Chapter 114: The Inherited Spirit (1)
The corridors of the dormitory were near pitch-black by the time Lucien reached the warden’s office.
The storm outside had grown worse, rain hammered the tall windows, and distant thunder rolled like a drumbeat through the halls.
The only light came from the occasional flash of lightning and the faint glow of enchanted lanterns, flickering as if the storm itself was trying to snuff them out.
Lucien hesitated outside the warden’s door, water dripping from his hair and cloak, heart still beating too fast from the sight of that figure entering his room.
His rational mind told him he could have imagined it, that exhaustion was playing tricks, but by now he had come to trust his intuition more than his rational.
Someone had been there.
He knocked twice, softly.
A groan came from within.
“If this isn’t a life-or-death emergency, I swear…”
“It… might be,” Lucien said quickly.
The door creaked open to reveal the night warden, a tall, broad-shouldered man whose posture somehow screamed both authority and exhaustion.
His uniform shirt was rumpled, his hair unkempt, and his expression suggested that Lucien had just interrupted the last quiet moment of his night.
“Name?”
He muttered.
“Lucien Crowley. First-year.”
“Complaint?”
“Someone’s in my room.”
That earned Lucien an unimpressed stare.
The warden blinked once, slowly.
“…At this hour?”
“Yes. I saw them go in,” Lucien insisted, voice low but firm.
“And the door’s locked now.”
“Locked?”
The warden rubbed his eyes, already regretting his existence.
“You sure you didn’t lock it yourself, son?”
Lucien exhaled sharply.
“Yes, I did lock it. Then I saw someone open the door and walk inside. Now it's locked again. Possibly from the inside.”
That, at least, made the warden pause.
“…Fine,” he said with a weary sigh, grabbing a lantern from his desk.
“Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”
They walked down the empty corridor together, the sound of rain against the windowpanes their only companion.
The warden’s lantern swayed slightly with each step, its light revealing brief glimpses of Lucien’s nervous expression and the worn stone walls around them.
When they reached Lucien’s door, the warden tried the handle, then frowned.
“Huh. You weren’t lying. It’s locked.”
He gave the handle another pointless rattle before turning to him.
“Look, sometimes these old locks jam-”
Lucien cut in, his tone careful but determined.
“Sir, whoever went in must’ve had a key to unlock it. And if they could unlock it, they could just as easily lock it again after going inside.”
The warden stared at him for a long moment, his jaw working slightly.
“…Damn it. You actually make sense.”
Lucien tried not to sound smug. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” the warden said. “Open it. Let’s see your intruder.”
Lucien fished his key out from his pocket, the metal cold against his fingers.
Putting it in the keyhole, the lock turned stiffly, almost reluctantly, until the faintest click broke the heavy silence.
The warden immediately stepped forward, pushing the door open and shoving Lucien behind him with a surprisingly strong arm.
“Stay back,” he barked.
Lucien blinked.
“Wait, shouldn’t I-”
“Back.”
Lucien shut up.
The door creaked open inch by inch, the hinges protesting softly.
The room beyond was pitch black, no light, no sound.
Only the faint scent of rain drifted in through the slightly open window.
“Whoever’s in there,” the warden’s voice boomed, “step out now! You’re trespassing in a student dormitory!”
Lucien peeked around his shoulder, heart hammering.
The room remained silent.
A lightning bolt split the sky outside, the flash tearing through the window with blinding white light.
For the briefest moment, the entire room was illuminated, every shelf, every desk, every wrinkle on the bedsheet.
Empty.
Then darkness returned just as swiftly.
Both men jumped back a step, Lucien letting out a startled noise somewhere between a yelp and a curse, the warden’s lantern clattering slightly against his knee.
“Bloody-” the warden hissed, catching his breath.
“That storm!”
Lucien pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.
The warden muttered something under his breath and stepped inside, setting the lantern on Lucien’s desk.
The light spread slowly, filling the room with a warm glow that seemed almost fragile against the howling wind.
He moved efficiently, checking under the bed, behind the wardrobe, and even inside the narrow storage chest.
Each time he looked, his grumbling grew louder.
“Nothing under here… nothing there… nothing behind the curtains…”
Lucien hovered near the doorway, still uneasy.
“Maybe they’re using invisibility magic?”
“Maybe you’re using too little sleep,” the warden shot back.
He turned, dusting his hands off.
“No one here, kid. See?”
Lucien opened his mouth to protest again, when-
His eyes caught movement.
A shadow.
Outside the window, where for an instant, the silhouette was visible against a flash of lightning, tall, still, human-shaped.
“Wait-!”
Lucien shouted, pointing.
“There! Someone’s out there!”
The warden spun around, nearly dropping his lantern in surprise.
Then the light faded.
Nothing.
The warden hesitated.
For a brief moment, he almost looked convinced, but then the irritation returned, the kind that only a long night and stubborn students could summon.
“Right,” he muttered, marching to the window.
“Let’s settle this.”
He and Lucien both walked up to the window as he unlatched the window and shoved it open.
The cold rain instantly splattered across both their faces, soaking Lucien’s collar and hair.
The wind howled through the gap, scattering papers from his desk.
“Look,” the warden said, gesturing outward.
Lucien hesitated, then leaned forward.
His stomach dropped.
The ground was impossibly far below, his room was three floors up, the wet cobblestones gleaming faintly under the storm’s light.
“There’s no one out there,” the warden said firmly.
“No ledge, no balcony. Unless your intruder can sprout wings, they’re not hanging around your window in this weather.”
Lucien swallowed hard, rain dripping down his face.
“Or… maybe they flew away?”
The warden turned and gave him a long, unimpressed stare.
“Son, I am not writing a report that says ‘student thinks thief flew away mid-storm.’ Now close this window before you catch pneumonia.”
Lucien shut his mouth.
There was no point arguing.
Without proof, it would sound ridiculous , even he would have doubted it if the roles were reversed.
The warden turned toward the door.
“You’re over-tired, Crowley. Seeing shadows that aren’t there. Sleep it off, alright?”
Lucien nodded weakly.
“Yes, sir.”
The warden paused at the door, adjusting his coat.
“And don’t go waking me again unless someone’s actually in your bed next time.”
Lucien managed a half-hearted salute.
“Understood.”
When the warden left, the hallway outside was no longer silent.
A few doors had cracked open, curious eyes peeking out, whispers echoing softly.
Lucien met a few of their gazes and offered a flat, tired smile.
“It’s fine,” he muttered.
“Just a burglary scare. Go back to sleep.”
The doors clicked shut one by one.
He closed his own door behind him, locking it firmly.
Then, just in case, he dragged his bed across the floor until it pressed against the doorframe with a heavy thump.
The wardrobe came next, shoved noisily to block the window.
By the time he was done, his room looked less like a dormitory and more like a barricade against a siege.
Lucien dropped into his chair, rubbing his temple.
A soft breeze slipped through the cracks of the barricaded window, whispering faintly against the paper cranes perched on his desk.
One of them fluttered its wings slightly, or maybe that was just the draft.
Lucien glanced at it, then sighed.
Outside, thunder rolled once more, long and distant this time, as Lucien leaned back on his chair, eyes heavy, letting exhaustion finally drag him toward uneasy sleep.
***
When Lucien woke, it was to the slow, miserable protest of his spine.
His entire back ached as though he’d spent the night wrestling with the chair instead of sleeping on it.
Every joint in his body complained when he shifted, and when he tried to stand, his knees nearly buckled beneath him.
The faint light seeping through the rain-streaked window told him morning had come, though the heavy clouds outside made it look more like the prelude to another storm than a new day.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced at the barricade he’d built in his late-night fit of paranoia.
The bed had been dragged halfway across the room and pressed flush against the door, while the wardrobe leaned at a crooked angle beside the window.
It looked as though he had singlehandedly attempted to remodel the place into a fortress.
“...Right,” he muttered, grimacing.
“Maybe I overdid it.”
He sighed and began undoing his handiwork.
The wardrobe groaned as he pushed it back into place, its wooden legs scraping the floorboards in loud protest.
Then came the bed, bulkier than he remembered, or perhaps he was simply weaker than he liked to admit.
It took several exhausting shoves before it was returned to its rightful spot, and by the time he finished, he was already sweating despite the chill in the air.
The rain outside hadn’t stopped.
It fell in steady, silvery sheets, tapping softly against the windowpane, a rhythmic, almost soothing sound if he ignored the stiffness in his shoulders and the dull throb behind his temples.
“Lovely start to the day,” Lucien muttered, tugging on his coat.
“Maybe the food’ll make it better.”
***
The mess hall was a cavernous space, dimly lit and filled with the gentle clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of early risers.
The scent that greeted him upon entering was… dubious.
A blend of something warm and vaguely edible, but with the unmistakable undertone of damp grain.
When Lucien reached the serving counter, his suspicions were confirmed.
Breakfast was porridge.
A thick, beige mush that somehow managed to look both too dry and too wet at once.
Beside it sat a large cauldron of soup, clear broth with an uncertain number of vegetables (or perhaps roots) floating listlessly near the surface.
He filled one bowl with porridge and another with soup, the latter sloshing dangerously as he balanced both in his hands.
As he turned to find a seat, his eyes scanned the hall for familiar faces, preferably ones that didn’t look like they wanted to kill him for interrupting their meal.
He spotted Balt in the far corner, hunched over his tray.
The boy was alone, his usual chatter replaced by a quiet, almost withdrawn demeanor.
Lucien made his way over, setting his bowls down across from him.
“You look like you’re in mourning,” he said, sliding into the bench.
“Who died?”
Balt looked up, blinking.
“My will to live,” he said flatly.
“These written assignments are the end of me.”
Lucien snorted.
“You and me both.”
He didn’t mention the part about Taiga or the midnight encounter.
It was too absurd.
“Where’s Corin?”
Lucien asked between spoonfuls of porridge.
Balt shrugged, stirring his soup absently.
“Sick. Said he caught a cold after running through the rain yesterday. Tried to get him to eat something, but he just mumbled something about sleeping it off.”
Lucien made a mental note to check on him later.
Corin was many things, but he rarely skipped meals.
“Poor guy,” he said, blowing on his spoon before taking another sip.
The porridge, despite its miserable appearance, wasn’t half bad.
It was bland, yes, but warm, thick, and surprisingly filling.
The soup, too, had a comforting simplicity to it, its salty warmth seeping into his bones.
After the sleepless night he had, it was exactly the kind of unassuming meal he needed.
He ate slowly, letting the heat from the food chase away the lingering chill in his hands.
When he looked up again, he noticed Balt sprinkling a fine powder into his bowl of soup.
The motion was casual, practiced, Balt stirred it in as if it were sugar in tea.
Lucien raised a brow.
“What’s that?”
Balt glanced up mid-stir.
“Oh, this?”
He tapped the pouch lightly.
“It’s a focus herb. Helps you concentrate better during lectures, it’s not a stimulant or anything. Just... helps you stay awake.”
Lucien eyed the faintly greenish tinge the powder gave the soup.
Lucien grimaced, finishing the last of his porridge.
“Well, good luck with staying conscious. I need to go to the library.”
He stood, gathering his tray.
The rain outside still fell in a fine mist, casting a gray veil across the courtyard beyond the mess hall windows.
The world felt colder today, quieter somehow, like the storm from last night had left its echo behind.
As he left the table, Balt gave him a distracted wave, already back to scribbling notes over a page half-stained with soup.
Lucien couldn’t help but smile faintly.
Between last night’s mystery intruder, the storm, and the ache in his back, the world felt heavier than usual, but at least there was something grounding in the small, ordinary things.
A bowl of soup.
A quiet breakfast.
And a friend muttering curses at his homework.
