Burdens

The heavy oak doors of the disciplinary wing groaned as they swung open, spilling a wedge of torchlight into the dim corridor beyond. For a moment, Alex Redcliffe lingered on the threshold, his palms cold despite the warmth of the firelight. Then he stepped forward. His boots clicked against polished stone, each step echoing with a finality that should have felt like freedom.

But it didn’t.

He was out of detention, yes — but he was not free. The shackles were gone from his wrists, but in their place hung the heavier weight of suspicion. He could feel it in every pair of eyes that slid toward him, in the whispers that followed him down the hallway, in the silence that greeted him where once there had been voices calling his name.

“Isn’t that him?” someone murmured as he passed.
“The Redcliffe boy. The one who—”
“—Serenya collapsed after—”
“—they say he dabbled in forbidden—”

Alex’s jaw tightened. He forced himself not to turn toward them, not to lash out. Whispers were blades dulled by repetition, but when pressed against the same wound long enough, even a dull blade could carve deep.

Worse than the rumors was the silence of those he had once trusted.

Amara Candor, whose laughter had once brightened the Academy’s courtyards, turned her face away as he approached, walking closer to Cedric Greenwood and Duric Ironthane as if proximity to them could shield her from suspicion. Selindra Erelith, usually composed and sharp-eyed, buried her nose in a book when he passed her in the library, though he noticed her hands tremble as she turned the page. Even Cedric — proud, steady Cedric — met Alex’s gaze only long enough to offer a stiff nod before continuing on without a word.

It was absence that cut the deepest. Not scorn, not anger — but the quiet void where friendship had been.

And through it all, Serenya lay still. The elven princess had yet to awaken, her unconscious form guarded in the infirmary by healers who could do little more than maintain her fragile balance. She alone could have spoken in his defense, but fate had silenced her voice when he needed it most.

Alex clenched his fists as he walked the lonely hall toward his quarters.

So this was the Academy. A place meant to foster trust between the heirs of nations, now little more than a stage for suspicion, manipulation, and shadows.

Shadows.

Yes, he thought bitterly. Whoever had orchestrated these incidents wanted him gone. Wanted him disgraced. And as long as Serenya remained unconscious, they would succeed.

Unless he turned their own game against them.

That night, as Alex sat staring at the flame of his lantern, the knock at his door came. Sharp, deliberate. Familiar.

Tiberon Leonarth entered without waiting for permission, his golden hair catching the light, his presence filling the room with a confidence Alex had nearly forgotten the feel of.

“You’re brooding again,” Tiberon said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Alex’s lips twitched. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one everyone was ready to string up.”

Tiberon crossed the room in two strides, dropping into the chair opposite him with the ease of someone who feared nothing — not judgment, not enemies, not even fate. “Maybe not,” he said, folding his arms. “But I was the one who taught you to fight back instead of sulk.”

Alex shot him a sharp look, but irritation faded when he caught the sincerity in his eyes.

“Brother,” Tiberon said, his tone steady, “you and I both know they’ll come for you again. Whoever those shadows are, they won’t stop until you’re out of the picture. Which means—”

“—we turn the board around,” Alex finished softly.

A grin spread across Tiberon’s face. “Exactly. They think you’re cornered prey. Let’s show them what happens when the prey has fangs.”

For the first time since his release, Alex allowed himself the smallest of smiles.