Kiren stayed in the shadowed hallway long after Vane disappeared around the corner.
He breathed out slowly, letting the faint scent of blood fade from his senses. But another scent lingered — cold, familiar, unwelcome.
He tilted his head, lips curling.
"Come out already."
A figure peeled away from the darkness behind him — tall, draped in black from boots to hood. A wolf-shaped mask obscured his face, silver-fanged and snarling.
The man's voice was a grating whisper.
"You came to this school for protection... but you just sealed all their fates."
His masked face turned slightly toward the direction Vane had gone.
"No one can protect you from him."
Kiren's eyes narrowed.
The intruder continued, as if savoring the words.
"That boy... he's strong, yes. But the King will do to him what he has done to all before him."
A cold chuckle.
"He will devour him."
At that, Kiren finally turned around fully.
"You know," he said with a lazy smirk, "for a disposable messenger, you talk too much."
He leaned one shoulder against the wall.
"I guess you finally realized you'll never climb the ranks by skill. So you settled for being his lap dog instead?"
The masked figure let out an animalistic snarl.
"You know what..." he hissed, stepping forward, "I think I'll just beat you right here and now... and drag you back to the King. He'll still take you back half dead anyways."
Kiren chuckled. "You seem awfully determined to become roadkill, Micaque."
The intruder — Micaque — laughed, sharp and unhinged.
"You can't fool me. You fear the beast inside you so much you won't even transform."
He stepped closer, looming.
"I think I am very capable of beating you."
Kiren's jaw tightened, just slightly. His back grazed the wall as Micaque advanced—
But then—
Clop. Clop.
Soft footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Both men turned.
A figure emerged from around the corner: tall, composed, wearing a simple black suit with a neat tie. Jet-black hair framed a sharp face, and slim rectangular glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. Resting neatly in his breast pocket was the sigil of the Valerian School of Magic — two griffins holding up an overflowing golden cup.
The Chancellor.
Kiren stiffened.
The man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then slowly removed them.
Kiren made the mistake of meeting his eyes.
His breath caught.
Looking into them was like staring into a starless cosmos — an endless void peppered with faint, distant lights. It felt ancient and infinite. Wrongly vast. Like something that should not fit inside a human shape.
"Mr. Redvel," the Chancellor said calmly, "you should be in the hall."
Micaque scoffed.
"This doesn't concern you, human. Leave now, and you won't be hurt."
The Chancellor finally turned his head toward Micaque, as if only now noticing him.
"When power speaks," he said softly, "those without it would do well to shut up."
Micaque bristled. "You dare—"
"To correct your earlier statement," the Chancellor continued, adjusting his sleeves with quiet precision, "as the leader of this academy, every student on these grounds is under my protection."
He slid his glasses between his fingers.
"And is therefore my concern."
Micaque stepped forward — then vanished.
In a single blurred movement, he appeared behind the Chancellor, claws extended, mask gleaming under the dim lights.
Kiren moved instinctively — muscles tensing to leap—
But the Chancellor simply put his glasses back on.
"You bore me," he said.
And Micaque —
Fell.
His entire body sank silently through the floor as though it had turned to liquid, vanishing beneath the stone tiles without a single ripple or cry.
Gone.
The hallway returned to silence.
The Chancellor dusted off his suit sleeve, utterly unbothered.
Then he looked at Kiren, eyes now hidden behind the glass but no less heavy.
"Now," he said, his voice deceptively calm,
"let's have a chat."
---
The doors to the dining hall slowly opened as two men walked in. One, Vane had never seen but the other, was someone Vane was well acquainted with.
Vane's gaze drifted to the man in the suit again.
Plain.
That was the first word that came to mind.
Jet-black hair, neatly combed.
A crisp suit with sharp lines, nothing extravagant.
Slim spectacles resting lightly on his nose.
Nothing about him screamed power.
Yet...
Vane couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were hidden — not by the glasses, but by something deeper. Something that pressed against the edges of his senses like a quiet threat.
Oscar hummed urgently in his mind.
["Vane... he's dangerous. I don't know how or why, but I can't get a read on his magic."]
Vane ignored him.
Because the moment he truly looked — really looked — at the suited man, his instincts jumped past him entirely and locked onto the figure standing just behind:
Kiren Redvel.
After their conversation in the hallway, Vane expected hostility — a glare, a challenge, some show of wounded pride.
Instead, Kiren flashed him a small, almost friendly smile. Minus the sharp canines on full display
It threw Vane off so hard he blinked.
Oscar sputtered in his head.
["Is... is the werewolf smiling at you? Why? Why is he smiling? Vane, what did you DO?"]
Vane didn't respond.
His eyes stayed on Kiren.
And Kiren's stayed right back on him — calm, steady, strangely warm for someone who'd tried to hire him five minutes ago.
"There you are," Vane muttered before he could stop himself.
He hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Beside him, Lyra — who had been silently trying to catch up with everything — glanced sharply between the two boys. Vane stiffened, suddenly aware she had noticed the brief tension, the unspoken recognition.
She took a small breath, then motioned subtly toward the man in the suit.
"That's the Chancellor of the Valerian School of Magic," she whispered.
Vane blinked at her, then at the man.
"O-oh."
Oscar smacked something in Vane's mindscape.
["'Oh'? THAT'S your response?! Do you want her knowing that your too distracted by the werewolf?"]
But Vane barely heard him.
Because the Chancellor had turned slightly, and though his eyes remained behind the glass, Vane felt—
for just a heartbeat—
as if the man was looking directly into him.
Not at him.
Into him.
Vane and Oscar collectively held their breaths.
Kiren shifted beside the Chancellor, posture tight.
Vane swallowed.
Lyra spoke again, softer now.
"He rarely leaves the upper tower... something must have happened."
Vane didn't answer.
"Hey Oscar..."
["Yeah...?"]
"You know that thing you said about trouble always looking for me?"
Oscar sighed.
"I think it found me."
---