The morning after burned behind Elias's eyes. His muscles ached in places he didn't even know he had, and a strange warmth lingered deep in his chest, like something was still pulsing there—alive and hungry.
He splashed cold water on his face. His reflection shimmered, and for a second, he thought his pupils slit like a cat's.
He blinked. It was gone.
You're imagining things, he told himself.
Dressed and late, Elias hurried to class.
He barely noticed at first—the glances, the way students stepped aside to let him through, like he was giving off something they didn't want to touch.
In Magical Techniques and Precision, he tried to hide in the back row. Wyll tossed him a curious look but said nothing.
Professor Greaves called on him anyway.
"Mr. Wynn. Front and center."
Dragging his feet, Elias stepped forward. His skin prickled. His blood buzzed.
"Form the glyph of Binding as instructed yesterday."
Easy enough.
He lifted his palm. Focused. Spoke the incantation.
The glyph sparked to life—then twisted. Lines bent unnaturally, blooming into a sigil no one recognized, humming in violet light. The air heated, warped. The spell sucked magic from the very room like a thirsty predator.
Students gasped. Some shielded their faces instinctively.
Professor Greaves slammed his hand down, force-canceling the spell before it fully birthed into something worse.
The energy died with a sharp crackle.
Silence.
Greaves' brows furrowed. Not in anger. In confusion.
"...That wasn't normal deviation."
He glanced at Elias like he was a problem he couldn't solve. Like a knot too tangled to undo.
The professor said only, "See me after class."
After class, Elias stood stiffly in front of Greaves' cluttered desk. The older man paced behind it, muttering under his breath.
"You're reckless," Greaves said, raking a hand through his greying hair.
Magic doesn't just mutate like that unless there's some instability in your lineage," Greaves said, rubbing his temple. "Hidden bloodlines... curses... perhaps even relic contamination."
Not once did he mention demons.
Because nobody sane would think of demons.
They were folktales. Ancient history. Myths.
Greaves finally sighed. "I'll file a record of anomaly. That's all for now. Keep your magic under control, Wynn. Magic like that... draws unwanted attention."
Elias stumbled out of the office, feeling like he'd just dodged a guillotine.
Later, Wyll found him slumped by the fountain.
"You okay?" Wyll asked, offering him a wrapped sweet bun.
Elias shook his head.
"You smelled weird during that spell, you know?" Wyll said casually, munching. "Like—ozone and something... spicy."
Elias laughed weakly. "Thanks."
"No, seriously. Smelled kinda good, honestly. Dangerous, but good."
Elias shoved him half-heartedly. Wyll grinned.
"No offense, but... you might be cursed, dude. Or royalty. Either way, you're weird as shit."
Royalty, Elias thought bitterly. Yeah, right.
Meanwhile, deep between worlds, Rael traced the link tethering them together, a dark grin curving his lips.
"My pretty little human," he purred. "Already burning for me."
He licked his lips.
Soon, very soon, Elias would belong to him completely.