Chapter 68: The Twilight Before The Crown (3)

Lucien stirred.

It began with a twitch in his fingers, a shift in his legs under the blanket, small signs of discontent that rippled up to his chest and settled in his stomach.

Growl.

His eyes fluttered open.

Another growl, louder this time.

A deep, almost painful protest that echoed from within, reverberating through the hollow caverns of his gut.

Hunger.

Not just the casual sort one felt before lunch.

This was bone-deep, soul-gnawing, stomach-clawing hunger.

The kind that pushed past painkillers and ignored bandages.

The kind that reminded a man he was still alive only so his body could demand sustenance.

He blinked into the dim amber light of his room, lips dry.

The porridge, gods, that porridge, they’d been feeding him was more of a gray sludge than an actual meal.

It sat in the bowl with the stubborn consistency of something that had given up on being food entirely, neither liquid nor solid, just… there. The color alone was enough to kill any lingering appetite, a dull, lifeless gray that suggested it had been processed well past the point of recognition.

Medicinal.

That was the word everyone kept using, usually with an apologetic smile, as if that explained everything.

Nutritional, supposedly.

Packed with everything he needed, according to the healers.

Calories.

Minerals.

Whatever else they thought mattered more than taste or dignity. They spoke about it like it was a solution rather than a punishment.

But actually eating it was another matter entirely.

Each spoonful felt like chewing on gauze, soft, flavorless, and oddly resistant in the worst way.

It filled his mouth without satisfying anything, leaving him both full and inexplicably hungry at the same time.

His body had run on adrenaline for so long that the crash had finally caught up to him, dragging his awareness back up from the depths with a single, focused command:

Feed me.

Lucien groaned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Every joint in his body ached like he'd fought a mountain and lost, which, frankly, wasn't far from the truth.

But hunger outranked even pain now.

He had to eat.

Something.

Anything.

He sat up slowly, blanket falling away to reveal the simple healer’s tunic and bandages wrapped around his abdomen.

The room swayed slightly, and his vision fuzzed at the edges.

"Okay... okay. Not dead. Just starving."

He placed one foot on the ground, then the other.

Cold stone bit at his soles, jolting him a little more awake.

He inhaled deeply and stood.

The room was spare.

Spartan.

Functional.

A small writing desk.

A washbasin.

A cupboard and a tall armoire, both shut tight.

His first hope.

Lucien staggered over to the cupboard, flung it open with far more drama than necessary, and was immediately disappointed.

Blankets.

Extra linens.

A plain towel.

A cracked bar of soap.

"Not even a biscuit," he muttered, shutting it with a dull clack.

Next, the armoire.

Tall, dark wood, possibly enchanted.

He opened it.

Uniforms neatly folded, a change of indoor slippers, and a book titled Academy Code of Conduct, Volume I.

Lucien stared at it.

He closed the door in its face.

"Figures."

He moved to the desk next.

Opened each drawer with growing desperation.

Quills.

Ink.

Paper.

A brass compass.

A map of the capital.

And a bottle of ink he momentarily mistook for soy sauce.

"Ugh, damn it."

He pulled open the final drawer.

Success?

A packet!

Tucked into the corner, Lucien pounced.

But when he unfolded the wrapper, it was dried lavender sachet meant to keep the desk smelling fresh.

He sniffed it anyway.

"...Not edible."

With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the desk, arms limp.

The hunger gnawed louder now.

Almost insulting in its persistence.

Even the damn lavender was starting to smell vaguely delicious.

"Right. If I stay here, I’ll start chewing the pillow."

He looked toward the door.

The hallway.

Maybe, maybe, someone had snacks.

Or knew where food was stored.

Surely a school of this size had a kitchen.

A cafeteria.

A mess hall.

Something.

He slid the door open slowly and peeked out.

The corridor was bathed in soft blue lighting, courtesy of ceiling-mounted mana lamps that dimmed automatically during late hours.

The marble floor looked colder out here.

Silent.

Not a soul in sight.

Lucien stepped out and gently closed the door behind him.

He looked both ways, picked a direction, and started knocking.

First door on the left.

Three quick taps.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

"Mmmrgh," came a distant groan.

"Hello?"

Lucien whispered.

"Sorry to bother you, but-"

Thud.

A pillow hit the door from the other side.

Lucien took that as a no.

Second door.

"Hey, sorry-just wondering if-"

"Piss off..." came the slurred reply.

"Good talk."

He tried the third.

No answer.

The fourth greeted him with soft snoring.

The fifth sounded like someone had barricaded the door with furniture and would kill anyone who disturbed their sleep.

Lucien held up both hands and backed away like a man at the wrong end of a sacred ritual.

"Okay. Point made."

He leaned against the wall, lips pursed, arms crossed.

"Nobody here’s helpful. Either they're asleep or they want to stay that way."

He sighed.

"Then again… it is nearly midnight."

He rubbed his stomach.

"Still starving though."

He tapped his chin.

"This is a school. A school has food. Food needs to be prepared somewhere. So… cafeteria? Mess hall? Kitchen? Pantry?"

He straightened, newfound resolve filling his limbs like lightning in dead flesh.

“I’m going to find it. If I have to break into the royal pantry and steal a noble’s midnight truffle, so be it.”

Thus began Lucien’s midnight expedition.

***

The hallway stretched long and empty before him, lined with stone archways and occasional glass windows.

Beyond them, the world outside was ink-black save for the distant shimmer of moonlight brushing the edges of the mountain ridges.

No stars, just mist curling across the trees, wrapping the forest in a dreamlike haze.

Lucien padded forward on silent feet.

A carved plaque beneath one read: “Discipline above desire.”

Lucien gave it the finger as he passed.

He reached a T-junction.

To the left: stairs leading up to the faculty quarters and study rooms.

To the right: a downward slope.

Less polished.

He sniffed the air.

Was that… herbs?

His eyes widened.

He turned right.

Down the slope, past laundry rooms and utility closets.

The air grew warmer.

Faintly scented with spice and something greasy. Good signs.

He followed his nose.

A turn.

A dark hallway.

Another turn.

Then, light.

A soft glow spilling from beneath double swinging doors.

***

Lucien pushed through the double doors, expecting a cold, empty utility corridor, dim stone walls, maybe the faint smell of detergent or old grease.

What he found instead stopped him in his tracks.

The air was warm, scented with honeyed pastries and herbs.

Ahead stretched a hallway, nothing like the austere stone dormitory behind him.

The flooring had shifted from plain tile to thick, plush carpet, wine-red, with golden threading that spiraled into intricate sigils and phoenix motifs.

Magic-infused chandeliers floated overhead, their crystal bodies glowing softly like moons dipped in candlelight.

The walls were lined with vases of fresh-cut flowers, lilies, roses, orchids, nestled among trailing ivy and ribbons that shimmered as if spun from starlight.

Everything was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Lucien blinked, confused.

The smell of food grew stronger.

Not the hearty, utilitarian fare.

This was something else, something exquisite.

Butter-braised meats.

Caramelized onions.

Fresh bread, the kind with crusts that flaked and cracked under gentle touch.

Melted cheese.

Roasted root vegetables glazed in honey.

Wine.