Touchdown UEI.
The United Educational Institute loomed before Devin, a sprawling, monolithic fortress of intellect, wealth, and absolute privilege. It was enormous. Its towering spires pierced the Northern sky, and its sprawling courtyards perfectly fit its undisputed status as the greatest academy in the known North.
Standing before the massive, wrought-iron gates, a profound, suffocating wave of nostalgia crashed directly into Devin's chest. The air itself held a familiar, electric charge. It instantly ripped him back to the pristine, innocent memories of his first year.
Back when he was Prince Devin Trangdar. Back when his father was alive, when his kingdom was whole, and when his absolute biggest concern was passing arcane theory before the winter solstice.
Now, he was walking through those exact same majestic gates wearing the stolen skin of Zain Ricky—a Cyprian sleeper agent with the blood of an innocent girl permanently stained on his soul.
Devin navigated the winding, perfectly manicured pathways, doing his best to keep his head down and his dark, unfamiliar eyes hidden beneath the high collar of his woven jacket. But as he moved, he inadvertently strayed from the main academic thoroughfare.
The sterile, studious silence of the lecture halls was suddenly broken by a deafening, rhythmic roar that literally shook the cobblestones beneath his heavy boots.
He had wandered right into the outer perimeter of the Frazer arena.
Devin stopped at the towering chain-link barricades, momentarily captivated by the sheer, unadulterated magnificence of the chaos.
Frazers—the elite, adrenaline-addicted racers of the North—were mounted on their sleek, heavily modified racecycles. They were zooming past one another in a terrifying, deafening blur of polished chrome and arcane exhaust, tearing up the massive dirt and stone tracks at breakneck speeds.
"Hold your line, vector three!" an instructor barked through a magical amplification crystal on the sidelines. "You're braking too early into the curve! Push the manifold!"
The air was thick with the harsh scent of burning fuel, cracked ozone, and raw adrenaline. The deafening screams of the spectators—students draped in the vibrant colors of their respective academic houses—echoed off the high stadium walls as they watched the death-defying practice runs.
A buried part of Devin—the thrill-seeking, arrogant boy who used to race wild horses through the dense Trangdar forests—longed to vault over the high fence, violently rip a rider off a cycle, and feel that terrifying, absolute speed for himself. He knew, with unwavering certainty, that he would be a natural on the track.
But he didn't linger. He couldn't afford the luxury of distraction.
The roars of the racing crowd faded into the background as the grim, bloody reality of his existence resettled over his broad shoulders like a lead cloak. He was on a mission. Dr. Langstrum. The Cyprian handler operating in plain sight at the very top of the academic food chain.
Devin had to get to the Venom Research Department. He had to find out exactly what this monstrous body was biologically designed to do, and he had to figure out how to systematically dismantle Count Sapien's network from the inside out.
He adjusted Zain's jacket and began his ascent up the grand, sweeping marble staircase that led to the upper research wings. The halls up here were incredibly quiet, lined with towering, imposing statues of past chancellors and ancient Northern scholars.
As he climbed, his venom-heightened senses caught a sharp sound over the rhythmic tapping of his own boots.
"Zain."
It was a faint call, echoing down the cavernous, marble corridor.
Devin ignored it, subtly accelerating his pace. But the voice kept on increasing in volume, growing sharper, closer, and far more insistent.
"Zain! Hey! Are you deaf?"
Before Devin could turn a sharp corner and vanish into the labyrinth of laboratories, he felt a heavy, familiar hand slap down hard on his shoulder.
His newly acquired Cyprian reflexes instantly, violently flared.
The dark venom in his bloodstream spiked, screaming at his brain to pivot, draw a hidden blade, and entirely sever the arm that had dared to touch him from behind. It took every single ounce of Devin Trangdar's ingrained royal discipline to suppress the feral monster. He forced Zain's heavy muscles to relax, unclenching his jaw, and slowly turned around, pasting a mask of mild, commoner annoyance over his face.
But the mask completely shattered the absolute second he saw the boy's face.
It was Aiden.
Aiden Colstar. The younger brother of the King of Colstar. His sister Bridget's brother-in-law. And, in a past life that now felt like it had occurred a thousand years ago, another one of Devin's closest childhood friends.
He stood there, dripping with the aquatic, effortless elegance that inherently defined his ocean-blessed kingdom. He wore an immaculate, deep-blue uniform trimmed with expensive silver thread, his hair perfectly, intentionally tousled. He was a year above Devin's true age—which meant, of course, he was in the exact same Class 4 Stark as Zain Ricky.
"Zain, where the hell have you been?" Aiden demanded.
His voice echoed loudly in the quiet hall. He looked at the barista with a strange mixture of genuine relief and deep, aristocratic annoyance.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Aiden pushed, stepping closer. "You've been entirely absent for a full rees!"
A rees. Eighty pars. The equivalent of a full month. Devin's mind raced, rapidly slotting this massive new piece of information into the jagged puzzle of Zain's life. Zain Ricky hadn't just been picking up extra shifts at Marinakas; he had completely abandoned his elite education at the UEI for an entire month to play house with Emerald.
Why? Was it a highly calculated Cyprian maneuver orchestrated by Dunkan, or had the sleeper agent gone rogue?