ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Students began rising throughout the hall, some stretching their hands, others rubbing their eyes or necks. The doors opened, and the second-years moved out in uneven lines. Almost immediately, whispers began forming. Not full discussions, but dangerous fragments.

"The third question—"

"Did you mention channel—"

"What did you put for—"

Mystica’s voice floated after them, still lovely, still dangerous. "Do be careful. If I hear anything that resembles discussion of exam content, I will consider it malpractice, and I am in a mood to be creative."

The whispers died with impressive speed.

No one wanted Mystica creative in a disciplinary context.

Outside the hall, students spread into the corridor, some heading toward the restrooms, others toward the cafeteria, and a few simply walking in small loops as if movement might shake the pressure out of their minds. The break had loosened the silence, but not the tension. Students spoke carefully now, complaining about difficulty without naming questions, groaning about hand cramps, or making vague statements like "that section was evil" without specifying which section had tried to kill them academically.

Liam stepped out of the hall and paused near the doorway.

He looked around.

Sheila stood a short distance away with Edith and Ariana, the three of them already caught in a conversation he wanted nothing to do with. Sheila listened with focused attention while Edith spoke quietly, likely discussing pace, time management, or some safe topic that did not cross into malpractice. Ariana held her hands close to her chest, expression animated despite the stress, and Liam could tell she was resisting the urge to discuss specific theory details because that was exactly the kind of thing her mind wanted to do after writing.

Good.

They could handle themselves.

Liam was deciding whether to walk alone when Maxwell’s voice came from behind him.

"That was difficult."

Liam turned slightly.

Maxwell approached with a tired look, flexing his writing hand. "If the bell had not gone off when it did, I think I would have started losing brain cells just to continue."

"You need to have them first," Liam said.

Maxwell looked at him. "That was unnecessary."

"It was available."

Before Maxwell could respond, another voice cut in from the side.

"The test is nothing but a waste of time, words, and mental effort."

Asher joined them with his arms folded, his expression as irritated as it had been throughout the paper. His white hair looked slightly messier than usual, probably because he had dragged a hand through it several times while trying not to set the exam on fire.

Maxwell nodded immediately. "I agree."

Asher looked at him. "Good. At least someone here has sense."

"I would not go that far."

"The paper asked too much for something that could be settled by whether your Myst works properly or not," Asher said.

Maxwell gestured toward him. "Exactly. Some of that was useful, sure, but half of it felt like they were trying to see if we could explain breathing instead of just breathe."

Liam said, "That is the point."

Asher’s eyes narrowed. "Do not defend the paper."

"I am not defending it. I am explaining why it exists."

"That is worse."

Charlotte arrived at that moment, moving toward them with a smile sharp enough to suggest she had heard enough to judge them properly. "How tragic. The boys have discovered that strength alone does not make ink obey."

Maxwell turned toward her. "Do not start."

"Oh, I absolutely will." Charlotte crossed her arms, looking between him and Asher with open amusement. "The two of you sound like brutes who want the academy to replace theory exams with punching walls until someone declares you intelligent."

Asher scoffed. "Do not pretend you enjoyed that paper."

Charlotte waved one hand lightly. "My dislike is refined."

Maxwell stared. "Refined?"

"Yes."

"You hated it too."

"Of course I did," Charlotte said. "But my dislike is elegant, layered, and intellectually justified. Yours sounds like a man angry that a book did not respectfully fall unconscious when glared at."

A nearby student coughed to hide a laugh.

Asher’s jaw tightened. "You are insufferable."

"And yet still prettier than your entire personality."

Maxwell looked at Liam. "We should leave."

"Yes," Liam said.

Asher gave Charlotte a flat look. "We are getting something to drink before your words make the break worse than the exam."

Charlotte smiled sweetly. "Drink slowly. Perhaps the water will teach you patience."

Maxwell and Asher walked away before she could say anything else.

Charlotte watched them go, clearly pleased with herself. "So sensitive."

Liam turned the opposite direction.

He had taken two steps before Charlotte fell into pace beside him.

Of course.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"For a walk."

"Oh, perfect. I am joining you."

Liam said nothing.

Charlotte accepted his silence as permission, denial, invitation, and entertainment all at once. She walked beside him through the corridor, close enough that the edge of her sleeve nearly brushed his arm. The hall outside the examination room curved toward a quieter passage overlooking one of the inner courtyards, and Liam chose it because fewer students had gone that way. Unfortunately, fewer students did not mean no Charlotte.

For a few seconds, she said nothing.

That was suspicious.

Then her eyes shifted toward him. "You know, I am only just realizing how much longer your hair has gotten."

Liam’s expression went flat. "Do not."

"It suits you."

"No."

"It does." Charlotte leaned slightly, studying him with shameless interest. "You look more handsome. Almost beautiful, actually, in that cold, dangerous, tragic-boy way some girls pretend not to like."

"I said do not."

"You should tie it."

"I cannot."

Charlotte blinked, then smiled far too quickly. "You cannot?"

"I do not know how."

"Oh, that is adorable."

"It is not."

"It really is." She looked at his hair again, eyes bright with ideas he immediately distrusted. "You could tie it low, maybe loose enough that some strands still fall near your face. Or half-tied. That would look unfairly good on you. Or pulled back properly if you wanted to look like you were about to assassinate someone at a noble banquet."

"That sounds inconvenient."

"You say that about everything."

"Because most things are."

Charlotte lifted a hand, and before Liam could fully predict the audacity, her fingers lightly touched a strand of his hair near his shoulder.

His head shifted away instantly.

"Do not touch my hair again."

The warning was calm, but clear.

Charlotte’s smile only grew. "So defensive."

"Charlotte."

She raised both hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Fine, fine. I will not touch it again. For now."

"Ever."

"That is a very long time."

"It is the intended duration."

She kept her hands to herself after that, though apparently the rest of her had no such respect for peace. She continued talking as they walked, describing possible ways his hair could be tied, which styles would make him look more severe, which would make him look more "accidentally princely," and which would probably make half the academy stare more than they already did. Liam ignored most of it, though some phrases were so absurd they forced his attention against his will.

"Braids would be interesting," she said at one point.

"No."

"You did not let me finish."

"No."

"One small braid near the side, perhaps."

"No."

"You are so closed-minded."

"I am correct."

"You are afraid of beauty."

"I am afraid of unnecessary conversation."

Charlotte laughed again, clearly enjoying herself more than he appreciated.

Liam looked ahead through the corridor, watching students move in the distance, some stretching, some drinking water, some staring into space as if waiting for their souls to return before the second half of the exam. Charlotte remained beside him, close, talkative, and entirely too pleased with his lack of engagement.

’This walk is going to be a long one,’ Liam thought.

It was.

By the time the academy bell rang again, signaling the end of the break, students had already begun returning to the hall. The second-years filtered back into their assigned seats with the resigned heaviness of people returning to a battlefield they had not fully survived the first time. Mystica stood near the front platform, watching them with that familiar amused patience, while Professor Caelus checked the rows with stricter attention.

Liam returned to his seat.

Charlotte returned to hers near the front, giving him one final smile over her shoulder before sitting. Maxwell and Asher entered together, both carrying water and both looking as though the break had not been long enough to repair anything. Sheila, Edith, and Ariana returned soon after, each more composed than before. Ariana looked focused again. Sheila looked quieter, as if she had used the break to organize more than rest.

Dylan was the last to show up.

Naturally.

He entered with the satisfied expression of someone who had taken full advantage of every second of the thirty minutes. There was a crumb near the corner of his mouth, and he carried himself with renewed life, as though food had restored not only his body but his entire philosophy. Maxwell saw him and slowly shook his head.

Mystica noticed too. "Mr. Wellington, how kind of you to return before we sent a search party."

Dylan placed a hand over his chest. "I would never abandon you, Lady Mystica."

Professor Caelus gave him a warning look.

Dylan sat immediately.

A few minutes later, all students were back in their assigned seats. The doors closed. The hall returned to stillness, though the silence now carried heavier fatigue than before. Parchment waited on every desk, half-filled answers resting beneath the stern patience of unfinished questions.

Then the academy bell rang again.

Mystica’s voice followed, smooth and final. "You may continue."

Pens touched parchment once more.

The second-years settled back into silence, and the Core Myst examination resumed.

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