Chapter 11: The Name They Gave Him
The academy burned in silence.
Not with a roaring flames, but with the quiet devastation left behind after violence had passed. Broken stone littered the corridors. Ward sigils flickered weakly along the walls, their light uneven, wounded.
Lucien stood at the center of the ruined chamber, breathing hard.
Around him lay fallen inquisitors—some unconscious, some very still.
Elowen's sword trembled slightly as she lowered it. Blood dripped from the blade's edge, dark against the pale stone.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the whisper receded.
Lucien exhaled shakily, the pressure inside his skull easing for the first time since the attack began. His legs nearly gave out—but he stayed standing.
Elowen turned to him. "Are you hurt?"
Lucien blinked, as though the question surprised him. He looked down at his hands.
"No," he said slowly. "I don't think so."
That terrified him more than pain would have.
Royal guards flooded the chamber moments later, weapons raised, expressions grim. Professor Maelin followed close behind, his face pale when he took in the scene.
"Your Highness," he said urgently. "The eastern wing is secured. Casualties are being counted."
"How many?" Elowen asked.
Maelin hesitated. "Three students injured. Two faculty members dead."
The words landed heavily.
Lucien felt them like stones dropped into his chest.
"This is my fault," he said quietly.
Elowen rounded on him. "No."
He looked at her, startled by the force in her voice.
"This is the Church's choice," she said. "Do not let them rewrite that truth."
Lucien nodded—but the weight did not lift.
---
The Church moved before dawn.
By morning, notices bearing the silver-black sigil of the Veiled Night were posted across the capital, nailed to doors and walls, read aloud in market squares by trembling town criers.
Lucien Arkwright.
An anomaly,A blasphemous convergence.A threat to divine order.
By decree of the Church of the Veiled Night, he was declared **Heresy Incarnate**.
Within the academy, the reaction was swift and divided.
Some students prayed.
Some hid.
Others watched Lucien with fear barely masked as awe.
Selene found him in a secured chamber beneath the infirmary, pacing restlessly.
"They gave you a title," she said grimly.
Lucien glanced at her. "I'd prefer a quieter one."
She managed a weak smile. "You're officially a problem now."
He stopped pacing. "What happens next?"
Selene hesitated. "Historically?"
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
"They will hunt you," she said softly.
---
The Royal Decree arrived before the Church could act again.
Lucien stood beside Elowen as a herald read it aloud in the academy's great hall.
"By authority of the Crown of Viremont," the herald proclaimed, "Lucien Arkwright is hereby placed under direct royal protection as a Scholar of Restricted Significance."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
"This protection supersedes all ecclesiastical claims," the herald continued. "Any attempt to seize, harm, or detain him will be treated as an act of treason."
The words echoed.
Lucien felt them settle like armor around his shoulders.
Elowen leaned closer. "This is as far as my authority reaches," she murmured. "Beyond this… the world will push back."
Lucien nodded. "It already has."
---
That night, Lucien could not sleep.
Again.
He sat alone in the chamber assigned to him—warded, guarded, and utterly insufficient. Moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting pale lines across the floor.
The whisper stirred.
*You are restless.*
Lucien closed his eyes. "You're enjoying this."
A pause.
*Enjoyment is a human concept.*
"Then call it curiosity," Lucien replied. "You woke up when the seal broke."
*I was never asleep.*
Lucien's breath caught. "Then what are you?"
Silence stretched—thick, heavy.
Finally, the presence answered.
*I am what remains when promises rot.*
Lucien's scar burned faintly.
"You called me 'returned'," he said. "Who was I before?"
The darkness behind his closed eyes shifted.
Images surfaced—blurred, fragmented.
A crown falling.
A blade driven into stone.
A voice screaming his name—not Lucien, but something older.
*You were the one who stayed,* the presence said. *When the others fled.*
Lucien clenched his fists. "I don't remember any of that."
*You were not meant to remember any of that.*
"Then why now?"
The presence felt closer.
*Because the world is repeating itself.*
Lucien opened his eyes. "And I'm the answer?"
*You are the question.*
The whisper faded, leaving behind a single, chilling certainty.
Something was coming.
And this time, it would not stop at the academy.
---
Elsewhere, beneath the cathedral of the Veiled Night, Bishop Vareen knelt before the inner altar.
"The Crown has moved," Sister Maribel said quietly.
Vareen did not look up. "Let them."
"Inquisitor Darius requests permission to proceed."
Vareen's fingers tightened around his prayer beads.
"Denied," he said.
Maribel stiffened. "Your Grace?"
"The boy is no longer prey," Vareen said softly. "He is a catalyst."
He rose slowly, eyes dark with understanding.
"Prepare the deeper rites," he commanded. "If the seal continues to weaken, we will need a sacrifice worthy of history."
Maribel bowed. "And the princess?"
Vareen smiled thinly.
"Royal blood has always been useful."
---
Back at the academy, Lucien stood at the window as the first light of dawn crept across the sky.
Students would wake.
Classes would resume.
And beneath it all, the seal would continue to pulse.
Lucien placed a hand over his scar.
"They named me," he murmured.
The whisper answered faintly, almost amused.
*Names are cages.*
Lucien straightened.
"Then I'll break this one too."
And far beneath the stone, something ancient listened—
And waited.