The journey back to the Academy took longer than Zyren remembered.
The path, normally familiar, stretched before Zyren like a silent river of uncertainty. The mountain air was colder now, sharper than it had been before the break. It bit at his skin, a constant reminder of how far he had to go—how far they all had to go.
Zyren rode ahead, his cloak pulled tight, the moonstone pendant resting cold against his chest. The pendant hadn't stirred in days. Not even a faint pulse. It was like whatever power had once flickered inside had gone silent.
Or waiting, he thought.
Corwin's horse lagged behind as he wrestled with a loose strap on his saddlebag. "You'd think the Academy could enchant the path to smooth itself," he grumbled. "Or at least warm the wind a little."
Zyren rode ahead in silence.
Corwin kicked his horse gently and caught up. "You've been quiet. Quieter than usual."
Zyren didn't respond right away.
Zyren gave a vague shrug. "Just thinking."
"That sounds dangerous," Corwin said, trying for lightness. "What's got your head so full? Politics? Finals? Existential dread?"
Zyren hesitated. "I met someone the other day."
Corwin glanced over. "Someone dangerous?"
"I'm not sure."
Zyren's mind replayed the moment: the way the woman had stood like she knew him, the strange weight of her words, the way the wind had died when she'd spoken. They're already inside. The storm has passed the threshold. Wake up, Elraven.
Corwin was still watching him. "You're being cryptic again. More than usual."
"I don't know who she was," Zyren said softly. "But she knew things... things no stranger should know. She said they're already here."
Corwin's smile faded. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Zyren lied.
But in his gut, he did. Or at least, he feared he did. The Order. Shadows in the kingdom. Something broken in the old balance of things.
Corwin gave a little shake of his head, muttering, "Why do I feel like this term's going to be worse than the last?"
Zyren didn't answer. He gripped the reins tighter and pressed his heels to his horse.
The Academy loomed just beyond the ridge, its towers shrouded in winter mist.
"And whatever waits inside, Zyren thought, "we're already too late to stop it."
---
The Academy finally came into view near dusk. Its stone towers rose above the trees like gray sentinels, watching. The sight should have comforted him. It had once felt like a place of learning, of progress. But now, it felt like a wall. A place to hide—or worse, to be watched.
When they entered through the main gate, students were scattered across the courtyard, wrapped in winter cloaks, laughing, trading stories of their time away. No one seemed to notice the prince's return.
Zyren didn't mind. He didn't want their eyes.
A pair of younger students bowed as Zyren passed, but it felt more like habit than respect. He recognized one—Talla, a third-year specializing in defensive wards. She glanced at the pendant at his chest with faint curiosity but said nothing.
Corwin leaned in. "Word hasn't spread."
"Let's keep it that way."
They passed a statue of Headmaster Caldus, arms raised in stone invocation. Someone had placed a scarf around its neck and drawn a mustache in charcoal.
Zyren couldn't help but smirk. "Some things haven't changed."
He climbed the familiar stairs to his dormitory. Corwin followed close behind.
They pushed open the door to their shared room.
A voice greeted them before they'd even crossed the threshold.
"Well, look who the snow dragged in."
Alaric Velren sat on one of the three beds, a book open on his lap and his boots crossed on the windowsill. He looked up, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Prince Zyren Elraven, heir to the throne and bringer of brooding silence."
Zyren didn't smile. "Alaric."
Alaric closed the book, standing to greet them. He was tall, with unruly copper-brown hair and sharp hazel eyes that always looked like they were amused—even when he wasn't. "I was beginning to think you'd found something better than returning to the joy of study scrolls and curfew bells."
Zyren dropped his bag by the bed. "Nothing better," he said flatly. "Just... late."
Alaric raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. Corwin set down their things and began to unpack in the corner.
The silence stretched.
Alaric tilted his head. "Something's different. You usually pretend better."
Zyren looked at him, his face blank. But there was something hard in his eyes. "Things are changing. We may not have as much time left as we think."
Alaric blinked. "All right," he said slowly. "That's cryptic, even for you."
Zyren moved to the window and looked out across the training grounds. The light was fading. Lanterns flickered to life like stars in the snow-dusted gloom.
He spoke without turning. "The Order is not just a rumor anymore. They're inside Rithaleon. Hidden. Waiting."
Corwin paused mid-fold with a tunic in hand.
Alaric's smile vanished. "Inside the kingdom? Are you sure?"
Zyren nodded once, slow and deliberate. "She wasn't just some wanderer. She spoke like someone who had walked their halls."
Corwin glanced between them, face tightening. "And you believe her?"
"I do," Zyren said, after a moment too long. "The kind of truth she carried… it leaves a mark."
Alaric ran a hand through his hair. "That's not the kind of news you drop after a long ride."
"I didn't choose this," Zyren said, voice sharp. "But I'm not going to keep pretending everything is normal. Not anymore."
Silence filled the room.
Corwin finally spoke. "Does your father know?"
Zyren hesitated. "He suspects. But I think he's hiding something too. Or someone is hiding it from him."
Alaric let out a low whistle. "Well. Welcome back, then."
Alaric crossed to his nightstand and withdrew a parchment. "I got this in the mail-drop two days ago. No seal. Just a note."
He handed it to Zyren. In simple block letters, it read: "Ask no questions. Trust no answers. Watch the east wing."
Zyren stared at the words, the moonstone pendant against his chest giving the faintest thrum—then going still.
Zyren's eyes narrowed. "Who else knows?"
"Just me. And now Corwin, I suppose."
Corwin raised his hands. "I'll forget it the moment I sleep. Swear."
Zyren folded the note and tucked it into his coat. "Watch the east wing," he murmured.
A knock interrupted the tension.
A messenger stood at the door, slightly out of breath. "You're wanted in the dining hall, my lord. The headmaster expects all returning students to attend the first-night meal."
Zyren nodded stiffly. "We're coming."
---
The cafeteria was buzzing with noise. Warm light flickered off long wooden tables filled with students, plates clattering and laughter echoing off the stone walls.
Zyren sat between Alaric and Corwin, barely touching his food. Alaric, by contrast, acted like nothing had happened—laughing with a pair of upper-year students, telling a ridiculous story about a magical goat that got loose in the spellcraft wing last year.
A few minutes after they sat down in the dining hall, the rhythm of the meal returned—forks clinking, firelight flickering, and the scent of roasted meat and winter herbs drifting in the air.
Alaric nudged Zyren with his elbow. "So, how was palace life? Bathed in rosewater, fanned by silk-cloaked attendants?"
Zyren snorted. "Try sleepless nights and council meetings. The roses froze weeks ago."
Alaric grinned. "Still beats three weeks with my cousins in Harrowdale. They insisted on waking at dawn to sing frost blessings to their goats."
Corwin laughed, nearly choking on his drink. "You're joking."
"I never joke about livestock rituals," Alaric said solemnly, before breaking into a grin.
Zyren allowed himself a brief smile. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was enough to ease the tension for a moment.
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "You do seem different, though. Tired. Heir-to-the-throne tired."
"I'll sleep when Rithaleon stops bleeding shadows," Zyren murmured.
Corwin's smile faded.
Alaric studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Well. If the darkness is crawling in, I'd rather face it beside you two than alone."
"Same," Corwin said, lifting his cup.
Zyren hesitated, then clinked his cup to theirs. "To light, then. While we still have it."
Corwin gave Zyren a look across the table. "You sure you're all right?"
"No," Zyren said. "But I will be."
Alaric leaned closer. "This Order stuff—you think it's tied to the Academy?"
Zyren glanced around the hall. "I think it might start here."
Alaric's face tightened. "Then we're not just students anymore, are we?"
Before Zyren could answer, the lights in the cafeteria flickered.
Not the torches—the crystal orbs overhead that glowed with magical light.
A hush fell.
One orb cracked. Then another. Sparks rained down.
The room plunged into near-darkness.
Screams rose from the far end of the hall. Students stood, chairs scraping back in panic.
A second later, a voice cut through the confusion—deep, cold, and unmistakably magical.
"You've already lost."
Zyren's pendant flared once—cold light pulsing against his ribs—then died again.
Then silence.
The lights surged back to life, but the damage was done. Tables overturned. Fear clung to every face.
Zyren stood slowly, heart pounding.
And in that moment, he knew—whatever peace had existed at the Academy was over.
---
**End of Chapter Six**