"Shit."
'A bad day' couldn't even cover whatever what Elias was experiencing now.
A dark, jagged stain bloomed across Elias's thigh where the lukewarm tea had spilled on his uniform.
He felt like sh*t, a feeling that had been there for a week.
It started the moment he remembered he'd be resuming school soon— though a week later than everyone else because his grandmother had insisted he stay. She needed help with the late-summer harvest in the family's orchards, and Elias could never say no to her. Not when she was the only one who truly saw him.
He should sighed as he dropped the tea cup he was holding.
The Thornbloom carriage continued smoothly.
He leaned his head back against the velvet seat, staring out the window.
The flowery hills of his home were long gone.
Now, the landscape was dominated by the jagged obsidian cliffs that cradled Ravenholm Academy.
He'd rather be back home. He'd rather be knee-deep in the damp mulch of their family garden, listening to his grandmother hum to the hydrangeas.
There, his magic was a conversation. He could feel the thirst of the roots and the joy of a new bloom.
Here, at Ravenholm, his power was just another thing to be measured, graded, and judged.
The carriage slowed as it approached the massive iron gates that signaled the entrance of the academy. Even from a distance, Ravenholm looked less like a school and more like a fortress.
"Mr. Thornbloom? We've arrived," the driver called out.
Elias didn't move for a moment. He closed his eyes, taking one last breath of the carriage's scent— where his grandmother's scent mixed with tea—before he stood.
He wiped at the stain on his leg. It was useless.
He looked like a mess, a fitting representation of a minor noble from a household living in past glory.
He stepped out of the carriage.
The transition was immediate.
The warm, stale air of the interior was replaced by a biting, salt-heavy wind that swept up from the cliffs.
The courtyard was a sea of purple expensive silk that represented Ravenholm uniform.
Elias moved through the crowd like a ghost. He kept his head down, his moss-green hair falling forward to shield his silver eyes. He didn't want to be noticed. Being noticed meant being reminded that he didn't belong.
But of course somebody noticed.
"Elias! You're actually here!"
A familiar weight collided with his shoulder. He didn't need to look up to know it was Mina. She smelled of herbs and chemical—the scent of the Alchemy labs.
"You're late." she chided, falling into step beside him as they navigated the stone path toward the dormitories.
"The rumors have already started. They say the prince arrived this morning. The Crown Prince, Elias. Cassian Thalorin himself." She wasted no time in spilling the tea.
Elias felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the wind.
The Thalorin name was synonymous with power—the kind of power that didn't ask permission to grow.
"I heard." Elias murmured. His voice felt rusty from disuse.
"He's in our year for the Botany core," Mina continued, her eyes wide. "Can you imagine? A Senior taking a core with us because his father wants to 'verify his connection to the land.' It's a circus."
They climbed the long, winding staircase to the main hall. Elias felt every step in his knee caps, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the anxiety in his chest. He wasn't one for exercise.
As they reached the top, the double doors of the Great Hall swung open.
A group of upperclassmen pushed past them. One of them, a boy with a sneer and a perfectly tailored cape, intentionally clipped Elias's shoulder.
"Move it, Moss-head," the boy spat.
Elias stumbled, his boots skidding on the polished marble. He didn't fight back. He just adjusted his satchel and kept walking.
"Don't let them get to you." Mina whispered, her hand on his arm.
"I'm fine." he lied.
But he wasn't fine. The air in the academy felt heavy, thick with the conflicting magics of hundreds of students. It was suffocating... he had to remind himself he was doing this for his grandma. To give her a face and to make sure she lives a good life.
By the time they reached the separation point for their classes, Elias was barely suppressing the need to be alone.
He waved Mina off with a promise to meet for dinner and ducked into the shadows of the West Corridor.
He didn't head for his room. He headed for the only place where the world went quiet. Among the plants.
Greenhouse 4 was tucked away at the edge of the academy grounds, far from the polished towers of the royals. It was the wing, reserved for the more temperamental, moss-heavy and dangerous plants.
Elias pushed the heavy glass door open. The sound of the academy vanished, replaced by the rhythmic dripping of water and the soft rustle of leaves. The air here was thick and sweet with the scent of wet earth.
He let out a long, shaky breath. He walked toward the back, past the snapping ferns and the glowing fungi, toward his favorite corner.
But as he turned the corner, the air changed.
It wasn't the smell of earth anymore. It became heavy.
A figure was slumped against a potting bench.
White hair spilled over a black uniform like salt on charcoal. The figure's hand was clamped over his chest, and through the gaps in his fingers, Elias saw it.
A vine, shimmering with a sickening, golden light, was pulsing beneath the skin of the boy's neck. It looked like it was trying to break out.
The boy looked up. His eyes were a terrifying, blood-red, clouded with agony.
'White hair and red eyes?' That was the absolute trade mark of the royal family. Nobody could copy that.
'What are the odds?'
It was Cassian Thalorin.
And he was dying.