The heavy oak doors of the infirmary creaked open, and Kristina Poporin was the first to step inside. Elian followed close behind her, his steps hesitant, as if treading into a crime scene. Kristina fixed her gaze on Vane, who was sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. That arrogant, mocking smirk crept onto her face.
"Well, well," Kristina said, her voice echoing in the sterile silence of the infirmary. "Am I really the first person on your mind the second you wake up?"
Vane completely ignored the cheap taunt. His stare was so dead and intensely focused that Kristina's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Aether serum," Vane said. His voice was smooth and sharp, carrying the weight of an absolute command. "I need an Aether serum. Now."
Kristina furrowed her brows, taking a step back in shock. "An Aether serum? You've lost your mind. Where the hell am I supposed to fi—"
"I didn't ask where you'd find it, Kristina," Vane cut her off, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "You know exactly who to talk to."
The surprise in the girl's eyes gave way to a deep, unsettling dread. Vane continued:
"Mirabelle Robshaw. I called you here because I can't reach her myself right now. Go to Mirabelle and tell her exactly this: 'Vane says, if you don't want anyone to know about the scent of Aether leaking from your breath, you had better send that serum immediately.'" A smile as thin and dangerous as a knife's edge appeared on Vane's lips. "Since the Robshaw family manufactures the serum, securing a single dose should be child's play for Mirabelle, shouldn't it?"
Elian swallowed hard, watching the exchange silently from the corner. The figure his friend had morphed into over just a few months left him simultaneously in awe and terrified. Vane was no longer just a kid trying to survive; he was acting like a puppet master, wrapping the kingdom's most ancient, deep-rooted families around his fingers.
"Do you... Do you have any idea who you're threatening?" Kristina snarled. Fueled by a sudden flare of anger, she marched up to the bed, leaning over Vane with the false confidence her social hierarchy provided.
With blinding speed, Vane's hand shot out, grabbing Kristina by the collar. He yanked her down roughly until their faces were mere inches apart. Vane's violet eyes bored into hers, piercing her like a drill.
"Kristina," Vane whispered, his voice as cold as an executioner's breath. "Never forget who woke up in this infirmary bed the last time we discussed 'respect'. My patience isn't cheap enough for someone of your rank to waste."
Kristina's face flushed crimson in an instant, a mix of humiliation and pure fear. She struggled to break free, but Vane's vise-like grip didn't yield a millimeter. A single question echoed in her mind: How could a man who ended up in the infirmary after brawling with a Heir going through an Aether crisis still possess such raw, untamed strength?
"I-I understand... Let go of my collar!"
Vane released her, shoving her away like he was tossing aside a worthless piece of trash. Elian watched in horror, holding his breath; he knew if he intervened, the storm would swallow him too.
Vane gestured toward the door with his eyes. Then, he reached out and pointed to the brass pocket watch in Elian's hand. "Go on, Kristina. You have half an hour." He tapped the glass face of the watch with his thumb. "Clock's ticking..."
Consumed by the sheer humiliation and the bitter sting of her own powerlessness, Kristina spun around. We were supposed to use him, yet we've been reduced to his pawns! she thought bitterly as she stormed out of the room.
Elian let out a long breath once he was sure the girl was gone. He turned to Vane, who was slowly preparing to get out of bed. "Vane... What's going on? Since when do you give orders to these people? And what's this business with Mirabelle Robshaw?"
Vane didn't even look at Elian as he pulled on his tattered academy uniform, the fabric still bearing the brutal marks of his recent clash. "Information, Elian... You don't fight on a battlefield with just your muscles. A piece of information used at the right time will spill more blood than the sharpest sword."
Elian nodded, but the hollow feeling inside his chest only grew. The genuine camaraderie they had shared on their first day at the academy had been replaced by an impenetrable veil of fog. He couldn't help but feel that Vane no longer trusted him entirely, or worse, deemed him too weak for these dangerous games.
He stared at the scars etched across his friend's body and the warrior's physique he had forged in such a shockingly short amount of time. That scrawny, helpless kid was gone; in his place stood a monster whose every cell radiated the dark, authoritarian legacy of his father, King Vorian.
"Vane, let me hel—"
Before Elian could finish his sentence, an agonized groan echoed from the adjacent bed, tearing through the white curtains. It was the Silver Corvus—Lyra.