Page 2 of Darkness and Deceit
Throughout history, only a handful of Duals have ever surfaced, and every one of them has left the Balance scarred in their wake. Some are known only through fragmented records, buried deep in restricted archives. Others were whispered about in the oldest Keeper training halls—cautionary tales dressed as legend.
Calling forth both Predator and Prey is not merely uncommon—it defies the natural order. It is a force beyond control, untamed and wild.
It demands a level of power the realm itself seems ill-equipped to withstand.
The Balance, delicate by design, was never meant to hold such contradiction in a single vessel. It strains beneath the weight of Dual magic. Frays at the edges. And when it frays, the world begins to unravel.
That is why the Keepers exist. To steady what was never meant to tilt so far. To act as sentinels when the Balance shiftsbeyond recognition. And lately, it has shifted more often than we can keep up with.
“Where?” I ask, my voice tighter than intended.
“Obsidian Academy,” she replies. “As one might expect. Such an incident could only arise at one of our most promising institutions.”
Of course.
The Academy is a melting pot of potential. Where brilliance and disaster are often separated by the thinnest thread. If a Dual were to awaken anywhere, it would be there. And if left unchecked...
The Balance will not survive another fracture.
As we enter the Court, towering white columns flank us, supporting a ceiling etched with gold-leaf depictions of the realm’s most storied Predators and Preys.
Other Keepers move through the hall with swift precision, their blue robes stark against the marble. The news has already spread—too fast to contain. Whispers fly through sacred halls like wildfire. Protectors move in tandem at their sides, silent shadows cloaked in black, marked by the sigils that bind them to their Keepers.
Every Keeper is braced for action. Every Protector is ready to kill.
We are past theory. Past whispers. Rogue attacks have pushed the Balance to the edge, and now… this. One confirmed Dual. One speculated.
I follow my grandmother down the final stretch of corridor, her footsteps steady against the polished stone.
The council chamber is circular and stripped of warmth. White marble floors, high ceilings, and no decoration beyond what is necessary. Twelve elders sit evenly spaced in identical thrones, all carved from the same pale stone. There are no cushions. No comfort.
Sigils are etched into the floor beneath them, pulsing faintly.
Behind each elder stands a Protector, rigid and silent. Their hands are clasped behind their backs, weapons holstered but ready.
My grandmother does not speak. She simply gestures to the empty space beside her.
I am not supposed to stand here for another five years.
But protocol, like everything else, fractures when the Balance does.
Malissa, the High Keeper of our temple, is the first to speak. Her presence alone is enough to silence the room, but she waits for the last echo of footsteps to still before she begins.
She leans forward, elbows braced on the arms of her throne-like seat. Her pale, nearly colorless eyes sweep the chamber, pausing not just on each Keeper but on the Protectors behind them—an unspoken reminder that every word here could become an order of life or death.
Exhaustion clings to her like a second skin, deepening the lines at her mouth and brow, but her gaze never loses its focus. It cuts through the chamber like a blade.
“You have all heard what has happened,” she begins, her voice quiet but firm. “One Dual has been confirmed. The second is suspected to be in the same location.”
The words land with visible force. A ripple passes through the room—a dozen different instincts to react, each suppressed out of habit or discipline. Some lean forward in interest, others glance sidelong at their peers, wary of who will speak first and how their response might be perceived.
Clarke, one of the more vocal elders, narrows his eyes. He is a man carved with sharp edges, with a mind honed on protocol and precedent, and his skepticism is as obvious as the bristling of a wolf ’s hackles. “Suspected by whom? We cannot affordconjecture on a matter such as this. We must proceed with caution.”
Malissa meets his gaze, unflinching. “The Dual girl claims to have seen Magnus.”
Magnus. The name lands like a blow, shattering the fragile poise of the room. For a heartbeat, even the Protectors behind us seem to tense, as if an old threat might materialize from thin air. I taste bile, sharp and metallic, in the back of my throat. To speak his name aloud is to invite a reckoning—a risk Malissa does not take lightly.
Once Obsidian’s pride. A radiant force among the Protectors. Unmatched in skill, unmatched in potential. But brilliance, left unchecked, does not always lead to greatness.
