Page 72 of She Who Devours the Stars
Both felt dangerously possible.
Thread Modulation: Alyx Vieron
Axis Alignment: South Tower, Eventide Athenaeum
The return to campus felt like walking home after a controlled demolition—every step technically safe, but the air still thick with the memory of violence and the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was filing a report about the entire incident. The pizza sat heavy and comforting in my stomach, but the real burn was the afterglow of adrenaline and a thousand unprocessed feelings ricocheting around my blood.
The Academy itself loomed ahead, the main quad now patrolled by only two drones, both trailing us at a comfortable, almostpolite distance. It felt less like surveillance and more like we were being escorted to a coronation. The campus arches, which usually scanned IDs and lit up with a passive-aggressive orange if you were late or broke curfew, did something new as Fern and I approached: the lights flared blue, then white, then went dark for a full second before rebooting. When I glanced at the system panel, it flashed a single word: SOVEREIGN.
I kept walking, but my brain kept trying to process the implications. Walking next to Fern was no longer just walking next to a mythic; it was walking beside an active, planet-class override, an event horizon with a student ID number.
Inside the perimeter, the air was cool and faintly ionized. At the base of the South Tower, Dyris waited, all high cheekbones and zero margin for error. She’d swapped her armored uniform for a formal wrap in indigo mythweave, the kind of dress that could only be tailored for someone born with a genetic right to command. Her hair was up, pinned with a line of silver that made her look older than she was and somehow even more dangerous.
As we approached, Dyris tapped her tablet twice, eyes not leaving our approach. “You’ve been assigned the South Tower,” she announced, like she was reciting a weather report. “It’s now sovereign territory of House Trivane. Vireleth installed dimensional escape nodes on all four prime axes. Subprime options will follow pending calibration.”
I nearly walked into a decorative pillar.
Dyris’s eyes flicked to me, then to Fern, then back. “Oh,” she added, with just the faintest hint of real amusement, “the sculptor array finished your bath.”
Fern’s entire face lit up, a transformation so sudden it made me question whether I’d ever seen her actually happy before. “Hotsprings bath?” she said, voice trembling with an excitement that seemed chemically impossible for a Trivane.
Dyris nodded, and for a moment her mouth twitched at the corners, just shy of a full smile. “Naturally. Myth-tempered stone. Custom temperature resonance. Saltwater blend.” She tilted her head. “It’s traditional to test new sovereign infrastructure with a bonding ritual.”
I was pretty sure I’d stopped breathing.
Fern spun on her heel and sprinted up the tower stairs, leaving her boots untied and flapping behind her. I stared after her, not sure if I was allowed to follow.
Dyris, still watching me, waited until Fern was out of earshot before speaking again. “Would you like to join us?”
The way she said it, all calm and level, made my brain blue-screen. “Join you,” I echoed, like an idiot.
Dyris’s tone was unhurried, faintly clinical. “For the soak,” she clarified. “It’s the fastest way to stabilize new mythic architecture. Shared presence accelerates containment.” She paused. “Or you could return to your room and process the evening’s events alone. If that’s your preference.”
Upstairs, Fern called down, “We have extra towels!”
I opened my mouth to say I’d pass, or that I had other plans, or that I didn’t want to be a third wheel in whatever strange ritual this was—but the words failed, crumbled, and I just nodded.
The spa suite was on the top floor, but it might as well have been in another world. The entry was a sliding glass panel that dissolved at our approach, revealing a chamber flooded with the golden light of a dozen candle-styled mythlamps, their flames steady and blue against the polished stone. The central pool was a perfect circle, rimmed in pale marble and lined with glowingrunes that shimmered just below the surface. Steam rose in slow columns, curling toward the vented ceiling. The whole room pulsed with a gentle energy, something between electricity and anticipation.
The spa suite stretched before us, a celestial realm of quiet luxury that felt worlds apart from anything I’d known. Fern was already in the water, her hair piled atop her head like a dark, chaotic halo. Her arms draped languidly along the rim as though she claimed the pool for herself by just existing in it. As if she were not the mythic incarnation of destiny itself but rather a serene feline basking in sunshine, utterly at peace.
As our entrance stirred the air with a cool breeze, Fern opened her eyes briefly to acknowledge us before leaning back again. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she surrendered to the buoyant embrace of the water, floating with an ease that seemed unthinkable given who she was—or perhaps because of it.
My heart skipped several beats when I noticed Fern wasn’t wearing anything at all beneath the shimmering surface. Panic flared like solar fire, and my gaze darted instinctively toward Dyris for guidance or reassurance or—well—anything to ground myself in this surreal moment.
Ever poised and swift as a blade through silk, Dyris discarded her indigo wrap with a grace born of generations bred for command. The swim sheath beneath adhered to her lithe form like liquid starlight, accentuating every controlled movement as she descended into the pool. Her entry barely disturbed the mirrored water; she settled at its edge in alignment with some unspoken protocol, posture perfect and hands folded—a high priestess presiding over an ancient rite.
I teetered on indecision, reminded painfully of my awkward corporeal existence compared to their effortless poise. My jacketfell away first; then the shirt slipped over my head. Thank every cosmic power for my sports top—both a comfort and a shield against vulnerability. Jeans followed reluctantly after neat folds on a bench I hoped conveyed an air of nonchalance instead of frantic calculation.
“There’s a few extra suits there that might fit you,” Dyris murmured conspiratorially, her voice softer than usual but tinged with amusement. My mind stumbled over syllables that refused coherence—because there it was: Dyris Vaelith eyefucking me with every bit of genetic perfection engineered into her being.
In search of refuge and composure, I retreated behind a screen where suits hung like forgotten dreams amid nebulae cloaked in shadow. My pulse loud enough to echo off infinity’s walls finally calmed when fingers found something simple amid choices designed only for mythic sovereigns—it stopped shaking once wrapped around flesh worn raw by sudden revelation.
Suited up—or down—I emerged from concealment ready at last to brave immersion beside these legendary creatures who seemed oblivious yet attuned nonetheless. The leap into warm depths felt transformative; heat cradled muscle weary from tension while salt kissed skin exposed secrets dormant even within stars themselves.
It was hot, but not burning. The salt tingled across my skin, leaving trails of sensation that seemed to settle into every muscle. I sank down to my collarbones and tried not to stare.
Fern cracked one eye open, her gaze settling on me like I was the mystery of the universe she intended to unravel. "You look like you're bracing for attack," she observed, her voice smooth and amused, a gentle tease wrapped in warmth.
