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There’s also the matter of Vaelith’s hold on her.

The notion that she trains under his watch, that she might be forging a bond with him, gnaws at me.

She’s too valuable, too fascinating, to let Vaelith overshadow my claim.

The council gave me the right to examine her.

They can’t deny me that. If Vaelith stands in my way, I’ll remind the council of my house’s significance.

Orthani owes us for centuries of psionic defense.

My footsteps slow near a tall mirror. I stare at my reflection once more—hair unruly, golden sigils flickering with the afterglow of my aborted attempts tonight.

For once, I see not the unassailable psion, but a man undone by a single purna’s fierce mind.

The corners of my mouth lift in a half-smile.

Failure, it seems, only whets my appetite.

Drawing myself up, I vow that next time, I won’t simply rush her shields.

I’ll feed her illusions of trust, or carefully orchestrated moments that make her believe I can offer more than Vaelith’s harsh discipline.

Maybe I’ll dangle the possibility of freeing Ai—if that child is her weakness.

Orthani’s cruelty to the young purna unsettles even me sometimes, but I can weaponize that moral confusion if it gains me access to Selene’s innermost thoughts.

Yes, that’s the path. A new plan stirs in me: approach her from a vantage of cooperation, feigned empathy.

Let her see the side of me that disdains Orthani’s crudest methods, the side that enthralls with honeyed promises rather than raw chains.

If I do it right, she might lower her guard just enough for me to slip in.

Closing my eyes, I inhale the lingering scents of incense and smoldering coals.

I can almost feel Selene’s aura on my skin, that electric friction that sparked when she fought my mental probe.

Beneath the frustration, I sense a blossoming obsession: she’s a singular phenomenon in a city where I believed I’d already devoured every lesser mind.

If her mind is truly unreachable, I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted.

A final flick of psionic power extinguishes the brazier flame, leaving me in darkness.

My body aches from tension, but a new determination pulses through my veins.

I will peel back her defenses, systematically or seductively, until I see the raw essence of her magic.

Because in it, I suspect, lies something that could shake even Orthani’s foundations—and possibly my own.

Striding to my private study, I ignite a small arcane lamp with a passing gesture.

Rows of tomes line the walls, each detailing advanced psionic manipulations or the genealogies of dark elf houses.

I pluck one from the shelf, scanning its musty pages.

My mind wanders, envisioning how best to lure her confidence, how to feed that smoldering tension between us until she mistakes her vigilance for curiosity.

Then, in that crucial moment, I’ll slip inside her mind like a whisper, unraveling the puzzle of her existence.

A wicked thrill ripples through me. Let Vaelith teach her how to fight with swords.

I’ll claim her soul in ways no blade can contest. Yet even as I form that vow, a kernel of doubt flickers.

Suppose, in unraveling her, I unravel myself.

She wields defiance like a blade, and I’m drawn to the cutting edge.

The question remains: who will bleed first?

I push that doubt aside. I have centuries of House Velcorin dominance behind me, countless minds broken, secrets gleaned from the psionic arsenal.

She’s just another challenge—though a far more captivating one.

In this solitary chamber, shadows flicker around me, and the lamp’s glow outlines my form in gold. I close the book, savoring the silence.

Tomorrow, I’ll refine my approach. Perhaps I’ll contrive a scenario that forces her to request my help, or at least consider it.

If she wants a morsel of knowledge, I can exchange it for a sliver of mental contact.

The thought of bartering with her sets my pulse racing again.

We’re dancing on a knife’s edge, each step laced with danger.

I can’t recall the last time I felt so alive.

With a final sigh, I let the lamp wink out.

Darkness settles once more, and I stand in the hush, pressing a hand over the faint headache from her backlash.

A twisted grin curves my lips. Yes, Selene, keep fighting.

It only makes me hungrier. Let Vaelith cling to his illusions of authority.

Let the Red Purna lurk in the city’s underbelly.

None of it matters once I devour the secrets hidden in your mind.

I leave the study for my bedchamber, each stride echoing with my new resolve.

The night encloses me in a sea of quiet confidence.

Even battered, my pride reasserts itself.

She might have dealt me a blow, but it’s not final.

The next encounter will be mine to shape.

And if cracks form in my arrogance, so be it—through those cracks flows the desire that fuels me.

If I must fracture everything I once believed just to taste her mental fortress, I will.

Because her defiance is the lure, and I’m already ensnared.

Settling onto my bed, I let my thoughts replay the exchange in her room.

The flare of hatred and heat in her eyes, the swift lash of her psionic defense.

Each detail is a private indulgence. Sleep beckons, but my consciousness clings to the aftershock.

No one else dares to resist me like that, and I find it impossibly compelling.

At last, exhaustion claims me. I drift into a dream where I stand at the threshold of her mind, a vast labyrinth of swirling, mesmerizing arcs of magic.

I push forward, and she meets me in the center, eyes blazing with that haunting mixture of fury and allure.

The memory of that tension curls around me, sweet and perilous, whispering that I may never fully dominate her.

The possibility intoxicates me. Let the city of Orthani revolve around its petty wars and alliances.

My war is with Selene’s mind, and I will not rest until I am victorious—even if victory tears me open in the process.