward a really big, really ugly end?”

No one disagreed.

Lucien stroked Fenris again, but the cub’s fur still bristled, ears twitching toward where Aldwyn had vanished.

Tomorrow, Aldwyn had said.

Lucien didn’t want to know what tomorrow held.

But tomorrow was already coming.

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