The Avatar of Chaos

In the blink of an eye, the weekend arrived.The soft clop of hooves and rustle of straw faded behind them as Lilith, Elias, Tamsin, Lyra, and Raffin left the academy's eastern fields, the air still holding traces of hay and sun-warmed wood. Their uniforms were dusted with stray bits of straw and smudges of stable dirt, and none of them seemed to mind—especially not after the peace of their horse riding lesson.

Elaris had been cooperative today, allowing Lilith to brush her coat with ease and even nuzzling gently into her palm before they'd parted ways. She could still feel the ghost of the mare's breath against her wrist, warm and steady.

"So," Raffin piped up as they rounded a bend in the garden path, heading toward the dormitories, "since it's the weekend, are we finally allowed to explore the town a bit?"

"Oh, absolutely," Tamsin said with a grin. "I heard there's a pastry shop that makes cinnamon-twist wands. Real sugar magic, I swear."

Lyra adjusted her glasses. "I'd like to browse the book stalls. I heard there are rare volumes from the WesternTerritories in the market square."

Elias, trailing just behind Lilith, tilted his head toward her. "Think we'll have time for a detour to the smithy? I want to look at training swords again."

"I'm sure we can fit it all in," Lilith replied calmly, but a hint of amusement softened her voice. "We just need to avoid getting distracted every ten steps."

As they neared the archway leading into the dormitory courtyard, a third-year student approached from the opposite direction—formal posture, chest emblazoned with the embroidered badge of the Tactical Division. He stopped in front of Lilith and offered a small bow, then extended a sealed letter marked with a familiar sigil.

The crimson wax bore the jagged brand of a phoenix's talon gripping flame: Master Sera Halcorth.

"For you," the student said curtly, then turned and strode off without explanation.

Lilith held the envelope in one hand, examining it briefly before slipping a finger under the wax seal. She broke it without ceremony, unfolding the note as the others continued chatting beside her.

Her eyes scanned the message silently as her pace matched the group's:

Lilith Silford,

Your performance in Tactical Magic has left many questions in its wake. I seek clarity—away from the noise of group instruction. If you are willing, meet me in the west tower practice hall tomorrow evening after supper. Alone.

—Sera Halcorth

Lilith folded the letter and slipped it into her storage bracelet without a word. Her expression didn't shift, though her mind was already threading possibilities.

Sera Halcorth did not strike her as the type to summon students for praise. She was certain that this summons was about their talk a few days prior. If that was the case, she needed to be prepared.

Still walking beside the others, she listened with half an ear as Tamsin began planning their route into town, smiling faintly at their excitement—while her thoughts turned inward once more, toward the looming presence of the phoenix-sealed letter burning cold at her side.

Just as the group reached the ivy-wrapped entrance of the dormitory wing, a familiar voice called out behind them.

"Heading somewhere exciting without me?"

They turned to see Alaric approaching from the garden path, hands casually tucked behind his back. His silver-threaded uniform caught the fading sunlight, hair tousled just enough to look effortless. 

"We were just talking about heading into town tomorrow," Elias said with a grin. "Pastries, books, swords—normal weekend stuff."

"Ah, the essential trio," Alaric replied with a chuckle, then looked toward Lilith. "Would it be alright if I joined you?"

Tamsin gave a quick nod. "Of course! The more the merrier."

"We're meeting in the main courtyard after breakfast," Lyra added, brushing dust from her skirt.

Lilith, quiet beside them, gave a subtle incline of her head. "That's fine with me," she said evenly.

Alaric's gaze lingered on her a moment longer. Her voice was calm, measured as always, but he noticed something different—her emerald eyes distant, focused somewhere far beyond the group's light conversation. She wasn't quite with them.

He didn't ask about it. Not yet.

But he filed it away like a puzzle piece, fitting it into the growing map of Lilith Silford that only he seemed to be quietly assembling.

"Well then," Alaric said, smiling again as he stepped beside Elias. "I look forward to tomorrow."

The group continued into the dormitory together, laughter and chatter resuming around him. But even as he smiled and played his part, Alaric's mind lingered on the unreadable flicker he'd seen in Lilith's eyes.

She was planning something. And he intended to find out what.

The group entered the dining hall and chatted away while enjoying their supper. Lilith, feeling tired and having things to prepare, excused herself after finishing her food.

The dormitory halls were quiet by the time Lilith reached her room, the rich scent of oil lamps mingling with the soft whisper of footsteps on polished stone. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a muted click, the sound oddly final after the warmth of dinner with her friends.

Moonlight filtered in through the arched window, casting long shadows across the tidy desk she had already claimed as her own. With a flick of her fingers and a whisperless gesture, she conjured a sound barrier to ensure her privacy.

She moved with precision—removing her blazer, setting it neatly over her chair, and unrolling a scroll of fine parchment. Her quill, dipped in black ink, hovered above the paper for a breath before it began to dance, her hand swift and deliberate.

Caelum Thorne,

I hope this letter reaches you without delay. I write to inform you that tomorrow, I will be accompanying a group of my peers on a trip into town. It is a sanctioned excursion, and no one suspects ulterior motives. I will be difficult to track during the outing, which presents a rare window for you to act freely without concern for the Academy's watchful eyes.

Master Sera Halcorth, the instructor of Tactical Magic & Field Application, has extended an invitation for a private meeting. She claims to wish for a discussion, but her approach suggests something more. I find her interest… promising.

I believe she is ready to listen what I am about to tell. This is a very important improvement. If we can have her join our ranks, we will gain a very useful ally.

I want to know everything there is to know about her. Her background, military record, allegiances, any dealings with the Church, the Imperial family, or noble factions. Any buried past—exploits, punishments, or secrets. Leave nothing untouched.

I ask that the Nightborne Pact be activated for this task. Consider it their first assignment. They are to investigate thoroughly but quietly. No mistakes. I want a full report awaiting me upon my return from the excursion.

I have high expectations. And I believe we can pull the professor to our side in the future. For that, prepare a special mask crafted just for her and deliver it with the report.

No contact during the outing. Burn after reading.

—L. Silford.

She paused for a moment, letting the ink dry as she read over her words. Satisfied, she folded the parchment into an encrypted sigil envelope, sealed it with a wax stamp marked with twin moons. 

The letter in her hand, she turned towards the corner of her room and went near the black owl. She gently let the bird out of its cage. It didn't take long for her to secure the partchment on the bird before letting it fly out of the window into the darkness of the night.

Finishing up with her objectives, she quickly washed herself using the water element and then went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

The morning sun cast a golden sheen across the Academy's eastern gates as they opened with a slow, reverent groan. Beyond lay the cobbled road winding down toward the capital's inner district—a path lined with trimmed hedges and polished lanterns leading to Valebourne's heart.

Lilith walked beside her friends, dressed not in uniform but in a simple dark-gray cloak and an ash-blue dress beneath, her storage bracelet snug around her wrist. Tamsin, radiant in a sage-green dress and boots, kept the energy high with her endless commentary about where they should go first. Lyra, quieter, clung to a book bag despite the bracelet—clearly more comfortable with something held close. Raffin strolled at the back, hands behind his head, a scarf fluttering lazily behind his neck.

And Elias, as always, walked with a bounce in his step, his brown jacket and fingerless gloves giving him the air of a boy far too excited for a simple outing.

Alaric joined them not long after they passed the first row of watchful guards. He wore a muted plum tunic with silver fastenings—still elegant, still refined, but deliberately ordinary. He offered a calm smile and fell into step beside Lilith, though his eyes remained observant, scanning the streets ahead and every alley they passed.

Their first stop was a famed pastry shop nestled near the old fountain square. The scent of sugared almonds and honey bread hit them before they reached the windows. Inside, warmth and sweetness wrapped around them like a spell. Tamsin all but pressed her face to the glass, gasping at fruit tarts, cinnamon braids, and cloudlike cream puffs.

"I'll take one of everything," Elias declared, grinning. "Especially that one—what is it called again?"

"A honey-flaked spiralis," Lyra murmured, cheeks slightly red as she pointed it out.

They took their time selecting treats, laughing over the sticky mess Elias made of his tart and how Raffin somehow managed to sneak two extra from Elias's bundle of food without him noticing. Lilith, while quiet, allowed herself a rare smile as she watched her brother joke with the others, a sugared crumb stuck to his cheek.

Next came the bookshop—a narrow, dusty place with ceilings far too high and shelves even higher. Lyra practically sprinted inside, dragging Lilith with her. Leather-bound tomes, scrolls sealed with silver wax, and collections of arcane diagrams filled every corner.

Lilith found herself in the Old Histories section, fingers brushing over forgotten names and suppressed philosophies. One book in particular—a weathered leather volume marked with ancient runes and titled Whispers of the Forgotten Pantheon—gave her pause. Flipping through its aged pages, she noted the mention of obscure deities long erased from modern faith, and her gaze lingered on a faint, smudged symbol she had once seen in Caelum's notes.

Her expression didn't shift, but her mind sharpened with interest. Without hesitation, she brought the book to the counter and purchased it outright, not bothering to haggle. Gold was not a concern. Knowledge, on the other hand—especially of the old gods—was priceless.

Meanwhile, Alaric stood in front of a shelf of military strategy texts, head tilted as he skimmed through an aged copy of On the Shifting Loyalties of Border Lords.

Their final stop before lunch was a smithy built like a blackened fortress. The heat radiating from within hit them the moment they stepped inside. Elias was the first to approach the display of sabres and rapiers, eyes shining.

"They've got dragonbone hilts," he whispered with awe. "Look at the balance on that one."

Raffin tested a short blade's weight while chatting with the blacksmith, who seemed amused by the sudden wave of noble children handling his wares. Tamsin, more curious than combat-ready, poked around a rack of enchanted farming tools—much to the smith's further amusement.

Lilith didn't handle anything. She simply stood near the glowing forge, listening to the rhythmic clang of metal on steel and letting it settle her nerves. A forge was honest. Loud. Hot. Everything her path was not.

The group meandered through the bustling cobblestone streets, full from lunch and hands heavier with their purchases. Sunlight filtered through clouds overhead, casting dappled shadows across merchant stalls and hanging banners. Raffin was happily gnawing on the last bite of a honey-glazed pastry, while Elias animatedly recounted his debate with the blacksmith over different blade balances. Tamsin and Lyra walked beside Lilith, comparing the charms they had found in a quaint little apothecary.

They were nearly ready to head back when Lilith paused before a tucked-away tailor's shop, her eyes drawn to a mannequin in the front display. Draped over it was a sleek black cloak, its texture rich and layered, light yet durable. A subtle sheen caught the light—barely visible to an untrained eye—and the stitching along the trim bore faint, blank rune frames.

Lilith stepped inside, the little bell above the door chiming softly. The tailor, an elderly man with nimble fingers and a warm smile, explained that the cloak had been crafted from a rare weave known for its compatibility with magical enhancements. "The runic threads along the lining are receptive to enchantments," he said, "You—or someone skilled—can stitch spells directly into the garment. Custom-tailored magic, if you will."

That was all she needed to hear.

Lilith purchased it without delay, brushing her fingers down the inner lining with a thoughtful hum. The cloak flowed over her shoulders perfectly once fastened, and its weight was a comfort—like the beginning of a secret she alone would understand.

As they continued their walk back to the Academy, the others chatted around her, but Lilith's mind wandered—not just to the cloak, but to the runes she had studied just the day before, and how they might soon find a new home within the folds of black fabric.