Page 34 of Darkness and Deceit (Obsidian Academy #2)

Thirty-One

AUGUSTUS

Fear is a strange thing to feel.

Among the Keepers, it is something we are trained to avoid—acknowledge it, maybe, but never succumb. Never let it surface. We are instruments of the Balance. And instruments are not meant to question.

But right now, I do.

I question everything.

From the moment I was born, my path was predetermined, my purpose carved from prophecy and silence.

For centuries, we have served without pause, trusting the laws written before any of us took our first breath.

But now, standing here in the warded wing of Obsidian Academy, I can not help but wonder if we have misread the Balance altogether.

I have rinsed the blood from my hands. Scrubbed the dirt from under my nails. Changed into a fresh robe. But none of it makes me feel whole. The dust of the cave still clings to my mind. I ache with the memory of holding her, of touching her.

Lilith.

I was never supposed to touch her.

And yet I did. I let instinct override law. I let fear, true fear, guide me. And in doing so, I shattered a boundary I never thought I would cross.

Keepers do not touch.

Keepers do not protect.

And yet—I protected her with my body, gave her my magic, let my hand wrap around hers like it was natural . Like it was right .

It felt right.

The Keepers stationed here move like shadows, heads bent over reports, eyes fixed on ancient scrolls and calibrated magical readings.

This section of the academy was sealed off just for us—a makeshift command post layered in enchantments.

The air here tastes like dust and duty. No one looks up. No one greets me.

Good.

Let them not notice the storm under my skin.

“Augustus,” a voice calls quietly.

I glance up and find Mara watching me from the far end of the hall, her posture rigid as always. Her silver braids are pulled back, robes spotless, expression unreadable. She lifts one hand in a subtle summons. I cross the space between us in a handful of steps.

She does not smile. She never does.

“This way,” she says simply, then turns and leads me into a private antechamber. With a flick of her wrist, a shimmering veil of silence settles around us, warding the space from any prying ears.

Keepers do not lie. That is one of our central tenets. But there are truths we do not speak . And standing here now, I can already feel the weight of the truths I am about to withhold.

Before she can speak, I begin.

“We found a passage,” I say, voice low. “A hidden underground cavern ripe with dark magic.”

Mara’s expression does not change. She absorbs the words without flinching, like stone beneath rain.

I press on.

“There was evidence of Magnus. Not just trace energy. Physical signs. Magic still active in the rock. His signature was everywhere, woven into the very walls. He was there .”

Still, no reaction. Just the faint furrow of her brow, like the information is a footnote, not a warning.

“And when you say ‘we’?” she finally asks.

“Lilith and I.”

A pause. Then—“You entered the forest together?”

“I went alone, but she found me. Followed me. And… she stayed.”

A beat of silence passes between us.

“She saved my life,” I add.

She chose to fight beside me. With me. For me. She was not obligated. And yet she stood in front of a wave of Rogues and made a shield from her own body. The kind of thing only a Protector would do.

Only… she is not my bonded Protector.

Mara says nothing, but I can feel her gaze narrowing.

There is a part of me that wants to confess everything—the way her magic fused with mine, the heat that surged between us when our hands met, the pull that has not left my chest since. But I do not. Not yet.

Because if I tell her what I suspect—if I give voice to this thing that is already unfurling between us—it will not simply be questioned.

It will be severed.

So I say nothing.

Mara studies me in silence. Long enough that I begin to wonder if she already knows. If the air around me hums too loudly with borrowed magic. If the touch I shared with Lilith has marked me somehow—changed my signature, stained me with something the Balance would disapprove of.

Then she nods.

“For that, she will have our eternal gratitude,” Mara says softly.

My stomach knots.

Gratitude? That is what she takes from this? As if Lilith saved me from a wayward storm or something nonsensical. As if this was not everything . As if the danger is not still lurking beneath our feet.

“With all due respect…” I start, but Mara’s eyes flash in warning. It is a look I have seen many times before. But this time, I do not stop.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I continue. “Why Magnus was imprisoned here. Why this was hidden from us. Why students—children—were placed near such danger. Why no one thought to question it.”

“There is a reason for all that happens to us,” she says, the words falling from her lips like doctrine. “You know this, Augustus.”

“I used to,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I used to believe there was always a reason.”

She steps closer, her expression unreadable.

“You’ve always been inquisitive,” she murmurs. “Your mind is a blade. Sharp. Useful. But untempered.”

She raises her hand. Her fingers graze my cheek with a softness that doesn’t belong here. Gentle. Reassuring. Almost… affectionate.

I do not know what to do with it.

We were not raised to be comforted this way. Keepers do not touch unless they must. There were no embraces. No hands on shoulders. No warmth offered when we bled or broke.

So the gesture is not calming—it is confusing.

Performative.

This is not a moment of connection. It is a silent command. A reminder to fall in line.

And for a heartbeat, I almost do. Until I remember Lilith.

When our hands met in the cave, it was not out of tradition or duty that guided us. It was instinct. Need. Magic. Hers surged into me like sunlight bursting over the horizon.

I take a step back. Not to be rude—but because Mara’s touch suddenly feels like mimicry. An echo of something she has never truly known.

Her expression flickers. She says nothing.

But we both feel the shift.

“Your service has been remarkable,” she says instead, voice smoothing into something polished and practiced. “You are destined for great things… but you must learn to control your thoughts. Your heart is pulling you in directions the Balance may not approve of.”

It is not exactly what I was thinking, but it is close enough to set my nerves on edge. Has she guessed? Or am I simply that transparent?

I think of Lilith. Her bloodied hand in mine. The way our magic surged and became something other. Something alive. And how none of it felt wrong.

I want to ask her— what if the Balance does approve?

But I already know the answer I would get.

“Sometimes, we may not understand certain moments in time,” Mara continues, slipping back into the cadence she uses with initiates. “But in the end, it will all make sense. You must have faith.”

Faith.

It is what they have trained into us since the moment we were taken from our families. It is what is carved into the stone walls of the Sanctum. What we recite in every oath and invocation.

I have given them everything. My loyalty. My mind. My magic. My life.

But down in that cave, I felt something more honest than any Keeper doctrine.

And now I am not quite sure faith is enough.

“Of course,” I say quietly. Respectfully.

A lie.

Because even as the words leave my lips, my mind is already moving—already sharpening.

I will not betray them.

But I will not follow blindly either. Not when the truth lies buried in stone and shadows beneath our feet.

Something is unraveling inside this academy. Inside me.

And if Mara refuses to look it in the eye, then I will.