Release and Shadows

The heavy door groaned open, and light pierced through the dim stone corridor like a blade. Alex blinked against it, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The guard’s voice was as cold and rigid as the iron key he twisted free of the lock.

“Redcliffe. You are released. Inconclusive evidence.”

The words should have been a relief, but they felt like a noose loosening only enough to let him gasp for air. Chains clinked as the shackles were removed from his wrists. His skin was rubbed raw where the iron had bitten into it, though he barely noticed the sting.

Another guard stepped forward, gaze sharp. “Do not mistake this for absolution. Until further notice, you are confined to Academy grounds. Leave them, and we will not hesitate to act.”

Alex nodded stiffly, the response automatic. “Understood.”

The guards turned away, their boots echoing off the stone until the sound faded. For a moment, he stood there in the doorway, not stepping forward, as though invisible chains still held him fast. Only when the silence became unbearable did he force himself out into the courtyard.

The sun should have warmed him after the damp chill of confinement. Instead, it burned. The light felt accusing, as though every pair of eyes in the courtyard was trained on him.

And in truth, they were.

Students passing by slowed to glance at him, their conversations dipping into hurried whispers. A few tilted their heads together, murmuring like carrion birds over a carcass. Others didn’t bother hiding their stares. Their eyes ranged from suspicion to pity, and worst of all, relief—relief that it was him under scrutiny, not them.

Alex drew in a breath and held it as he crossed the flagstones. He had endured humiliation before, but this was different. This was betrayal dressed in silence.

His gaze caught movement by the fountain, and his heart leapt against his will. There they were—the ones who mattered most. Cedric Greenwood stood tall, as disciplined and commanding as ever. Duric Ironthane laughed at something he had just said, the sound bright and effortless. Selindra Valerius Erelith leaned against the marble edge, a book open in her hands, her brow furrowed in concentration. And Amara Leon Candor… she stood among them, sunlight glinting in her hair like strands of gold.

For a moment, Alex’s heart dared to believe. Maybe they had waited for him. Maybe they still trusted him, still saw him as a friend. Maybe—

Then Cedric looked up. The laughter drained from his face. Duric’s grin faltered, his eyes darting away. Selindra closed her book with a quiet snap, as though retreating into its pages would shield her. Amara opened her mouth, eyes full of something unspoken—but then she too turned aside.

The invisible wall between them was thicker than any prison bar.

“Alex,” Cedric said finally, voice clipped, colder than Alex had ever heard from him. “It would be… best if you gave us space.”

Alex froze. “You mean—after everything we’ve been through—”

Duric’s usual warmth was gone. “It’s not that simple. Serenya is still unconscious. Until she wakes and speaks for herself, we can’t know the truth. You understand, don’t you?”

Understand? How could he? He had fought beside them, laughed beside them, trusted them. And now, their eyes slid away as if his presence itself was a stain.

His throat closed. He wanted to shout, to beg them to believe him, to demand they remember who he was. But what good were words against a seed of doubt already planted? His voice would only water it.

He turned away. His footsteps rang hollow across the stones as whispers rose in his wake.

“…lucky they couldn’t prove it…”
“…poor Serenya, still doesn’t wake…”
“…dangerous, they say…”

Each word cut deeper than any blade.

-----X-----X-----X-----

The infirmary was quiet, cloaked in the faint scent of herbs and candle smoke. Alex lingered by the door before stepping inside, his breath shallow.

Serenya lay on the cot, pale against the linen, her chest rising and falling in fragile rhythm. Her hair fanned across the pillow like strands of silver, her expression serene but distant, as though she wandered in some faraway dream.

Alex’s hand hovered above hers, trembling. He longed to clasp it, to anchor her back to the waking world. But he hesitated, afraid his touch might somehow shatter her fragile stillness.

“Please,” he whispered. His voice cracked, breaking the silence. “Wake up. Tell them. Tell them it wasn’t me.”

Only silence answered. Only the soft flicker of a candle flame and the distant creak of wood in the rafters.

He sank into the chair at her bedside, burying his face in his hands. For all his magic, for all his efforts, he was powerless here.

The world outside had already begun to turn its back on him. And the one person who could restore his name slept on, locked away where no plea could reach her.

-----X-----X-----X-----

Days blurred together. Alex tried to continue classes, to maintain some semblance of normalcy, but the Academy halls had turned hostile. The laughter of his peers now seemed sharpened, each whisper a dagger meant for his back.

Students who once sought him for help avoided his gaze. Those who had once admired his compound spells now muttered that such magic was unnatural, dangerous. Even instructors watched him with guarded eyes, their words clipped, their patience thin.

During one lecture, Lucas Alderbane leaned close enough for his words to be a private blade. “Enjoying your freedom, Redcliffe? Careful. Rope can tighten again just as easily as it loosens.”

Alex ignored him, jaw clenched. But the words dug deep, festering like a wound. Lucas was waiting. Waiting for the moment Alex faltered, the moment suspicion would tip into condemnation.

At meals, Alex sat alone. In practice, partners avoided pairing with him. Even walking across the courtyard, he felt the stares prickling his skin, heavier than any armor. He had never felt so isolated—not even in his previous life, mocked as “Background Noise.” Here, he wasn’t ignored. He was feared.

And through it all, the silence from Serenya’s bedside stretched on.

-----X-----X-----X-----

Far away, in a chamber buried deep within stone, three figures convened.

The room was dark, torches sputtering weakly as though afraid to burn too brightly in the presence of their occupants. The three sat around a low table, their faces hidden in shadow, their hoods blending with the blackness.

The first figure’s voice rumbled low, gravel scraping stone. “The boy still breathes free. The council hesitates when they should strike. Inconclusive, they say. Bah. Weakness.”

The second’s tone was smooth, almost mocking, each word sliding like silk. “Let them hesitate. Freedom is no gift—it is a leash of another kind. Already the royals avoid him, yes? Already whispers spread. Poison does not kill swiftly, but it kills surely.”

The third spoke softly, precise as a dagger point. “Slow poison is not enough. Our design demands certainty. The boy must not merely be doubted. He must be condemned. Guilty, beyond doubt, his reputation broken beyond repair. Only then will the path ahead open.”

The first slammed a fist against the table, the sound muffled by thick shadows. “And how, when the elf princess lies silent? Until she wakes, there can be no testimony.”

The second chuckled, low and cold. “Then perhaps she need never wake.”

A tense silence followed, heavier than the stone walls around them.

At last, the third broke it. “No. Too crude. Her death would rouse suspicion in other directions. No—better she wakes, and when she does, her words seal his fate. Truth is malleable. Witnesses can be… persuaded. If not her lips, then forged evidence, whispers woven with care. Guilt is not what happened—it is what people believe happened.”

The first growled, reluctant but swayed. “And if he resists? The boy is no ordinary fool. Compound magic—dangerous, unpredictable.”

“Which is precisely why he must fall,” the second hissed. “He is a variable we cannot control. A variable is a threat.”

The third leaned forward, eyes glinting beneath the hood. “Then we are agreed. The net shall be woven tighter. Rumors stoked, alliances frayed, trust shattered. By the time the princess opens her eyes, the verdict will already be written. He will be guilty—whether truth agrees or not.”

They leaned back into the shadows, voices fading until only silence remained.

And in that silence, the torches guttered lower, as though the darkness itself had swallowed their words.

-----X-----X-----X-----

Back in the Academy, Alex stood alone in the courtyard as evening fell. The sky was painted with streaks of crimson and gold, but he could find no beauty in it. His chest was heavy, his mind clouded.

Somewhere beyond those walls, forces moved unseen. He felt it in the stares, in the whispers, in the silence of those he once trusted.

Something was coming. He didn’t know what, or when. But he knew one thing with aching certainty—

He was already standing at the edge of a trap he could not yet see.

And the shadows were waiting.