Dorian sat in the dimly lit library of Durmstrang, surrounded by tomes so ancient that the edges of the pages crumbled beneath the slightest touch. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced along the stone walls, but it did little to warm the chill that seemed to settle in his bones these days. His fingers traced the edge of a particularly weathered book, but his mind was elsewhere, swirling with thoughts far darker than the text before him.
Lyra had been on his mind more than usual lately. Their bond, which had once been built on shared ambition and wariness, was beginning to shift into something he couldn't quite define. He found himself drawn to her presence, seeking her out not just for her insight and intelligence but for the strange sense of calm she brought to his turbulent world. She had a way of making him feel grounded, even when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control.
But lately, something had been off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was a subtle shift in Lyra's demeanor, a flicker of darkness behind her calm exterior. He noticed the way she had grown quieter, more withdrawn, as if she were carrying a burden she didn't want him to see. Part of him wanted to ask her about it, to demand answers. But another part of him—the part that had learned the value of secrets—knew better than to push her too hard. Not yet, anyway.
There were secrets he kept from her too. Darker, more dangerous secrets that whispered to him in the dead of night, feeding his hunger for power. The magic inside him was growing, more demanding every day, and Dorian had become adept at hiding just how much it had begun to consume him. Lyra didn't need to know. No one did.
Still, despite the shadows that clung to them both, Dorian found comfort in their shared moments. Tonight, however, he was alone in the library, and the quiet felt more oppressive than usual. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, and leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes drift over the flickering flames. His mind was unsettled, a gnawing sense of unease curling in the pit of his stomach.
Why am I restless?
The answer came quickly, an unwelcome reminder of the rumors swirling through Durmstrang. Kara's death had sent shockwaves through the school, and even though the culprit had been identified, the atmosphere hadn't fully settled. And now, with the recent death of Jannik—the student who had discovered Kara's body—the tension had only escalated.
Dorian's mind flickered back to the day he'd heard the rumors about Kara. He had been in class, distracted by the odd mood of the other students. When he'd asked what was wrong, a fellow student had muttered something about Kara being found dead, her body discovered by Jannik in the dungeons. At the time, Dorian had felt a wave of relief wash over him. Not for her death, but for the simple fact that neither he nor Lyra had been implicated.
But now, Jannik was dead too, and Dorian couldn't shake the feeling that something darker was at play. His instincts told him that Kara's death—and now Jannik's—wasn't as straightforward as the administration had made it seem. The Durmstrang principal had given a speech not long ago, explaining away both deaths, claiming that the culprit had been found, that everything was under control.
Yet Dorian couldn't shake the feeling that the pieces didn't quite fit.
He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a low scrape. The silence of the library pressed in on him, the flickering shadows making the room feel more claustrophobic than comforting. His magic stirred beneath his skin, a restless, hungry thing that wanted to be fed. The whispers were there too, urging him to delve deeper, to find the answers that had eluded him thus far.
With a sigh, Dorian grabbed his wand from the table and pocketed it. He needed to clear his head, and there was only one place he could go to find some semblance of peace.
The dungeons.
The cold air hit him as soon as he stepped into the underground corridors. The flickering torchlight cast long, eerie shadows along the stone walls, but Dorian felt oddly at home in the dark. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way deeper into the maze of tunnels, his mind still buzzing with unanswered questions.
Who killed Jannik?
The thought kept circling back to him. The official story seemed too clean, too convenient. He had learned over time that real life, especially the kind of life they led at Durmstrang, was rarely that simple. He stopped at the entrance to one of the more secluded chambers, leaning against the cold stone as his thoughts raced.
It didn't add up.
Dorian's instincts had always served him well, and they were screaming at him now. He needed to figure out who had really been behind the deaths—if for no other reason than to ensure his own safety. But there was another reason too, one that gnawed at the back of his mind: Lyra.
Had she been involved?
The thought was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of discomfort through him. No. He dismissed it quickly. Lyra wasn't capable of such things. She was like him—calculating, ambitious, but not reckless. Besides, if she had been involved, she would have told him. Wouldn't she?
Dorian shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he began to pace the corridor. The dark magic inside him surged, the whispers growing louder. He needed answers. But more than that, he needed control—over the situation, over the magic, over himself.
Just then, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the tunnel, and Dorian froze, his hand instinctively moving to his wand. For a moment, his heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with possibilities. Who would be wandering the dungeons at this hour?
The figure emerged from the shadows, and Dorian's tension eased slightly when he recognized Lyra. She moved with her usual grace, her expression calm and composed, though there was something in her eyes—something darker—that Dorian couldn't quite place.
"Dorian," she greeted him, her voice soft but steady.
"Lyra," he responded, his gaze flicking over her, searching for signs of… something. "What are you doing down here?"
Lyra smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I could ask you the same thing."
Dorian let out a small chuckle, though the unease hadn't left him entirely. "Clearing my head. These tunnels… they help me think."
She stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. "I've been feeling the same way lately. There's been… too much chaos, too much uncertainty."
Dorian nodded, understanding all too well. "It'll settle. Once the school accepts that the culprit's been dealt with, things will go back to normal."
But even as he said it, he didn't believe it. Lyra tilted her head, studying him for a long moment.
"You're relieved, aren't you?" she asked, her tone light but with an edge of something deeper. "That neither of us were blamed."
Dorian met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Of course."
There was a pause, a moment of silence that felt heavier than it should have. Dorian wondered what Lyra was thinking, but he didn't ask. Instead, he simply held her gaze, as if searching for answers in her dark eyes.
But Lyra, as always, remained an enigma. Whatever thoughts were running through her head, she kept them hidden behind the same calm, controlled exterior she always wore. It was something Dorian admired about her—her ability to remain composed, even when the world around them was unraveling.
And yet, as he looked at her now, he couldn't help but wonder if that control was slipping—if, like him, she was teetering on the edge of something far darker than either of them had anticipated.
But Dorian didn't press. Instead, he offered her a small, almost weary smile. "We'll get through this," he said, more for himself than for her. "We always do."
Lyra's lips curved into a faint smile, though there was a shadow behind her eyes that Dorian couldn't ignore. "Yes," she said softly. "We always do."
And with that, the two of them stood in the dimly lit corridor, surrounded by shadows, both knowing that the darkness within them was growing—and that sooner or later, it would consume them both.