Chapter 1: The First Bell
Summary:
“Ready?” Hamilton asked, gaze sweeping across the room.
Max stepped forward. “Always.”
Charles raised his hand. “Let’s begin.”
“Then begin,” Hamilton said grimly.
Light surged. Air fractured.
And just like that - everything ignited.
Notes:
the ending hasn't panned out yet, let's see where this takes me
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT I: HEAVEN'S CAMPUS
1.1: THE FIRST BELL
The first bell of the semester didn’t ring - it resonated.
A thousand-year-old bronze chime set into the spire of the Seraphim Institute boomed once, and the entire structure responded like a living thing. Light bent toward the sound.
Shadows scattered. The halls exhaled with old magic — the kind that remembered when angels carried swords and devils didn’t take electives in Ethics of Intervention.
Max Verstappen, age nineteen, hated this place.
He walked through the eastern corridor with his hands in his pockets, boots echoing too loudly on polished floors that shimmered with enchanted candlelight.
His robe was regulation but rumpled - he refused to starch anything.
His halo - still faint, still crooked - hovered behind his head like it didn’t want to be associated with him.
He had started ten minutes early and still managed to be late.
“Running behind again, Verstappen?” said a smooth voice.
Professor Lewis Hamilton - Lioren to those who took divine protocol seriously - stood in the doorway of the main lecture hall, arms folded, one immaculate eyebrow arched.
Silver-etched robes fell in clean lines, the sigil of the Watcher’s Circle gleaming faintly at his collar. He looked like judgment wrapped in silk.
Max shrugged. “I’m allergic to punctuality.”
Hamilton didn’t blink. “Try Claritin. Now get in before I let Rosberg start without you.”
From inside came the unmistakable sound of a chalkboard exploding.
Max entered the lecture hall just in time to see Professor Nico Rosberg - Nyren on official documents and walking chaos in real life - grinning at the scorched remains of a lesson diagram on “cosmic authority gradients.”
“I swear it was the chalk,” Nico said, tossing a still-smoking nub aside. “Not me. Mostly.”
Max dropped into a seat at the back. The amphitheater-style room adjusted its glow slightly, sensing a shift in dynamic.
Because he had arrived.
Charles Leclerc. Also, nineteen. Also, insufferably perfect.
He stepped in like the room had been waiting for him. His robes were crisp white trimmed in gold. His pale curls were neatly pushed back beneath a circlet of light. His wings shimmered behind him like they’d never known gravity.
If Max hadn’t known better, he’d have suspected an enchantment.
But he did know better.
This was just Charles.
Charles passed without looking Max’s way and slid into the front-center seat like being the best was both habit and obligation. The seat to his right was, as always, left empty.
Hamilton began the lecture - something about celestial ethics and the morality of dream walking - but Max wasn’t listening.
He was watching the back of Charles’s head.
Not out of jealousy. Or not just out of jealousy.
They weren’t enemies. Too simple.
They were competing for the same light. Always.
Charles was always one step ahead. One breath faster. One smile brighter.
It was infuriating.
It was intoxicating.
It meant something.
And Max hadn’t figured out what.
Yet.
Later - The Courtyard
“You know,”
said George Russell, sipping something steaming from a mug labeled: ETHICS? NEVER HEARD OF HER,
“it’s actually impressive how often you and Charles nearly incinerate each other before lunch.”
Max didn’t look up. “We do not.”
“You do,” said Alex Albon, leaning against a marble column like he was posing for a divine fragrance ad.
“You and Charles are always five seconds from either kissing or dueling to the death.”
“Holy war is a love language,” Yuki said from nearby. “Especially here.”
“Can you people not?” Max muttered, hurling a grape at Yuki. He caught it in his mouth without blinking.
Alex - perched on the fountain ledge with his hood up like a bored oracle - sighed. “You’re going to break something. Probably yourself.”
Max opened his mouth to snap back - but stopped.
Across the courtyard, Charles stood speaking with Professor "Sebris" Sebastian Vettel - the Institute’s quietest and most unnervingly perceptive scholar.
He wore robes shaded like dusk and carried authority without ever raising his voice.
Charles said something that made the professor smile and clap him on the shoulder.
Warm. Proud.
Then Charles looked over.
Not a greeting - an acknowledgment. Like a rival nodding before a duel.
Max stared back. Flat. Calculating.
Evening - The Training Hall
Mandatory sparring. Fantastic.
Max was already annoyed. His opponent was late, the arena still reeked faintly of burned runes, and the class had gathered around the edges with thinly veiled anticipation.
Professor Hamilton stood in one corner; arms crossed. Professor Rosberg stood in the opposite, now peeling grapes with magic.
“This’ll be fun,” Nico murmured.
The doors opened.
Charles entered.
Max didn’t move.
Charles smiled. Not smug. Not kind. Just… deliberate.
“Oh stars,” Nico whispered, delighted.
Hamilton exhaled like someone preparing for battle. “Try not to bring down the ceiling.”
The circle lit beneath their feet.
“Ready?” Hamilton asked, gaze sweeping across the room.
Max stepped forward. “Always.”
Charles raised his hand. “Let’s begin.”
“Then begin,” Hamilton said grimly.
Light surged. Air fractured.
And just like that - everything ignited.
Notes:
celestial names mentioned in this chapter and their meanings:
Lewis - Lioren
Regal and confident;
“Lio” (lion, leader), “ren” meaning rebirth
- the master strategist with radiant presence.Nico - Nyren
Cool and amused;
“Ny” for mystery, “ren” for renewal
- the observer who always knows more than he shows.Sebastian - Sebris
Thoughtful and introspective;
“Seb” grounded, “ris” hinting at rising or insight
- the mentor with deep emotional awareness.
Chapter 2: Match Flame to Feather
Summary:
Sebastian studied him carefully. “And what did you want?”
Charles’s smile was gentle.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“I wanted to see if he’d fight like he meant it.”
Notes:
quali was a disappointment but anyway here's the second chapter
Chapter Text
1.2
The moment the match began, Charles moved first.
Always first.
He stepped with liquid precision, hand carving an arc that shimmered with golden sigils too old for the textbooks. The runes snapped into existence midair, swirling around him like orbiting thoughts. They pulsed once, and the arena floor glowed.
Max didn’t dazzle.
He collided.
Boot forward, he shattered the outer ring of Charles’s spell with a single forceful step, scattering glyphs like leaves. His fingers flicked upward - no elegance, just precision - and a pulse of kinetic force launched straight at Charles’s center mass.
Most students would’ve eaten floor tiles.
But not Charles.
He sidestepped, spun - spun, smiling - and sent a shimmer of counterforce straight at Max’s chest.
Max caught it midair. Held it there. Let it hover like a weightless pulse between his palms.
“Cute,” he said, before hurling it back, harder.
Gasps rippled around the arena. The air snapped cold with displaced energy.
Professor Hamilton looked like he was aging in real time.
“I said don’t destroy the building.”
“Sorry,” Charles called sweetly, not sorry at all.
Max snarled under his breath. “You do know we’re supposed to be training, not auditioning for celestial Broadway, right?”
Charles’s smirk didn’t falter. “And yet you’re throwing tantrums with gravity. How dramatic.”
“You love when I get mad.”
Charles didn’t reply.
But the gleam in his eyes said: Yes.
They moved like dual stormfronts, circling each other in perfect balance - light and force, control and instinct, the precision of a fencer against the momentum of a brawler. Max’s power was blunt and physical, carved out of pure will. Charles’s was exacting, woven with centuries-old language and dangerous grace.
It wasn’t hatred.
It was something worse.
Fascination.
And under it all, in Max’s chest, a whisper stirred - quiet, chilling:
He’s not what he seems.
Not just the golden boy. Not just top of the class. Not just light.
There was something underneath all that beauty.
Something wrong.
Afterward - The Infirmary
“You’re lucky you didn’t rupture a leyline,” Professor Hamilton said, pacing with the energy of a man who’d seen this exact disaster coming and been ignored anyway. “Or start an actual war. Between your egos, I could power half the underworld for a decade.”
Max winced as a healer pressed a glowing salve to his shoulder. “He started it.”
“Oh good,” Hamilton said flatly. “We’ve regressed to toddler logic.”
“Nineteen-year-old’s logic,” said Rosberg from his perch on the windowsill, grinning as he popped another grape in his mouth. “And madly in love.”
Max nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
Nico waved his hand lazily. “Oh please. The mutual obsession? The duel-as-foreplay energy? I’ve seen actual soul-bonding rituals with less tension.”
“I’m not - He’s not - It’s not like that,” Max snapped.
Nico’s smirk only deepened. “Sure. It isn’t.”
Hamilton didn’t even look up. “Just keep the building intact. And maybe stop lighting each other on fire.”
Elsewhere - The Library
Charles stood in front of a tall bookshelf, running his fingers across leather-bound volumes older than some continents. He wasn’t reading. Just… thinking.
A shadow fell over him.
Professor Vettel, master of elemental theory and quiet insight - joined him without sound, hands folded behind his back.
“You held back.”
Charles said nothing.
Sebastian tilted his head. “Why?”
Still silence.
“You could’ve ended that match in thirty seconds.”
Charles finally turned. His eyes - soft, innocent, endlessly unreadable - locked onto Sebastian’s with something like sorrow.
“I didn’t want to win.”
Sebastian studied him carefully. “And what did you want?”
Charles’s smile was gentle.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“I wanted to see if he’d fight like he meant it.”
Chapter 3: A Crack in the Halo
Summary:
George looked at him sideways. “You’ve been weird since Monday.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Yeah,” George agreed. “But this is different. It’s like... you’re trying to solve a riddle that only exists in your own head. Again.”
Chapter Text
1.3
The first time Max saw the crack, he wasn’t even looking.
It was three days after the duel.
He was halfway through a conjuration drill in Professor Alonso’s class – technically: “Fundamentals of Light Refraction and Emotional Intent,” though most just called it Advanced Boredom.
Max, as usual, had finished early. His light spell looped around itself in a figure-eight pattern, just to see if he could make it spiral. It shimmered blue-white in his palm, cold and clean.
“Show off,” Pierre muttered from two seats over.
Max didn’t respond.
Alex tossed a paper charm at him. “Take a break, Vaylorn. You’re gonna overheat your halo.”
Max twitched at the name. “Don’t call me that.”
Alex blinked. “Touchy.”
But Max wasn’t listening anymore.
Because across the room, Charles - Kaelis to the faculty, golden boy to everyone else - had faltered.
Just for a second.
His sigil stuttered. The light dimmed.
And then, it flickered dark.
Not dim.
Dark.
A vein of black light shimmered under the golden surface of Charles’s conjuration, like oil bleeding into water. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a blinding burst of gold so beautiful the whole class clapped instinctively.
But Max didn’t clap.
He just stared.
Later - The Garden Steps
“Stop pacing. You’ll ruin the grass,” George said, lounging on the stone bench beside the fountain.
“I’m not pacing,” Max muttered.
“You’ve been tracing the same figure-eight around the cherub statue for ten minutes. Even the cherub looks dizzy.”
Max sat down beside him; arms crossed tight. His mind was racing.
“Something’s wrong with Charles,” he said quietly.
George snorted. “Besides being annoying, brilliant, infuriatingly symmetrical, and his pathological need to win at everything? No. Pretty standard.”
“No, it’s different.” Max paused. “I saw -”
He cut himself off. Shook his head.
“You saw what?” George asked, genuinely curious now.
“Nothing. Probably. Forget it.”
“You have a history of assuming the worst.”
“I have a history of being right.”
George sighed. “Or you just hate him.”
Max shook his head. “That’s the thing. I don’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable.
George looked at him sideways. “You’ve been weird since Monday.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Yeah,” George agreed. “But this is different. It’s like... you’re trying to solve a riddle that only exists in your own head. Again.”
Max looked down at his hands, flexed them once. They still glowed faintly from earlier spell work. But the light felt... off. Unsettled.
Alex nudged him lightly. “You don’t have to keep proving yourself to everyone, you know.”
Max stiffened. “I’m not.”
“Mhm,” George said, unconvinced. “You’ve only re-written half the syllabus and won four duels in a week. Not overcompensating at all.”
Max looked away; jaw tight.
From the far end of the garden, laughter echoed - light and honey-warm. Charles, walking with Professor Vettel again, both radiant like a Renaissance painting.
Max didn’t realize he was staring until George added softly, “You really think he’s hiding something?”
Max answered before he could think too hard.
“I know he is.”
Evening – The Dormitories
Max didn’t visit the mirror often.
He didn’t like what it said.
He stood in front of it now, arms bare, wings half-folded in the dim light of his room. His reflection looked... wrong.
Not because of the way his halo still flickered instead of glowing steady. Not because of the faint lines on his back where his wings sometimes glitched, like they were waiting to be something else.
It was the echo in his head. A voice he hadn’t heard all day - but felt.
“You still think light makes you less of a disgrace?”
His father had said it over breakfast once, back when Max was four and first sprouted feathers instead of fire.
He’d smiled when he said it.
Like a joke.
Max hadn’t laughed.
He touched the mirror now, and whispered, “They’ll see.”
He didn’t say who they were.
He didn’t have to.
Elsewhere - The South Tower Library
Charles Leclerc stood alone beneath a mosaic of a burning city.
The book in front of him should’ve been sealed. It was.
But the spell had undone itself the moment he touched it.
The script inside writhed, resisting translation. But he didn’t need to read it. He already knew what it said.
T he inheritance is not Light.
The child will wear gold, but his bones remember flame.
A whisper curled up from the shadows behind him.
“You let him see.”
Charles didn’t move. “It was an accident.”
The voice didn’t care. “You’re slipping.”
His reflection shimmered in the windowpane.
For one breath, it wasn’t his face looking back.
It was something else.
Then - gone.
Notes:
Max - Vaylorn
"valor" and soaring "-orn" ending
- embodiment of quiet strength, misunderstood nobility, and a secret angelic light.Charles - Kaelis
"kael" (mighty warrior) and a soft "-is" ending
- a bewitching, dangerous being who excels in manipulating others with raw and meticulous charm.
Chapter 4: Hell is Other People (Especially Lando)
Summary:
Charles snorted. “Subtlety is dead.”
“Subtlety doesn’t have abs like Carlos,” Lando replied, practically glowing. “Subtlety isn’t the captain of every group project. Subtlety doesn’t do sword drills shirtless.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
1.4
The Sanctified Sustenance Hall - a name Yuki insisted was made up by monks who had never met real hunger - was loud, blindingly lit, and too early for any of it. Plates floated, drinks hovered politely until summoned, and somewhere in the background, a harp played itself into a nervous breakdown.
Max dropped his tray on the usual table like he wanted to fight it.
Yuki didn’t look up. “You stomp like you have a vendetta against breakfast.”
“Just hungry.”
“Same thing,” George muttered, adjusting his collar like the fabric offended him.
Alex smirked. “He’s hangry because Charles beat him to the Seraphic Alignment answer this morning.”
“He didn’t beat me,” Max snapped. “He just said it louder.”
“And with a smile,” George added. “Which apparently earns bonus points from Sebris.”
“Professor Vettel is biased,” Max said, stabbing his food like it insulted his ancestors.
“Biased toward logic, clarity, and not scowling like a celestial gargoyle,” Pierre offered, sliding into the seat next to Charles at a nearby table. “But please - do go on.”
Charles laughed, quiet and bright.
Carlos, seated beside him, didn’t look up from his book. “Don’t provoke him, Phaeron.”
“Max never scowls,” Pierre said. “It’s just his face.”
Max absolutely didn’t look over.
“Anyway,” Alex said, nudging Max, “how does it feel watching Charles glow his way into another professor’s inner circle?”
Max stabbed his toast. “I’m not keeping score.”
George gave him a flat look. “You have an actual scorebook.”
“It’s color-coded,” Yuki added.
“I’m just not bothered.”
From across the hall, Charles glanced up. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat.
Max looked away first.
Three Tables Over
Lando Norris slumped over his tray like he was narrating a tragedy.
“I swear to the nine celestial planes, if Carlos calls me ‘kid’ one more time, I’m throwing myself into the sun.”
“You are a kid,” Alex said.
“You literally cried at a pigeon last week,” Yuki added.
“That pigeon had presence.” Lando straightened, eyes locking on Carlos. “Look at him. Reading spells like they’re romance novels. With his hands.”
Carlos turned a page. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was annoyingly perfect.
Lando sighed like he’d been shot.
Pierre raised an eyebrow. “You’re writing another poem, aren’t you?”
“I already did.”
“Oh no,” George muttered.
“Shut up, this one’s good.” Lando cleared his throat theatrically.
“His voice, a blade.
His eyes, a storm.
I dream of him in sacred shades,
I want to die in sacred form.”
“Lando,” Carlos said without looking up, “I can hear you.”
“Good,” Lando said brightly. “I wrote that line for volume.”
Charles snorted. “Subtlety is dead.”
“Subtlety doesn’t have abs like Carlos,” Lando replied, practically glowing. “Subtlety isn’t the captain of every group project. Subtlety doesn’t do sword drills shirtless.”
“That was once,” Carlos muttered.
“It was Christmas.”
Pierre leaned over to Charles. “Should we be stopping this?”
Charles looked mildly amused. “I’m enjoying it.”
Max, from his seat, said nothing.
But the grip on his fork was less-than-divine.
Later - Out by the Pool
The stars were out. The air shimmered faintly, like the ground still remembered spells cast here centuries ago.
Max sat with the usual crew at the stone bench near the scrying pool. The water shimmered calmly. For now.
“You do realize Carlos will never love you,” Yuki said casually.
“I don’t want him to love me,” Lando lied.
“You want him to love you so hard,” Alex said.
“It’s written all over your tragic little mortal face,” Pierre added, lounging nearby.
Carlos, mercifully out of earshot, was meditating under a tree like a pagan statue.
Meanwhile, Max stared into the water.
Not at his reflection.
Not really.
“Still thinking about Charles’s spell flicker?” Alex asked.
Max didn’t respond.
“Or was it the way he smiled at you this morning? Like he knew something you didn’t?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re so mysterious,” Alex said. “It’s adorable.”
Max stood suddenly. “I’m going to the library.”
“At this hour?” George frowned.
“Knowledge doesn’t have office hours,” Max replied, already walking.
“Neither does your obsession,” Yuki called after him.
“Charles isn’t my obsession,” Max muttered.
“Max,” Alex said gently, “you watched Charles stir tea this morning like it was a tactical maneuver.”
Max was already walking.
They let him go.
But the look in his eyes as he left - that quiet, furious focus - said the same thing they were all thinking:
Something was wrong with Charles.
And Max was going to figure it out.
Even if it meant getting far too close to the truth.
Notes:
Pierre - Phaeron
elegant and refined; "Phae": evoking light; "-ron": steady, regal
- A perfect balance of intellect and passion.
Chapter 5: The Smile That Wasn't Real
Summary:
“Has Charles ever… failed a purity scan?”
Lewis gave him a long, slow look. “No. Never.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
1.5
It happened in the sanctum corridor.
The one lined with whisper glass - long, shimmering panels enchanted to echo only truth. No lies, no illusions. A hallway built for angels.
Max had taken the long way back from the library. He’d read the same page six times without absorbing a word. The truth sat coiled behind his ribs like a second heartbeat:
Something’s wrong with Charles.
But he had nothing solid. Nothing to say out loud.
Not yet.
He turned the corner. And stopped.
Because Charles stood at the far end of the corridor, alone.
No Pierre. No Carlos. No smile.
Just him. Still, silent. Facing the whisper glass.
Max almost called out.
Then he saw it.
Charles’s reflection didn’t match him.
The boy in the mirror wasn’t standing - he was grinning. Not the usual bright, crowd-pleasing smile. Something sharper. Hungrier. Wrong.
And Charles… hadn’t noticed.
Max froze.
The light around Charles’s body was golden, as always. But the mirror behind him showed shadow leaking out around his feet. Black tendrils curling inward like smoke.
Max blinked.
It was gone.
Charles turned.
Too fast.
His expression reset in a heartbeat. Smile perfect. Shoulders relaxed.
“Max,” he said warmly, like nothing was wrong. “Out late?”
Max stared. “What -”
“I was just passing through,” Charles continued, stepping closer. “Couldn't sleep. The stars were loud tonight.”
His voice was normal. Too normal.
Max swallowed. “You were looking in the glass.”
Charles tilted his head. “Was I?”
“You were -” Max started. “It didn’t look like you.”
A beat.
Then Charles laughed. Light, effortless.
“You’re seeing things.”
Max didn’t laugh.
Charles took one step closer. “Maybe you’re spending too much time chasing monsters. Don’t you ever get tired?”
Max’s fists clenched. “Do you ever drop the act?”
A pause.
That golden smile didn’t falter. Not exactly. But something in it... twisted.
For a split second, it looked like Charles wasn’t just playing innocent.
He was enjoying it.
Then -
Footsteps behind them. Pierre and Carlos rounding the corner, mid-conversation, both pausing when they spotted them.
“Am I interrupting a very intense standoff?” Pierre asked, eyes flicking between the two of them.
Charles turned easily, as if nothing had happened. “Just a debate. Max thinks I’m secretly a demon.”
Pierre grinned. “I mean, your skincare routine is unholy.”
Carlos gave Max a look - unreadable, but edged with concern. “You alright?”
Max didn’t answer.
He just nodded once. Too sharp.
Charles clapped him lightly on the shoulder as he passed. “Goodnight, Max.”
Max didn’t move.
He stared at the whisper glass.
Where his reflection still stood tall, silver-blue light pouring from his shoulders.
And where Charles’s reflection no longer smiled. It watched.
And winked.
Later - Professor Hamilton’s Office
“You look like you haven’t slept in three days,” Lewis said mildly, pouring tea that glowed faintly at the edges.
Max didn’t sit. “Can I ask you something?”
Lewis raised an eyebrow.
“Has Charles ever… failed a purity scan?”
Lewis gave him a long, slow look. “No. Never.”
“Are you sure?”
“I run them, Max.”
Max paced. “Could someone fake it?”
Lewis didn’t answer immediately.
Behind him, a file cabinet clicked softly shut on its own.
Lewis’s voice was quiet when it came. “Why are you asking?”
Max didn’t know how to answer. Not fully.
“He smiled at me wrong,” was not enough.
So instead, he said, “It felt like a lie. Like he’s not what we think.”
Lewis folded his hands. “Max. You are one of the most gifted students we’ve seen in a generation. But if you start chasing shadows without proof, you’re going to burn yourself out. Or worse - hurt someone innocent.”
Max stared. “You think I’m imagining it.”
“I think,” Lewis said gently, “you’re trying too hard to outrun a name that doesn’t define you.”
Max flinched.
Barely.
But Lewis saw it.
Max turned away. “I’m fine.”
Lewis didn’t stop him from leaving.
But as the door clicked shut, he looked toward a sealed drawer on his desk - ancient, locked with three spells.
And frowned.
Notes:
so this would be the end of act I. im thinking of 3 acts in total so ig you could say this one was all about world building and stuff. the ones coming up are packed with action so yeah toodloo
Chapter 6: The Devil You Dance With
Summary:
Charles smirked. “Scared you’ll step on my feet?”
“Scared I won’t want to stop.”
Notes:
here we descent into the second act!!!!
Chapter Text
ACT II: ASHES AND WINGS
2.1
The tower ballroom was supposed to be off-limits after dusk. Which, naturally, meant everyone went there after dusk.
It was a relic of some divine age - gold-veined marble, suspended candlelight, a floor that shimmered like moonstone. Usually used for formal rites, graduation ceremonies, or whatever dramatic nonsense Professor Rosberg enjoyed dressing up for.
Tonight? It was a dance party. Sort of.
Pierre had enchanted the lighting spells to mimic starbursts. Yuki had allegedly convinced the drink table to serve celestial cocktails that wouldn't cause minor corruption. Alex charmed the music with something that had once been played at mortal weddings.
Max didn’t know who had invited him.
He stood near the balcony doors, dressed in ink-dark formalwear, jaw sharp, expression unreadable. Watching the revelry. The laughter. The light.
Then Charles walked in.
Not alone. Of course not.
Carlos was at his side, crisp shirt half-unbuttoned, rolling his sleeves like sin didn’t count in soft lighting. Pierre flanked the other side, already drinking, eyes glinting like mischief in glass.
But Charles -
He glowed.
Not literally. But almost. Dressed in midnight blue, collar open, cuffs rolled, steps easy. Like he belonged at the center of gravity.
Max’s first thought was: Of course.
His second: Dangerous.
His third: Don’t stare.
He stared.
Somewhere on the Dance Floor
“Carlos,” Lando hissed. “Dance with me.”
Carlos didn’t even turn. “You’ve had three Ambrosia Fizzes. That’s enough romance for the week.”
“That’s not romance,” Lando said, wounded. “That’s hydration.”
“That’s possession.”
“By love.”
Yuki passed by and muttered, “If you combust, I’m not cleaning it up.”
Pierre raised his drink. “I will.”
Lando didn’t hear any of it.
He only had eyes for Carlos, who, tragically, only had eyes for whatever conversation Charles was having with Max across the room.
Minutes Later, Balcony Doors
“You’re not dancing,” Charles said lightly.
Max didn’t look at him. “Neither are you.”
“I don’t have to. I command the vibe.”
Max snorted. “Modest.”
Charles leaned beside him against the pillar, just far enough not to touch. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been studying.”
“For what? My deepest secret?”
Max glanced sideways. “Would you tell me if I asked?”
Charles smiled. Max stared at him.
Charles tilted his head, the candlelight catching in his eyes.
“What is it you think I’m hiding, Max?”
Max didn’t answer.
Because the answer was: everything. And also: nothing.
Charles tilted his head. “If I were hiding something, would it scare you?”
“Already does,” Max said softly.
Later - The Dance Floor
Someone (Alex, probably) had charmed the music into something with strings. Slower.
Darker.
Max didn’t realize he’d moved until Charles was holding out a hand.
“Dance with me.”
Max blinked. “I don’t dance.”
“You duel in circles. It’s basically choreography.”
“That’s not the same.”
Charles smirked. “Scared you’ll step on my feet?”
“Scared I won’t want to stop.”
Charles paused.
Just for a second.
Then smiled - that smile. The one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll take that risk.”
Max hated how easy it was. How his hands found Charles’s waist like they’d done this before. How Charles’s fingers brushed lightly at the back of his neck, grounding and burning all at once.
Their steps weren’t perfect. But they were close. Too close.
“Why are you really here, Charles?” Max murmured.
Charles’s hand tightened. Barely.
“I belong here,” he said softly.
“No,” Max said. “You perform here.”
A beat.
Charles leaned in; voice velvet-dark. “So do you.”
And gods help Max, it wasn’t wrong.
Then the candles above them flickered. Not gold.
Black.
For a heartbeat.
Neither of them moved.
Observatory - Hours Later
George found Max pacing.
“You gonna tell me why you ghosted half the night?”
Max shook his head. “Something happened. During the dance.”
George waited.
“I saw it again,” Max whispered. “The dark flicker. His magic isn’t pure, George. It’s something else. And he doesn’t care if I see it.”
George frowned. “Then tell Lioren.”
Max looked up sharply. “I can’t.”
George’s voice was steady. “Why not?”
Max’s answer came like smoke. “Because if I’m right, I’ll have to choose. Between stopping him. Or saving him. And I don’t know if I want to be right.”
George was silent for a long time.
Then, “You’re assuming he wants either.”
Elsewhere - A Hidden Hallway
Charles sat alone, back against an old stone wall, chest rising and falling like he was fighting to breathe.
His hands trembled. The reflection in the cracked glass across from him didn’t.
It stood. Still. Calm. Smiling.
"You're losing your grip, Kaelis."
“Stop,” Charles whispered.
"You let him see. Again."
“Shut up.”
"You want him to."
Charles shut his eyes.
And the voice coiled around him like smoke.
"You always did."
And somewhere, far below, in a locked wing of the sanctum archives - Professor Sebris stirred from meditation. His eyes opened.
The whisper glass was humming again.
This time, it was calling his name.
Chapter 7: The Fire Beneath Your Name
Summary:
He was ten. Maybe eleven.
Ash in his lungs. Iron in his hands.
His father’s voice cracked like a whip:
“You don’t get to fail. You don’t get to falter. You are a Verstappen.”
Chapter Text
2.2
It was a letter.
Sealed in obsidian wax. No insignia. Folded with such surgical precision the edges could slice skin.
Max found it tucked between the pages of Synthesis and Sovereignty - an advanced rune-theory volume in the restricted wing. It hadn’t been misfiled. It had been placed. Deliberately.
He sat now in the observatory loft, candlelight brushing the edges of his face, the vast starfield yawning open beyond the glass.
One line:
“You were born an error. But you can still be useful.”
No signature.
But he knew the handwriting.
And worse - he knew the voice behind it.
Earlier - Combat Theory, Advanced Ringwork Division
Professor Rosberg’s gaze was flint-sharp. “Verstappen. Leclerc. Centre circle.”
Of course.
Charles was already stepping forward, golden and unreadable. The hem of his navy uniform coat flickered faintly at the edges - charged with power even when still.
Pierre leaned back from the spell-barrier. “Round three of their enemies-to-therapy arcs, I assume.”
Carlos elbowed him lightly. “Watch it. We’ve seen Max throw a hex for less.”
“Only the cute ones,” Yuki added.
But the tension in Max’s shoulders wasn’t performance. It was something cold and coiled and old.
“Try not to destroy the sanctum this time,” Rosberg added.
“Can’t promise,” Charles said, smiling.
“Wouldn’t want to,” Max muttered.
The duel began.
Steel met flame. Cold precision crashed against blazing instinct.
Max drove forward with the discipline drilled into him, blades of light slicing the air.
Charles met him not with brute force - but with grace, a whirl of spiraling sigils, fire curling like it obeyed him on a personal level.
Max’s rhythm fractured.
Just for a moment.
A word surfaced like poison in his throat: Error.
He hesitated -
Charles’s spell struck faster than expected. Caught his sleeve, singed the edge.
Max stumbled back.
“Enough,” Rosberg called, stepping between them.
Charles’s face didn’t change. But his voice dropped low as Max passed him.
“Are you alright?”
Max didn’t look at him. “Fine.”
“You don’t look -”
“I said I’m fine.”
His eyes were darker than usual.
And for the first time, Charles didn’t believe him.
Later, Courtyard Commons, Post-Class Hour
“You’ve been off all day,” Alex said, tossing him a plum. “More than usual.”
Max caught it one-handed. Didn’t eat it. “I’m always like this.”
“No, usually you just hate everything. Today you’re… quieter about it.”
Yuki glanced up from where he was playing magical chess with himself. “It’s the letter.”
Max stiffened. “What letter?”
“Oh, thanks for confirming,” Alex said sweetly.
Max cursed low.
George looked up from his notes. “Family?”
Max didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
“You know,” Alex said, voice gentler now, “we don’t actually care what legacy your name drags in with it.”
“You should,” Max muttered.
“Why?”
“Because they do.”
“Who’s 'they'?” George asked.
Max didn’t answer.
But his gaze lifted - toward the tower balcony.
Charles was there, golden in the sunlight, flanked by Carlos and Pierre.
Smiling.
Like he belonged.
Max looked away.
A Memory - The Fire
He was ten. Maybe eleven.
Ash in his lungs. Iron in his hands.
His father’s voice cracked like a whip:
“You don’t get to fail. You don’t get to falter. You are a Verstappen.”
Max had nodded. Swallowed every fear. Every question.
He’d trained until he bled, fought until he broke bones, smiled through punishments.
Correction, they called it.
But he knew better.
It wasn’t discipline. It was rejection. Because he wasn’t like the others.
They were devils in armor.
He was… something else. Unsorted. Unproven.
Wrong.
Present Time – The Observatory Mirror
The dorm tower was quiet.
The candle beside the mirror flickered, casting a long, flickering line across Max’s shoulder.
He stood shirtless, staring.
His scars caught the light like veins of silver. Some shallow. Some old. One along his hip curved viciously - a duel in his first year, maybe.
But the one along his ribs - jagged and deliberate - that one had never faded.
He pressed a thumb to it.
Correction.
The candlelight dimmed. And in the mirror –
A flicker.
A flicker of green orbs.
Not Charles'.
Not quite.
Just a shadow, curved like a grin, watching him from the far corner of the room.
Then - nothing.
Notes:
veins of silver - max to merc unintentional manifestation?
Chapter 8: Holy, Hollow, Burning
Summary:
“I don’t care,” Max said.
“I’m not -” Charles choked. “I didn’t mean -”
“You saved me,” Max said. “First day. Your spell covered mine. You let me think I’d won.”
“I had to,” Charles whispered. “I can’t -”
“Why?”
Charles’s hands shook. “Because if I let it out, it doesn’t stop. I don’t get to turn it off.”
Max’s voice softened.
“So don’t let it out alone.”
Notes:
they're both war criminals in matching each other's freaks, your honor -
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
2.3
The spar started as a ritual - Prof. Vettel’s idea of “uniting the cohort,” though none believed that was his real intent.
The Sanctified Arena thrummed with the buzz of half the academy packed into the tiers, watching from above. Below, students partnered off - some casting, some whispering, some flirting so shamelessly that Lando nearly collided with a stone pillar.
Max didn’t want to spar. Not today.
He wanted answers.
But the instant Charles stepped into the circle - sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable - Max knew this wasn’t about sparring.
They were magnets.
Orbiting. Pulling. Inevitable collision.
“Verstappen. Leclerc. Let’s see if your rivalry’s matured,” Vettel said dryly, folding his arms. “Keep it civil, or you’ll be partnering with Nico for trust falls.”
“That’s not a threat,” Nico called down from the balcony. “That’s a privilege.”
Charles smiled, the curve of his lips too smooth, too controlled. “Shall we?”
Max stepped forward, jaw clenched. “Try not to glow too hard.”
“No promises.”
The spell began.
At first, their movements were fluid, almost beautiful - fire and precision from Charles, wind and ruthless force from Max. Their magic wove around each other, a dance of light and shadow, truth and denial.
Then -
It slipped.
A flicker.
Charles’s hand faltered on a fire strike - and what spilled out wasn’t fire.
It was black.
Smoky, whispering shadows that twisted across the circle like ink in water.
Silence fell. Heavy and suffocating.
Max stood frozen. Charles caught the darkness. Swallowed it whole.
Just in time.
To most, it would’ve looked like a misfire. A glitch.
But Max knew better.
The void had touched the sanctum. This was no corruption. It was native.
Demonic.
Max stepped back.
Charles’s chest rose and fell too fast. His face was pale.
Max met his eyes and said what he hadn’t dared before.
“You’re not an angel.”
The gasps came sharp and immediate. Not for the spell. But for Max’s words.
Pierre stood abruptly. Carlos froze mid-applause.
Lando whispered, breath caught. “Holy -”
Vettel frowned, voice tight. “What’s going on?”
Charles said nothing.
Max didn’t blink.
“I saw it,” he said. “That wasn’t Light-born magic. It was infernal.”
“You’re mistaken,” Charles’s voice was too quick, too clean.
Max’s voice dropped low.
“Why do you keep hiding it?”
Charles’s fingers clenched.
The golden glow around him flared, shimmering -
For a blink -
His wings flickered behind him. Not white. Not gold.
Black, edged in red.
Someone screamed. Alex shot up from the stands. Yuki muttered something under his breath and ducked. Carlos moved forward on instinct - toward Charles - but Pierre grabbed his arm.
George stood - frozen. So did Vettel. So did everyone.
Except Max.
He stepped forward. Right into the gap between chaos and calm. Between monster and fear. He held out his hand.
Charles stared like Max had reached into an impossible void.
“I don’t care,” Max said.
“I’m not -” Charles choked. “I didn’t mean -”
“You saved me,” Max said. “First day. Your spell covered mine. You let me think I’d won.”
“I had to,” Charles whispered. “I can’t -”
“Why?”
Charles’s hands shook. “Because if I let it out, it doesn’t stop. I don’t get to turn it off.”
Max’s voice softened.
“So don’t let it out alone.”
Back in the Dorms, Hours Later
The arena had been cleared.
Officially: A magical misfire. Unstable mana surge. Investigation pending.
Unofficially: Everyone saw.
Not what Charles was. But that he cracked.
That Max didn’t run.
That something enormous had passed between them - like lightning trapped beneath the bones of the school.
Now, Max stood outside Charles’s room. He didn’t knock.
The door opened anyway.
Charles sat by the window, hood drawn, face in shadows.
“Still want answers?” he asked, not looking up.
“No,” Max said. “I want the truth.”
A beat.
Then Charles finally looked at him.
And for the first time, he didn’t smile.
Notes:
thus begins the final unfolding!
Chapter 9: Tongues of Angels, Teeth of Wolves
Summary:
Max’s voice was a razor-edge, barely audible. “You took that from me.”
“I gave everything else.” Charles’s voice cracked, trembling. “My name. My power. My truth. That moment was the only thing I kept. Only thing that was mine.”
Chapter Text
2.4
The room was cloaked in shadows.
Max sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the bookshelf, the wards humming softly around them.
The low light from the enchanted lantern barely touched Charles’ face, half-hidden beneath his drawn hood.
Outside, the academy buzzed - whispers, rumors, questions spiraling like wildfire. But inside, there was only silence.
Charles didn’t speak for a long time.
Finally, his voice came, brittle but steady.
“I was born in fire. Not metaphorical. Not a lesson or a metaphor. Actual, scorching, hellfire.”
Max said nothing.
“The ones who raised me…they were devils. Pureblooded. Proud. I was… not.” His hands were clenched together, white-knuckled. “My wings came in black - not golden, not white, but black. The light inside? Flickering. Unstable. Wrong. Like it couldn’t decide. Like it was fighting itself.”
Max said nothing.
“I killed something once.” Charles swallowed hard. “Not a person. A tree. I was five. It just… burned. And they looked at me like I was a failure. Like I had spat on our legacy.”
Max’s jaw tightened, remembering the harshness, the coldness behind those words.
“They said I was broken. That I’d never survive Hell’s throne.”
“So, I ran. Didn’t know where. Just away. Into the northern forest.”
He paused. Voice softer now, almost a whisper.
“I met a boy there.”
Max blinked.
Charles stared at the floor, voice cracking.
“He had a broken wing strap and scraped knuckles. Said he was training too hard, that his father said he wasn’t enough.”
Max’s breath caught.
“He found me crying by the burned tree. Didn’t ask why. Just sat with me. Said, ‘We don’t have to talk. Just stay.’”
Max’s hands stilled, heart pounding.
“You gave me your cloak,” Charles whispered. “Said red was a brave color.”
Max looked up sharply.
“I don’t remember that.”
Charles’s voice broke, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You weren’t supposed to. I wiped it. Panicked. You were Light-born. I couldn’t risk it. I erased your memory before I left.”
Max’s voice was a razor-edge, barely audible. “You took that from me.”
“I gave everything else.” Charles’s voice cracked, trembling. “My name. My power. My truth. That moment was the only thing I kept. Only thing that was mine.”
And then, he looked up - really looked.
“I wasn’t supposed to meet you, Max.”
The words hit like thunder, echoing in the small room.
“But I did. And you changed everything. Even when you forgot.”
Flashback – Max, Age Ten
Cold and shaking, Max went back to training when his father asked, “Where is your cloak?”
“I… don’t know.”
His father narrowed his eyes.
“How will your future subjects deem you worthy if you can’t even remember where you misplaced your own cloak?”
Max stared into the fire that night, and something inside him curled into silence.
Back to the Present - Charles’ Room
“You know what they say about devils,” Charles said quietly.
Max nodded. “That they lie.”
“That they corrupt. That we weaken what’s pure. That we twist.”
Max’s voice was steady. “I was born into a family of devils, Charles. Besides, you’ve never made me weak.”
Charles’s eyes shimmered in the dim light. “You’re the only one who sees what I really am. And what I’m not.”
“And I still stayed.”
Charles met his gaze - and for the first time, his shoulders relaxed, the armor slipping away. “Why?” he asked.
Max was silent for a moment. Then, with quiet certainty.
“Because I think I’ve been in love with you since that first fight in celestial theory.”
A beat.
“That wasn’t a fight,” Charles whispered, the faintest smile ghosting his lips. “I was complimenting your sigil-work.”
“You called it ‘unrefined.’”
“Which is how devils flirt.”
Max blinked. “Oh my God.”
Charles’s smile grew. “Took you long enough.”
Elsewhere - Professor Hamilton’s Office
Lewis stood at the balcony’s edge, eyes fixed on the northern tower, where shadows gathered with the coming night.
A soft rustle behind him.
Sebastian appeared, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“You knew,” Lewis said quietly.
“I suspected.”
Lewis didn’t look away from the tower. “Do we tell the council?”
Sebastian paused. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Max hasn’t turned him in.”
Lewis frowned, tension tightening his jaw. “That’s not protocol.”
Sebastian’s voice was calm, almost hopeful.
“It’s hope.”
Notes:
how's everyone doinggggg life's been hectic as hell
Chapter 10: A Son, A Star, A Sacrifice
Summary:
Lewis regarded him with something close to respect.
“Remember this, Max. The brightest stars burn fastest. You’ll have to decide what you’re willing to sacrifice - and who you trust to stand beside you.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
2.5
A Week Later, The Library
The book smelled like burnt parchment and ash-soaked time.
Max traced the embossed leather seal with trembling fingers. It wasn’t locked by a key - but by bloodline. His bloodline.
He broke the seal, and the brittle pages whispered open. The words spilled like smoke curling off a dying flame:
“There will come a Devil of Light and an Angel of Flame.
From their convergence will rise The Echo -
Not born of blood, but of bond.
He shall bear the name of the broken moon.”
He read the passage again and again, each time feeling less like prophecy and more like a shattering truth - or a terrible mistake.
That Evening, The Atrium Firepit
Max sat with his legs drawn up; head bowed toward the fire. Around him, his friends lounged in their usual rhythms: Lando flipping a coin, George reading, Yuki asleep under his hood, Alex humming quietly against George’s shoulder.
Max broke the silence. “So…I read this prophecy.”
Alex’s eyes lit up. “Please say it involves curses, resurrection, or someone secretly immortal.”
Max ignored the tease. “It’s about a devil and an angel - their convergence creating something called the Echo. Born not of blood, but of bond.”
Lando blinked. “That’s so hot.”
George frowned. “Hot?”
Alex shrugged. “Weirdly, he’s not wrong.”
Max shook his head. “Dusty myth, mostly. But it mentioned a name - The Echo.”
Yuki, eyes still closed, muttered, “Sounds like a librarian.”
Lando leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Devil of Light, Angel of Flame? Sounds suspiciously like you and Charles, if you ever got past your weird rivalry-turned-romantic-novel vibe.”
Max looked up sharply. “It’s not us.”
“Uh-huh,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve never thought about it?”
“I hadn’t,” Max said, too sharp.
A flash of Charles’s voice echoed in his mind:
I wasn’t supposed to meet you.
His heart skipped.
“What?” Alex asked, curious.
“Nothing,” Max whispered.
He didn’t touch his tea again that night, didn’t say another word. His mind was back in Charles’s room - back to that fragile confession.
I wasn’t supposed to meet you.
Maybe the prophecy wasn’t about destruction. Maybe it was about something that wasn’t meant to exist - forged by accident or defiance.
Maybe… The Echo was a consequence.
Or worse - a promise.
Seconds Later, Charles’ Room
Max dropped the book on Charles’s cluttered desk. “You’ve read this before.”
Charles’s gaze didn’t flicker with surprise. “My mother whispered it to me when I was very young - I didn’t understand then, but it stayed with me until I finally remembered it, when I was thirteen.”
Max’s voice tightened. “And you never thought to tell me?”
Charles folded his hands too tightly in his lap. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Right,” Max snapped. “Because I’m just the dumb half of this relatio - whatever this is.”
Charles’s silence wasn’t smug - it was heavy, like a weight pressing down.
Max shook his head. “I don’t think it’s us. We’re not - I mean, I’m not -”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Charles said softly but firmly.
Max’s voice cracked. “Then why do you sound like you’re already convinced?”
Charles stood and moved to the window, his wings flickering faintly beneath his shirt.
“I’ve felt it for a long time - something pulling inside me, like I was made to find someone.”
Max’s breath caught.
Charles didn’t fully turn to him. “But I’m not ready to believe in fate. Not when it feels like a trap.”
The silence between them settled like ash, thick and suffocating.
The Council Mirror
Beneath the Sanctum, in the hidden chamber where the Council’s ancient mirror shimmered with prophecy, a name burned bright: The Echo.
Lewis Hamilton stood before it, his eyes unreadable. Beside him, Sebastian held a ceremonial blade forged from memory-steel - ancient, deadly, and unused for centuries.
“You said not to intervene,” Lewis said quietly.
Sebastian’s voice was low but firm. “I’m changing my mind. Something just shifted.”
“Do you think they know?”
“Only one of them,” Sebastian answered grimly. “And it’s not the one we trained.”
Hours Later – The Skybridge
The academy never truly slept.
Even as the moon hung low, pale and watchful, the halls hummed with whispered rumors and stolen glances.
The letter burned in Max’s pocket, heavy as a stone.
You were born an error. But you can still be useful.
The words echoed like a curse - or a prophecy.
His thoughts tangled with Charles’s confession - the black wings, the fire that was not light but something older, something infernal. Yet beneath it all, a fragile flicker of something almost human remained.
A knock at the door startled him.
“Come in,” Max said, voice tight.
Professor Lewis Hamilton stepped inside; his eyes sharp, unreadable.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Max said warily.
Lewis smiled faintly. “Neither should you.”
“What do you want?”
“There’s more to your heritage than your father ever told you,” Lewis said softly, stepping closer.
Max’s heart thundered.
“Your family’s legacy is tangled in blood and fire - power that comes at a cost. A sacrifice.”
“What kind of sacrifice?” Max demanded.
Lewis’s voice dropped.
“A son born not just to inherit power, but to bear a burden. A beacon others would kill to control or destroy.”
Max swallowed hard. “You mean me.”
Lewis nodded. “You are both the star and the sacrifice. Your existence threatens ancient pacts - that’s why they watch you. That’s why warnings come.”
“And Charles?”
“Connected more deeply than you realize. Not just by fate, but by blood.”
Max’s fingers brushed a long-healed scar along his ribs - the one his father called a correction.
“That mark was no accident. It was meant to remind you of your place.”
Max shook his head, anger rising. “I won’t be a pawn.”
Lewis regarded him with something close to respect.
“Remember this, Max. The brightest stars burn fastest. You’ll have to decide what you’re willing to sacrifice - and who you trust to stand beside you.”
Before Max could reply, Lewis slipped away, leaving the room colder than before.
Max sank to the floor, staring at the ceiling. The weight of legacy pressed down heavy.
He was a son.
A star.
And perhaps the greatest sacrifice of all.
Notes:
and that's a wrap to the penultimate act!
Chapter 11: The Boy With No Face
Summary:
“I’m not saying it’s me,” Max muttered, pacing tighter circles. “But what if it is?”
“You literally just said it wasn’t you,” George said, deadpan.
“I know.” Max stopped, ran a hand through his hair.
Yuki sipped his tea. “You’ve gone full main character. It's getting concerning.”
Notes:
its a relatively short chapter but the ones succeeding are longer and btw its been so so soooo long how's everyoneeeee
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT III: THE NAME IN THE ASHES
3.1
Charles hadn’t slept in days.
He told himself it was fine. Devils didn’t need rest. Only discipline. Only willpower.
But every time he closed his eyes, the same dream returned.
A boy stood in the ruins of the Sanctum.
He had no face - no glowing eyes, no shadowed hollows - just human, painfully human eyes.
He stood in fire like it didn’t touch him.
And each time, the boy called out the same name.
“Max.”
Then he turned to Charles, voice like smoke on a dying flame.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
Charles would always wake, drenched in sweat, burning inside.
For a brief moment, he could feel the Echo breathing beneath his skin - an impossible heartbeat echoing in his veins.
Afternoon, The Skybridge
Max was pacing. Yuki and George watched from a bench.
“I’m not saying it’s me,” Max muttered, pacing tighter circles. “But what if it is?”
“You literally just said it wasn’t you,” George said, deadpan.
“I know.” Max stopped, ran a hand through his hair.
Yuki sipped his tea. “You’ve gone full main character. It's getting concerning.”
Max shot him a look.
“Seriously,” George said, nudging Yuki. “Just talk to Charles.”
“No.” Max’s tone dropped. “He already knows. And he didn’t tell me. Again.”
Alex dropped himself into George. “You think he’s protecting you?”
“I think he’s protecting something from me.”
Yuki’s eyes flicked toward the clouds. “Then maybe it’s time you stop asking him questions -”
“- and start finding answers yourself,” Max finished quietly.
He looked down at his hands. Fire flickered just under the skin.
The North Tower - Charles, Alone
He stood before the mirror in his dorm, wings unbound for the first time in weeks.
The black shimmered with red veins. Not corrupted. Not monstrous.
Authentic.
A knock echoed through the empty room.
Charles spun around and there was no one there.
Then a small flame flickered through the keyhole - warm, familiar.
Max.
Charles opened the door.
Max didn’t say a word.
He stepped inside, setting down a worn book - smaller than the prophecy tome, a personal journal burnt around the edges. A sigil inked in both Infernal and Celestial script curled in the margin.
“I found it in the restricted archives,” Max said, not meeting his gaze. “Did you write this?”
Charles froze. “Where did you -?”
“You left a piece of yourself in it.” Max’s voice broke. “You wrote… about him.”
He continued, softly. “The Echo.”
Charles closed his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing down.
“I didn’t think it was real,” Charles murmured. “I didn’t think he was real.”
“And now?” Max asked, barely above a whisper.
Charles met his eyes, and for the first time, fear was plain on his face.
“Now he’s dreaming through me. And if we don’t stop it - he’s going to wake up.”
The Observatory
Sebastian and Lewis stood beneath the astrolabe. The stars shimmered with fractured patterns.
“It’s started,” Lewis said.
“The Echo’s not coming,” Sebastian replied grimly.
Lewis turned sharply. “What?”
“He’s already here.”
Notes:
now that we're on the topic of supernatural and stuff, who do i have to sacrifice to get a lestapodium 😩
Chapter 12: The Gathering Storm
Summary:
George leaned over to Max. “You’ve got that same look again.”
Max blinked. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m being haunted by the theoretical son I might have accidentally helped manifest from emotional repression’ look.”
Chapter Text
3.2
It started with a voice.
Not loud. Not screaming. Just… inside.
Max jerked awake in the middle of class, a sigil half-drawn in front of him.
Professor Rosberg blinked. “Vaylorn?”
Max looked around. Everyone was staring.
His pulse was racing. His fingertips tingled.
And in the back of his head, a whisper unfurled like smoke: “I’m cold.”
Charles’ Tower - A Couple of Hours Ago
Charles stood over the basin of enchanted water, hands shaking as fire rippled through his palms.
The dreams had worsened.
The Echo wasn’t just appearing anymore - he was interacting. Last night, the boy had said,
“You gave me life, but you never gave me love.”
Charles had woken up screaming. He wasn’t sure if the smoke in his room was real, or imagined. He couldn’t ask anyone. He couldn’t tell Max.
Because if he told Max, Max would try to save him.
And Charles didn’t know if The Echo wanted saving anymore.
Meanwhile - The Quad
Lando was pretending not to notice Carlos stretching on the grass like a tragic Greek statue.
Pierre was actually timing it. “Five minutes and not a single swoon. Growth.”
“I do not swoon,” Lando muttered, staring directly at Carlos’s shoulders.
Yuki looked up from his sandwich. “You’re literally drooling.”
“I’m multitasking.”
George leaned over to Max. “You’ve got that same look again.”
Max blinked. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m being haunted by the theoretical son I might have accidentally helped manifest from emotional repression’ look.”
Alex choked on his drink. “That’s oddly specific.”
Max muttered, “He spoke to me.”
The group went silent.
Lando sat up. “Wait. Who?”
“The Echo. I think he - no, I know he’s in my head.”
George’s expression turned serious. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“He said he was cold,” Max whispered. “Like… he was waiting.”
Yuki narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t sound like anger.”
“No,” Max said. “It sounded like loneliness.”
A beat passed.
Then Lando, without missing a beat, said, “You and Charles really need to stop emotionally repressing your literal magical bond child.”
Everyone turned to him.
“What?” he shrugged. “It’s textbook ‘co-parenting a prophecy.’”
Max froze. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over George’s books.
Lando blinked. “What’d I say?”
Max was already running.
Charles’ Tower
He didn’t knock.
He just burst in, breath ragged.
Charles looked up from the basin, guilt all over his face. Max walked straight to him.
“You didn’t create The Echo alone,” he said.
Charles blinked. “I know.”
“No,” Max said, fiercer now. “You thought you did. You thought it was your burden to carry. Your mistake. Your punishment.”
His hands were shaking.
“But I was there too. I was part of this. I had to be. And you knew.”
Charles flinched.
“I asked you once,” Max said, stepping closer, “if you were protecting me.”
His voice broke.
“But what if you were protecting him from me?”
Charles couldn’t answer.
Because it was true.
He had felt it - in the dreams, in the flickers of fire under Max’s skin.
The Echo feared Max’s light.
Not because it would harm him.
But because it might see him.
All of him.
The High Council Chamber - Beneath the Sanctum
A circle of figures sat in austere silence. The walls bore the weight of centuries of secrets.
At the head of the council was Kimi Raikkonen, the Supreme Arbiter of the Celestial-Infernal Accord, a figure of rare calm and unnerving presence. His gaze was steady, but the room felt the tremor beneath his calm.
“This situation with the Echo threatens the balance,” Kimi said, voice low and commanding.
Lewis, Sebastian, Nico, and Fernando, all leaned in, tension threading their features.
“We cannot let the prophecy - or the accident - upend the Sanctum’s order,” Lewis stated.
Sebastian’s fingers twitched near the memory-steel dagger at his side. “But intervention must be precise. Too much, and we risk the entire weave.”
Nico’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile. “I have located an ancient ritual to sever the bond. But it requires a sacrifice. A life willingly given.”
Kimi’s eyes darkened. “And who among us would be willing to bear such a burden?”
A hush fell.
As on cue, Carlos entered the chamber - someplace students were not permitted to - and cleared his throat. The others looked.
His usually carefree face was grim. “There’s more to this than you all know. Max was never supposed to learn about The Echo this soon.”
Max’s name echoed in the chamber like a warning bell.
Carlos took a breath. “The knowledge Max carries… it is dangerous. He has something latent - something that should have been his to wield only when the time was right.”
Lewis’s gaze snapped to Carlos. “Why was this kept from us?”
Carlos shrugged, but his eyes flickered with a secret pain. “Because the truth isn’t just dangerous - it’s deadly.”
Outside the Chamber
Max approached the council’s heavy doors, hands clenched into fists.
The weight of unseen eyes pressed on him.
A whisper brushed against his ear, cold as the grave: “You were never meant to be here.”
Max’s breath caught.
The doors began to creak open.
And from the shadows, a voice rang out - unfamiliar, yet chillingly familiar:
“The Echo is awake. And the world will burn before he is silenced.”
The heavy doors slammed shut behind Max.
The storm was no longer coming.
It had arrived.
Chapter 13: The Chamber of Truth
Summary:
A boy with no face. A name never spoken aloud. A promise whispered in fire:
"When you remember me, I will come home."
And Max had just remembered.
Notes:
im soooooo sorry for the long-ass delay and ik this chapter wont make up for it but please bear w me :)
Chapter Text
3.3
It was silent in the corridor outside the High Council chamber.
Too silent.
Acolytes bowed low. Max stepped in.
The chamber was all obsidian and starlight. Sigils shifted on the walls like they were breathing.
At the head of the crescent table sat Kimi Raikkonen, silent and immutable as time itself.
Max wasn’t scared. He was past that now. He was ready.
Charles stood in the center of the chamber already, shoulders square, eyes burning with fire, but with clarity.
Sebastian stepped forward. “Begin the revelation.”
Charles raised his hand. A circle of flame and light shimmered into being - a memory.
The air fractured.
Memory Vision - Years Ago, The Forbidden Cliffside
Rain lashed the edge of the cliff where the Sanctum ruins smoldered. Lightning forked behind a crumbling arch. Two figures, stood opposite each other, soaked and bleeding.
Charles, raw magic clinging to his skin, rage and sorrow pouring out in waves.
Max, radiating unknowing light, purity he couldn’t yet control, eyes full of betrayal and grief.
"You’re leaving", Max had said then. His voice, younger, uncertain. "You were going to disappear. Without telling me."
"You weren’t supposed to follow me!" Charles shouted back.
"I couldn’t just let you go!"
"You don’t understand -" Charles’s voice broke.
"Then let me."
And then it happened. Not a kiss. Not a spell. Just a choice.
Max stepped forward, and Charles didn’t step back.
And the magic - ancient, volatile, aching - reacted.
Fire met light. Damnation met divinity. Will met want. Grief met hope.
And from that trust, that raw collision of soul and soul, the Veil tore.
Light bled upward into the stars. Fire twisted into threads that wrapped around a formless spark between them.
And in the silence after, a heartbeat was heard. A flicker of something new. A child was born. Not of flesh. Not of fate. But of choice.
A boy.
Eyes closed. Skin flickering with magic. Not angel. Not devil. Not human.
Just... alive.
Presently - Council Chamber
The vision ended like a flame cut off from air.
Max was on his knees. Charles hadn’t moved.
Around them, the Council was silent. Sebastian looked like stone. Nico’s mouth was slightly open. Lewis closed his eyes as if it hurt to see.
Max remembered none of it. Not the confrontation. Not the moment. Not the boy.
Charles turned to him. "I never told you because I didn’t want to make you choose."
Max whispered, "He called me father."
Charles nodded once.
"You were supposed to leave", Max said. "And I… stopped you."
Charles looked down.
"I didn’t understand what was happening," He said. "Not then. I thought the magic would fade. I thought -"
"You thought it was your guilt", Max finished. "Your burden."
"And it was." Charles said. "But it was also yours."
They both turned as Kimi spoke again.
"Then we are not dealing with prophecy", the High Arbiter said. "We are dealing with an anomaly."
Sebastian finally moved, stepping forward.
"Not an anomaly", he said softly. "A creation. Born of will. Emotion. Magic too pure and too conflicted to be undone."
Lewis added, "The Echo isn’t a curse. He’s a consequence."
Nico’s voice came next. "And consequences always want meaning."
Max stood slowly, a tremor in his hands. "You knew", he said, not to the professors, but to the boy in the room who wasn’t in the room.
To the Echo. To himself.
And then Carlos stepped forward, from the shadows behind them, where students weren’t supposed to be.
He looked at Max, eyes dark with knowledge carried too long.
"I didn’t say it before", Carlos said. "Because I wasn’t sure you were ready."
"Ready for what?" Max asked.
Carlos met his gaze. "To know that he doesn’t just share your magic - he remembers loving you. Before he even had a name."
"And there’s something more," he continued.
Everyone turned.
Sebastian frowned. "Cairon -"
"He deserves to know", Carlos snapped. "They all do."
He turned to Max.
"You weren’t just there when The Echo was created," Carlos said. "You were the key that locked the memory away."
Carlos continued, voice low.
"The burst of divine empathy between you and Charles didn’t just birth The Echo. It was too much for a mortal mind. The council intervened. You were eighteen years old when we began seeing the aftershocks. You had nightmares. Powers misfiring. We thought it was trauma. But it was his soul calling you back."
Max’s knees buckled. Carlos caught him.
"Charles didn't erase your memory", he whispered. "You did. To protect him. To protect yourself."
The council erupted into whispers. But Max barely heard it. Because now he remembered. Not clearly. Not entirely.
Just the smallest thing.
A boy with no face. A name never spoken aloud. A promise whispered in fire:
"When you remember me, I will come home."
And Max had just remembered.
The astrolabe above the chamber shattered, light spilled from the sky.
And far away, in the dream-realm between worlds, The Echo opened his eyes.
"They remember", he whispered.
His skin shimmered. His body flickered between forms - child, flame, boy, nothing.
He touched his chest.
"But do they forgive?"
The ground beneath him cracked.
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