Chapter Three: Echoes and Reactions
Aurelian turned.
Elira Vane stood at the edge of the corridor, arms folded, eyes locked on him like she’d been holding that pose for hours.
“Wow,” she said, voice like winter glass.
“Didn’t expect to run into you between detentions.”
Aurelian froze.
“Elira—”
“You left me. Standing. For an hour. At a place you suggested.”
He stepped forward, hands raised, searching for breath.
“I can explain—”
“Can you? Because I’ve got a long list of things you can’t do. Texting back. Arriving on time. Committing to anything that doesn’t include a disciplinary record—”
Her voice cracked with heat.
She wasn’t just angry.
She was disappointed.
Aurelian started to speak again—but Jasper appeared at his side, panting slightly.
“Elira. Stop. Please. Just listen.”
She turned toward him.
“He was hit by a car. Last night.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Saving a girl. A real high-speed hit. Witnesses said over two hundred k. The driver ran. Aurelian got thrown like ten meters. Blacked out.”
Elira’s arms dropped slightly.
“But... that’s the story from last night. The one everyone’s posting about online—”
Jasper nodded.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
Her gaze shifted slowly back to Aurelian.
Now looking. Really looking.
His left sleeve was slightly torn. Bruising peeked out from under his collarbone.
He looked... tired.
Hurt.
Real.
“Why didn’t you say something?” she asked, voice lower now.
“Phone’s dead,” he said.
“I wasn’t even sure I was awake until ten minutes ago.”
She looked down.
Then up. Eyes softer.
“So... you got hit. And lived?”
Aurelian hesitated.
“Yeah. I don’t know how. The doctors said I shouldn’t have made it.”
Elira stepped back, arms crossed again—but not in anger.
“That’s... kind of insane.”
“Yeah.”
Silence lingered.
Then she asked, “Wanna sit with me at lunch?”
His grin cracked through instinctively.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
---
At the edge of the courtyard, Callen Merrow leaned against a column, watching the exchange.
Expression tight. Fingers clenched.
He slipped away without a word.
---
Half an hour later, gym class was winding down when the coach barked from the sideline.
“Thorne! Go grab the chalk markers from the basketball court storage. Now.”
Aurelian groaned.
He hated that place.
It smelled like old sweat and ghosts.
He crossed the quad, hands in pockets, jacket fluttering behind him.
When he reached the door, he gave it a tug—
Click.
It was supposed to be locked.
He paused.
Then shrugged.
Stepped inside.
---
Dust floated in shafts of light through cracked slats in the high windows. The court stretched out in eerie silence. No balls. No players. Just stillness.
He found the chalk marker box stacked high on a metal shelf.
Jumped. Grabbed it.
Turned to leave—
And someone was standing in front of the door.
Cloak. Boots. Eyes like calm storms.
Magister Orrin Vale.
Aurelian stumbled back.
“WHAT THE HELL—how did—who are—”
Orrin raised a hand. Snapped his fingers.
The room fell away in an instant.
---
Back at the class...
The coach looked up suddenly.
“Wait. That room’s locked.”
He reached into his pocket for the keys.
“Someone go open it. He probably didn’t get in.”
Elira shot up.
“I’ll go.”
She arrived two minutes later, keys in hand.
The court door was open. Lights on. Chalk marker box on the ground.
But no Aurelian.
She stepped inside, looked around.
Empty.
“Where do you keep going,” she murmured, picking up the box.
“You’re going to give me an ulcer before you give me a date.”
She turned and left.
---
Seconds later, something shimmered behind the net at the far end of the court.
A figure stepped through—cloaked in black, eyes glowing faint crimson.
Torvin, elite scout of The Varn, crossed the court silently.
Knelt. Touched the floor where Aurelian had vanished.
A pulse of residual magic vibrated
beneath his hand.
“He’s already been moved,” he whispered.
“The gem is active.”
He turned.
And disappeared.
---
To be continued in Chapter Four: The Boy the Gem Wouldn’t Kill
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