The green in Ember's eyes gradually dimmed, fading back into their natural, icy blue hue. She gasped softly, clutching the basin before her as if the cold porcelain might anchor her in place. The mirror reflected a girl caught between two worlds—her flushed cheeks, damp hair clinging to her temples, and eyes filled with terror, regret, and something far darker than doubt.
As her mind cleared, the weight of what she had just agreed to came crashing down on her.
The name echoed like a curse in her thoughts, wrapping around her spine like a coil of dread. She'd only seen him once, a mere silhouette of a man with eyes that held no mercy and a smile far too knowing. Compared to Gordon, the cruelty and cunningness in Morbuan eyes were on a different level. There was no telling how many lives he'd claimed just because he could.
And now, he was coming.
Or rather, she was preparing the way for him.
The thought made her stomach turn. She gripped the edges of the sink tightly, then splashed water on her face again, hoping the shock would somehow wash the decision from her soul. But it lingered—Sylvathar's command burned into her mind like an oath etched in blood.
Then her thoughts shifted.
If she could get Sheila to Sylvathar herself—bypass the city, bypass the plan, just deliver the girl quietly—would that keep Morbuan away from Grandeur? It was a desperate idea, but one she clung to like a raft in a storm.
But even as the thought formed, it began to unravel.
Sheila was not alone. Magnus guarded her like a hawk. And if that wasn't enough, Galen's presence loomed like an unmovable wall of steel. Ember knew them well enough—their strength, their resolve. No matter how cunning Morbuan was, even he would be hard-pressed to defeat one of them, let alone both.
Still… that might work in her favor.
If Morbuan couldn't succeed without bloodshed, then the plan would fail. And if the plan failed, Ember knew exactly what awaited her.
Or worse—Sylvathar's wrath. Something she couldn't picture.
She stood silently for a moment, staring at her reflection, trying to read the storm behind her own eyes. Then, a chilling thought took root.
Wouldn't it be worth it?
What if Morbuan did fail? What if Magnus and Galen crushed him the moment he stepped into the city? What if the plan burned before it ever took form?
Wouldn't that be justice?
Wouldn't that be... freedom?
The seed of rebellion stirred in her chest—fragile, flickering like a dying flame, but alive.
For the first time since Gordon's disappearance, Ember began to think.
What if she pretended to go along with Sylvathar's plan?
What if she played both sides?
The kingdom already suspected little of her. Regulus trusted her. She could get close to Sheila—gain the trust Sylvathar demanded—then use that trust to protect the girl instead. Shield her from Morbuan. Set him up.
Let him come… and let him fall.
But there was risk. Too much of it. One wrong step, and she'd be dead. Regulus might be dragged into it. Or worse—he might be used against her.
She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.
"I have to make this work. Not just for Sheila. Not just for the kingdom. For him."
She couldn't let Regulus be collateral damage in a war he never signed up for. If she had to pretend, lie, smile, and play the role of Sylvathar's obedient servant just a little longer—she would. But only to dismantle it all from the inside.
Tonight would mark the beginning of a delicate game. One misstep and she would lose everything.
But Ember had made up her mind.
She would be the spark that turned Sylvathar's plan to ash.
And if that meant walking into the fire… then so be it.
After a moment, Ember stepped out of the restroom, her heartbeat still a tempest beneath her calm exterior. The chill of her earlier thoughts clung to her, but she wore a practiced expression—soft, composed, almost serene.
Just like he said he would be.
Regulus stood a few paces away from the restroom, arms crossed loosely as he leaned against the wall, his bright blue eyes snapping to her the moment the door clicked shut. The concern on his face was clear, etched deeply into every line and furrow of his brow.
"You okay?" he asked, voice quiet and gentle, as if he were afraid to press too hard.
Ember gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."
The relief that spread through his face was instant, visible even in the slight sag of his shoulders. "Good. You scared me for a sec in there," he chuckled, running a hand through his blonde hair. "For a moment, I thought you were—" He paused, tilting his head slightly, "—talking to someone in there. I mean, I thought I heard—"
But before he could finish the thought, Ember took a step forward and kissed him.
It was sudden—deep and urgent.
His eyes widened in shock, his body tense for the first few seconds. But then, slowly, the tension melted. His hands found her waist and Ember could feel him leaning into the moment, as if the world had finally realigned perfectly.
They stayed like that—locked in the warmth and pull of each other—for a long, breathless moment.
When Ember finally pulled back, she looked into his blue eyes, her thumb brushing lightly against his cheek.
"What I wanted to tell you earlier," she said, her voice trembling with something between vulnerability and resolve, "is that I've had deep feelings for you for a long time. I just… never had the courage to say it."
Regulus stared at her, stunned, eyes blinking like he was trying to wake from a dream.
"Ember…" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
She didn't let him speak further.
This time, she leaned in again, and they kissed—longer, slower, filled with emotion unsaid and promises not yet made. It was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes, as if she were pouring everything she had into it.
When they finally pulled away again, Ember rested her forehead gently against his.
"I know this… whatever we have now… is just beginning," she murmured. "But there's something important I have to do. I need to go."
Regulus's brow furrowed instantly, the calm fading. "What? Go? Where? What's going on?" His hands tightened around hers. "Tell me, Ember. I can help. Whatever it is, I'm with you."
His sincerity almost broke her.
She leaned forward and kissed him again—softly, this time. Tender. Like a goodbye.
When she pulled back, her fingers brushed his hair aside, and she whispered, "This is something only I can do. I have to do it alone."
But he didn't get the chance to finish.
With a swift, precise movement, Ember's fingers pressed against a distinct pressure point at the nape of his neck. His eyes went wide for a heartbeat—and then he slumped into her arms, unconscious.
She caught him gently, lowering him into a seat by the table. She fixed his posture, brushing a hand over his cheek with heartbreaking softness. Then she perched him carefully, placing a light kiss to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I can't let you be dragged into this. I won't let you get hurt… not because of me."
She gave him one last lingering look—burning his image into her memory—and then turned away. "I'll see you soon, Regulus."
With those last words, Ember slipped from the staff room, the door shutting quietly behind her.
And just like that, she vanished into the shadows of the academy.