It had been months since Lyra left, and Dorian could no longer pretend everything was the same. Without her, his world had shifted, tilting dangerously toward the edge of something dark and uncontrollable. He missed her more than he ever thought he would. At first, he had convinced himself that her absence would be temporary, that he could manage without her constant presence, but he had been wrong. The steady decline in his control, in his ability to resist the allure of the dark magic, was a testament to that.
Dorian had spent weeks oscillating between regret and frustration. Regret that he hadn't done more to make her stay, and frustration that he had let himself become so dependent on her presence. The dark magic that whispered to him in the quiet corners of his mind had begun to roar, louder and more insistent. It no longer felt like something he could control; it was now something he feared was beginning to control him.
Durmstrang's atmosphere had shifted, too. There was an unsettling tension that permeated the halls. Students avoided his gaze, whispering behind his back. The unsolved deaths had shaken the school, but the recent events had stirred something darker. The culprit was publicly executed, blamed for the deaths of Kara and Jannik, yet the unease had not dissipated. Instead, it had only settled into a strange quiet, a fear that now lingered around Dorian.
In the past, Dorian had relished the fear. He had thrived on it. But now, with Lyra gone, it felt like a reminder of his isolation. The more the students avoided him, the more the whispers seemed to grow inside his mind. The darkness no longer waited for him to call upon it; it slipped into his thoughts unbidden, swirling through his veins, seeping into every corner of his mind.
Sitting in one of the darker alcoves of the Durmstrang library, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar tension of magic pulsing beneath his skin. He had a book open in front of him, something about ancient blood magic rituals, but he couldn't focus on the words. His thoughts kept circling back to the last conversation he had with Lyra, the way she had looked at him when she said she needed to leave. He hadn't known then how much her absence would affect him.
The loneliness gnawed at him, making the whispers harder to ignore. He tried to push them away, tried to bury himself in his studies, but the more he tried to regain control, the more the magic seemed to push back.
A group of students passed nearby, their whispers low but clear enough for Dorian to hear.
"Have you heard about Selwyn? They say he's losing it... that he's not the same without Blackthorn around."
"Well, I'm not surprised," another voice chimed in. "They were close, weren't they? I mean, it's not like she could stick around forever, not with everything going on."
Dorian's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he listened. He wasn't sure if it was anger or frustration that gripped him, but the magic inside him flared at their words. It was an undeniable truth that without Lyra, he had been slipping, but hearing it spoken aloud like that made the anger burn hotter.
He slammed the book shut, the noise echoing through the silent library, startling the students who had been whispering. They glanced over at him, eyes wide with fear, before quickly hurrying away. Dorian leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting out a slow, controlled breath. The magic within him simmered, pushing against the edges of his restraint, but he forced it back, refusing to give in to the temptation.
Without Lyra, he was teetering on the edge of something darker, something he feared he might not be able to pull back from. He needed to regain control. He couldn't let the darkness win, not like this.
His thoughts wandered again to Lyra's last words before she left—how she had talked about needing help from her aunt, a powerful dark witch who had once helped her with her own magic. Dorian had wondered what that must have been like for Lyra, battling the same kind of darkness he was now facing. But unlike Lyra, Dorian had no one to turn to. He had no anchor, no one to help him regain control. He was on his own, and the weight of that realization pressed down on him, suffocating him.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone floor as he pushed it back. He needed air, needed space to think. The library was too confining, too stifling. He strode through the halls, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way outside. The cold air hit him like a slap, but it was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the school.
Dorian made his way to the edge of the grounds, where the trees grew dense and the shadows seemed deeper. This had always been his refuge, a place where he could escape the prying eyes of the students and professors, a place where he could think without the weight of expectation pressing down on him.
He leaned against a tree, closing his eyes as he breathed in the crisp air. But even here, in the silence of the forest, the darkness inside him whispered. It urged him to give in, to let the magic take over, to stop resisting and embrace the power that was rightfully his.
"You don't need her," the voice hissed. "You never did. You were always meant for more, Dorian. This is your destiny."
Dorian's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep the darkness at bay. But it was growing harder to resist. Without Lyra, without her quiet presence that had always kept him grounded, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.
And yet, even as the darkness pressed in on him, there was a part of him that didn't want to fight it anymore. A part of him that was tired of resisting, tired of pretending he could control something so powerful. Maybe the darkness was right. Maybe this was his destiny.
He opened his eyes, staring out into the dense forest, his mind racing with thoughts of power and control. He could feel the magic pulsing within him, stronger than ever before, begging to be unleashed. And for the first time, Dorian considered what it would be like to stop fighting it.
But then, a flicker of something else broke through the darkness—a memory of Lyra, her voice calm and steady, reminding him that power without control was dangerous. That if he let the darkness win, it would consume him.
Dorian exhaled sharply, pushing the dark thoughts away. He couldn't let it win. Not yet. Not like this.
He pushed off the tree and started back toward the school, his steps more determined this time. He didn't know how long he could keep this up, didn't know if he could maintain control without Lyra's presence to ground him, but for now, he would try. He had to try.
Because if he didn't, he wasn't sure what would be left of him by the time Lyra returned.
As he approached the school, the whispers in his mind quieted slightly, though the darkness still lingered, waiting for its chance to resurface. Dorian could feel it there, just beneath the surface, but for now, he pushed it back, determined to hold on just a little longer.
But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before the darkness won.