**Chapter 13: Whispers in the Dark**
The ancestral hall of House Veyne loomed in cold grandeur, its black marble walls reflecting the flickering witch lights like stars in a midnight sky. At the head of the obsidian table, **Lord Dain Veyne** sat motionless, his ice-blue eyes scanning the parchments before him. The air smelled of aged wine and the sharp metallic tang of the family's signature silver blades mounted along the walls.
"Another caravan lost near the Blackreach Pass," growled Elder Harron, his gnarled fingers tightening around his cane. "The beasts grow bolder."
Elder Selene's silver bracelets clinked as she tapped the table. "Or our enemies grow cleverer. The Sablethorn merchants have been eyeing that route for months."
Lord Dain's fingers stilled. Before he could speak, the great doors groaned open.
All heads turned as **Lirien Veyne** strode in, her boots silent on the polished stone. Moonlight from the high windows caught the silver threads in her cloak, making her seem like a specter gliding between realms.
"Father." She inclined her head. "Elders."
Dain's voice was a whip crack. "You interrupt council."
Lirien took her seat without apology. "I bring news worth interrupting for." She leaned forward, her dagger's point tracing idle patterns on the table. "The orphan boy—Gale—just humiliated Dorian in front of the entire academy. With a **single spell**."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
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Lord Dain's knuckles whitened around his goblet. "Explain."
Lirien's smile was all edges. "**Gravity's Grasp.** But not the pitiful version they teach apprentices. His was... different. Strong enough to crater stone."
Elder Harron slammed his cane down. "Impossible! That spell requires—"
"Decades of mastery?" Lirien arched a brow. "Yet he did it. And now..." Her nails tapped the obsidian. "He trains with Professor Dain. As a **knight**."
The silence that followed was thicker than blood.
Lord Dain set his goblet down with deliberate calm. "Dual-path cultivation."
"Exactly." Lirien's eyes gleamed. "And the Headmaster took **personal** interest in him today."
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*
Elder Selene's bracelets hissed like snakes as she leaned in. "If he's this dangerous already, why not remove him?"
"Because," Lirien purred, "I want to know **how** a nobody orphan achieves what only ancient bloodlines should." She twirled her dagger. "The Headmaster stole his alchemy book. That means **he** suspects something too."
Lord Dain's chair scraped back as he stood, his shadow stretching monstrously across the wall. "Very well. Study him. But if he becomes a true threat—"
Lirien was already at the door, her laugh floating back like poisoned silk. "Oh Father. Have I ever let one live long enough to matter?"
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The moon was a claw scratch in the sky when Lirien slipped into the slums. The stench of rotting fish and cheap gin clung to the alleyways, but her steps never faltered.
Three knocks—a pause—two more.
The door creaked open to darkness.
"Well?" The voice was gravel and smoke. "Is he dead?"
Lirien's smile was a blade in the dark. "Patience. He's more useful breathing."
A match flared. For a heartbeat, a face flickered—hooded, scarred, **wrong**—before the light died.
"You're playing a dangerous game," the figure rasped.
Lirien leaned against the damp wall, her dagger carving spirals into the wood. "The boy's hiding something. The Headmaster knows it. And now..." She licked her lips. "So do I."
A wet cough. The scrape of metal on stone. "Others watch him too."
"Good." Her blade stilled. "Let them see what happens to thieves."
The dagger **thunked** into the wall, quivering an inch from the figure's throat.
"Remember," Lirien whispered as she melted into the night, "his last breath **belongs to me**."
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