The sun streamed through the towering windows of the grand lecture hall, casting golden beams across rows of ancient wooden desks. The air buzzed with the faint rustle of parchment and the low hum of anticipation. Today's lessons wouldn't involve swinging swords or singing ballads. Instead, it was about the bedrock of ruling—philosophy, law, history, and the intricate dance of diplomacy and governance. For Niklaus, this felt like navigating uncharted waters, and his restless energy was already at its peak.
Niklaus bounced his knee under the desk, the rhythmic tapping syncing with the distant toll of a bell marking the start of class. His fingers drummed against the edge of his parchment, his quill spinning between them like a miniature baton. Every minute detail in the room seemed amplified—the scratch of quills on parchment, the scent of old books mixed with faint lavender from the gardens outside, even the soft crackle of mana-infused lanterns lining the walls.
Across the aisle sat Victor Cassian, his posture immaculate, as if he were carved from marble. The way he meticulously aligned his parchment, the precise angle of his quill—it was all too perfect. Niklaus felt a familiar itch under his skin, a mix of irritation and grudging admiration. Victor's presence was like a splinter: small, persistent, and impossible to ignore.
Their instructor, Master Alden, cleared his throat, silencing the room. His voice was calm yet carried an authority that commanded attention. "Today, we discuss morality in leadership. What makes a ruler just? What defines the line between benevolence and tyranny?"
Niklaus, unable to resist, leaned toward Cindershard resting beside him and whispered, "Hopefully not boring speeches." The sword's soft chuckle echoed in his mind, but a sharp glare from Master Alden snapped him upright.
Victor was the first to speak, his voice smooth, confident, like he'd rehearsed every word. "A ruler must control. Power is not something to be shared freely; it must be wielded with precision. Fear isn't a weakness in governance—it's a tool. People respect strength, and through that respect comes order."
Niklaus felt the heat rise in his chest. "Respect? Or submission? There's a difference, Cassian. People follow out of love and trust, not just fear. A ruler should inspire, not intimidate. Leadership isn't about control; it's about connection."
Victor's crimson eyes glinted with something between amusement and challenge. "And what happens when inspiration fails, Prince of Lupé? When your people falter, when hope isn't enough?"
Niklaus leaned forward, his purple eyes burning with conviction. "Then you stand with them. You don't rule from above—you lead from beside."
Victor's lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile. "How quaint. I suppose when your kingdom is burning, you'll hold hands and sing songs too?"
Niklaus shot back, his voice steady but laced with sarcasm. "Better than hiding behind a throne and barking orders like a pampered hound."
Isolde Cabrera's voice cut through the tension, cool and sharp. "Both of you speak as if leadership is black and white. But the world doesn't work like that. Power isn't just about fear or love—it's about understanding the game. You have to know when to wear the crown and when to play the pawn."
Niklaus glanced at her, recognizing the layers of bitterness and wisdom in her words. "So, what? Manipulate everyone? That's not leadership; that's deceit."
Isolde's emerald eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk playing at her lips. "Call it what you like, Dorscha. But kingdoms don't survive on ideals alone."
Amir Zui, ever the voice of calm, spoke next. "Perhaps leadership is about balance. Knowing when to wield power and when to yield it. Strength isn't just in action—it's in knowing when to listen, when to adapt."
Throrin Grimm's deep voice rumbled from the back. "And sometimes, it's about knowing when to knock some sense into stubborn heads." The room chuckled, the tension easing for a moment, but the undercurrent of the conversation remained.
Lysara Moonshadow, who had been silent, finally spoke, her voice like the whisper of leaves in the wind. "Leadership is rooted in harmony—with your people, with the land, with yourself. But harmony doesn't mean peace. Sometimes, to protect what matters, you must be willing to become the storm."
The room fell into thoughtful silence, each heir turning inward, reflecting on their own beliefs.
As the class ended and the heirs filed out, Niklaus felt a strange mix of exhilaration and unease. Victor passed by, his voice low enough for only Niklaus to hear. "You really believe all that idealistic nonsense, don't you, Wolf-heart? Must be exhausting to carry that much hope."
Niklaus smirked, his tone light but edged with steel. "Better to carry hope than be weighed down by cynicism, Cassian. But hey, at least one of us will sleep well tonight."
Victor's eyes narrowed, but his smirk never wavered. "Sweet dreams, Dorscha. Don't let reality bite too hard."
The day didn't end there. After class, Niklaus found himself trailing behind his usual group, his mind still buzzing from the debate. He couldn't shake the feeling that Victor wasn't just an annoyance—he was a mirror, reflecting everything Niklaus both despised and feared he could become.
Later, as they gathered in the courtyard, Cindershard's voice echoed in his mind. "You know, for someone who claims not to take things seriously, you're awfully invested in that Cassian fellow."
Niklaus chuckled, leaning against a stone pillar. "He's just… infuriatingly right sometimes. That's the problem."
Kai flopped down beside him, grinning wickedly. "Don't tell me you're going soft on him already. Or worse, admiring that pompous snake's hair routine?"
Throrin, never one to miss an opportunity, deepened his voice into a perfect imitation of Victor's pompous tone. "Ah yes, because clearly, one's hairstyle defines their capability to rule. If your curls aren't aligned with the stars, are you even a leader?"
Niklaus doubled over with laughter, adding his own flair to the impersonation. "Indeed, dear Throrin," he sniffed, lifting his chin in mock arrogance, "One must always ensure their quill is at a forty-five-degree angle and their parchment perfectly parallel to their superiority complex."
Even Amir cracked a smile, shaking his head. "I think you've both missed your calling as court jesters."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Niklaus quipped. "But honestly, how does he manage to slither around without leaving a trail?"
Cindershard's voice chimed in, as dry as ever. "Victor's charm is like drinking fine wine that's actually vinegar—smooth going down until you realize you've been poisoned."
They all burst into fresh laughter, the tension of the day dissolving in their shared mockery.
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the monastery grounds, Niklaus found he couldn't sleep. The restless energy thrummed in his veins, refusing to quiet. He slipped from his quarters and made his way toward the Verdant Hollow, the ancient forest that bordered the monastery. The towering oaks and ash trees stretched skyward, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze, while silver birches shimmered in the fading light. The cool, earthy scent of moss and damp wood filled the air, grounding Niklaus as he wandered deeper into the tranquil embrace of the forest. As he settled against the roots of an ancient oak, the quiet wrapped around him like a familiar cloak. For the first time all day, his mind began to still, the chaotic whirl of thoughts slowing to a gentle drift. Then, as if the forest itself couldn't tolerate too much peace, Cindershard's voice cut through the silence, dripping with sarcasm. "Why are we here again? Thought we were avoiding melodrama today."
Niklaus chuckled under his breath, standing and brushing the dirt from his trousers. "Looking for wolves," he murmured, his voice soft but certain. The idea had clung to him, an unshakable pull. Wolves had always fascinated him—their strength, their loyalty, the quiet understanding in their eyes. He felt an unspoken connection to them, as if some part of his soul howled with theirs under the moonlight.
He moved deeper into Verdant Hollow, the forest floor soft beneath his boots, the moon casting dappled light through the canopy above. His eyes scanned the shadows, looking for the telltale glint of eyes in the dark, his heart thrumming with anticipation. The deeper he ventured, the more he felt the forest pulse with life. The air, thick with mana, buzzed around him, infusing him with a sense of belonging.
As he stepped over a fallen log, a rustle to his left froze him in place. Slowly, he turned, his heart leaping in his chest. From the shadows, a pair of luminous golden eyes met his. A large, silver-furred wolf emerged, its gaze steady but not hostile. Niklaus felt his breath hitch, but instead of fear, a sense of peace washed over him. The wolf tilted its head, as if curious, then stepped closer.
Niklaus knelt, lowering himself to the wolf's level, his eyes never leaving its glowing gaze. As he inhaled deeply, the mana-rich air filled his lungs, sending a warmth cascading through his chest, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. His irises glowed brighter, an ethereal violet hue shimmering in the dim forest light, though he remained unaware of the subtle magic flowing through him.
"Hey there," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. The wolf's ears twitched, sensing the shift in the air, but it didn't retreat. Instead, it took another step forward, its nose twitching as it sniffed the mana-laced aura surrounding Niklaus. The scent calmed the creature, assuring it that this being was no threat.
Cindershard's voice broke the moment. "If it bites, I'm not pulling it off you. Just saying."
Niklaus shot the sword a glare, but his lips twitched with amusement. "Relax, you're not the only one with charm," he muttered.
To his surprise, the wolf huffed softly, almost as if it understood the joke. Niklaus extended a hand, palm up, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, respecting the wild creature's space. He avoided direct eye contact, knowing it could be seen as a challenge, and allowed the wolf to approach on its own terms. The wolf's nose brushed his fingers, cold and damp, sending a shiver through him—not from fear, but from something deeper. With every breath, he felt a warmth spread through his chest, his slow breathing pulsing in gentle waves that calmed the wolf, signalling he was no threat. His eyes glowed brighter, reflecting the moonlight.
For what felt like hours, he sat there, every muscle relaxed yet alert, surrounded by the silent communion of the forest and its vigilant guardians. The wolves emerged cautiously from the shadows, their sleek forms weaving through the undergrowth like whispered secrets. Their eyes, glowing embers in the moonlight, held no malice, only a primal curiosity. Niklaus respected their space, avoiding sudden movements, his breath steady and slow. He understood their language—not of words, but of glances, postures, and the subtle flick of an ear or the twitch of a tail. They sensed his calm, the quiet confidence of someone who knew their ways intimately. These were not pets to be tamed, nor beasts to be feared; they were equals, bound by an unspoken understanding. They encircled him, close enough to feel the warmth of their bodies, yet distant enough to maintain their autonomy. In their presence, Niklaus felt the pulse of his lineage, the wolf in his blood acknowledging its kin. The night unfolded around them, a shared breath between man and beast, as if they too recognized a kindred spirit—one who walked the line between worlds.
When the night grew colder, and the wolves finally retreated into the deeper shadows, Niklaus stood, brushing the dirt from his trousers, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He cast one last glance toward the darkened treeline, where golden eyes still flickered like distant stars. "Guess I'll see you around," he whispered to the forest, his voice blending with the rustle of leaves, a silent promise to return. As he turned back toward the monastery, the cool night air filled his lungs, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and pine. Each step felt less burdened, as if the quiet strength of the wolves had seeped into his bones.
As he made his way back to the monastery, Cindershard grumbled, "Well, that was touching. But next time, maybe we just get a pet cat instead? Less chance of getting eaten."
Niklaus laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. "Not a chance, Cindershard. Wolves understand me in ways no one else does. Besides, I already have Terra."
Cindershard's voice, laced with mock surprise, echoed in his mind. "But hasn't she been missing for a year?"
The laughter faded from Niklaus's face, replaced by a quiet sadness. His gaze drifted toward the treetops swaying gently in the night breeze. "Yeah," he murmured, the word heavy with longing.
They walked back in silence, the forest around them humming with life while Niklaus's thoughts lingered on his lost companion. As they approached the monastery, he shook off the melancholy and focused on the task at hand. Sneaking through the dimly lit halls, he deftly avoided the ever-watchful hall monitors enforcing curfew, his movements light and practiced, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of moonlight.
By the time he slipped back into his room, heart still racing from the thrill of evasion, the weight of the night had settled comfortably on his shoulders. But the emptiness where Terra used to be remained, a quiet ache beneath his playful exterior. He shook his head and got in bed with his clothes still on and fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.