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“Finn, wait.” I catch his arm before he can turn away. “What’s happening? Why are you all acting like?—”

“Not here, not with so many listening,” he cuts me off, glancing around the Academy grounds with sudden paranoia. “Eyes everywhere now, ears in every shadow, and some conversations require absolute privacy to avoid becoming weapons in the wrong hands.” His gaze flicks meaningfully toward a cluster of Seelie students who seem far too interested in our conversation. “The seminar. Everything you need to know, I will tell you there.”

“Tell me what? What aren’t you saying?”

“Things you need to understand about what is coming,” he says grimly. “Things that could mean the difference between surviving the next few days and—” He stops abruptly as a raven lands on the nearby fountain, its black eyes far too intelligent. “Academic building. Ten minutes. Do not be late.”

Kieran’s eyes meet mine across the space between us, and I see goodbye written in the shadows pooling at his feet.

They’re separating us, and whatever’s happening, I’m walking into it blind.

Finnian’s advanced seminar takes place in a circular chamber I’ve never seen before, lined with ancient texts that seem to whisper when touched by candlelight. Seven other students lean forward in their chairs, quills poised above parchment like weapons ready to strike.

“Today we are examining historical precedents for artifact manifestation,” Finnian announces, pulling up etherealprojections that dance in the center of the room like living things. “Specifically, the theoretical requirements for wielding the Four Treasures of ancient Fae courts.”

My attention sharpens immediately. After yesterday’s revelations, anything about treasures feels personally relevant in ways that make my thorns pulse beneath my skin.

“Professor Willowheart,” a Seelie student with silver hair asks, “do we know the current location of these artifacts? The historical record suggests they vanished during the Wild Court’s fall.”

“An excellent question, Miss Silverleaf.” Finnian’s amber eyes flick briefly in my direction before returning to the class. “The treasures’ locations remain... undocumented. Though historical analysis suggests they may be closer than commonly believed.”

The hair on my neck stands on end at his phrasing, the way his gaze lingers on me for just a heartbeat too long.

“The popular understanding of the Four Treasures,” Finnian continues, opening an ancient tome that gleams with its own inner light, “is that they require royal Wild Court blood to manifest their power. However, recent research suggests this interpretation may be... incomplete.”

He traces symbols that shift and change under his touch, runes that make my vision blur if I stare too long. “The original texts, when examined in their purest form, indicate something far more complex. The treasures were not designed for individual mastery.”

“What do you mean?” asks an Unseelie student with dark wings folded against her back.

“The phrase commonly translated as ‘royal blood must unite the treasures’ appears to be a deliberate mistranslation.” Finnian’s voice carries the excitement of discovery, but there’s something underneath—urgency, maybe desperation. “Theoriginal Fae reads more accurately as ‘bonded souls must unite through treasures.’“

Understanding settles into my chest like swallowed stones.

“You are suggesting the treasures require multiple wielders?” Miss Silverleaf leans forward with fascination.

“Not just multiple wielders—bonded ones. The historical accounts describe four individuals, connected by magical ties deeper than mere alliance, each attuned to a specific treasure.” Finnian’s gaze meets mine across the room, and I see something that looks like warning flicker in his amber eyes. “The power comes not from one person channeling all four artifacts, but from four bonded souls working in perfect harmony.”

“But that raises the obvious question,” another student interjects. “Who currently possesses these treasures? If they require bonding, someone must be carrying them.”

Quills hover over parchment while seven pairs of eyes fix on Finnian with predatory patience.

“Fascinating speculation,” he says carefully, adjusting his glasses with fingers that tremble almost imperceptibly. “The treasures are said to choose their own guardians. Ancient magic, beyond court politics or academic study.”

“But surely there are records,” the Unseelie student presses. “Registry documents, historical tracking?—”

“The treasures bond to their chosen guardians through sacred tattoos,” Finnian explains carefully. “The guardians are... aware of what they carry. But revealing oneself as a treasure bearer in the current political climate would be...” He pauses meaningfully. “Inadvisable.”

“That seems dangerous,” Miss Silverleaf objects. “How would they coordinate? How would they know when to act?”

“Perhaps,” Finnian says quietly, “that is precisely the challenge. The treasures choose guardians who must find each other through bonds deeper than political allegiance. Whenthe connection between bearers reaches sufficient depth, the treasures call to each other.”

I find myself studying the other students with new intensity. Could any of them be carrying ancient artifacts without knowing? The idea seems impossible, yet Finnian’s certainty suggests otherwise.

“Professor,” I hear myself ask, “what happens if someone attempts to manifest the treasures without proper bonding? If they try to channel power meant for four people?”

His amber eyes lock with mine, and I see something that might be warning flicker in their depths.

“Historical accounts are... unpleasant. Magical backlash of sufficient force to destroy not just the individual, but anyone magically connected to them.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “The treasures reject false claims violently.”