Chapter 85: Prince of Humility, New Stalker

Chapter 85: Chapter 85: Prince of Humility, New Stalker

Lyra bounded across the training ground with a bounce in her step, her silver hair catching the afternoon light as she hurried toward her brother. The remnants of the sparring match still lingered in the air—scattered dust, the faint crackle of dissipating energy, and the stunned silence of students who hadn’t expected a newly awakened imperial prince to hold his ground so effectively.

"Well done, big brother," Lyra said, her voice bright with genuine pride. She thrust a soft white towel toward him, her amber eyes sparkling with admiration.

Theon accepted the towel with a quiet nod, pressing it against his face and wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered during the match. The fabric was cool against his skin, a small comfort after the exertion.

"Thanks, Lyra," he replied, his breathing still steady but his muscles humming with residual tension. He draped the towel around his neck and rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness that came from pushing his weakened body further than before.

Lyra fell into step beside him as they walked toward the cafeteria, her shorter legs moving quickly to match his pace. She hummed a cheerful tune under her breath, occasionally glancing up at him with an expression that bordered on hero worship.

"You were really amazing back there," she added, unable to contain her enthusiasm. "Everyone was watching you. Some of them looked like they’d seen a ghost."

Theon chuckled softly, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "I still have a long way to go. But I appreciate the support."

"You’ll get there faster than anyone expects," Lyra said with absolute certainty, leaning into his touch. "I know it."

Theon said nothing, but the slight upward curve of his lips betrayed his amusement at his sister’s unwavering faith. The training ground faded behind them as they approached the academy’s main building, the distant sounds of students chattering and laughing drifting toward them on the breeze.

Despite the chaos of the day—his weakened body, the match, the constant attention—Theon felt a quiet sense of contentment settling over him. Having Lyra at his side made everything easier to navigate, her presence a reminder that no matter how strange his position became, some things remained constant.

The cafeteria doors came into view, and Theon’s stomach growled in response to the distant aroma of food.

The cafeteria was already bustling when Theon pushed through the doors, the warm air thick with the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and simmering vegetables. Students filled the long wooden tables, their conversations creating a steady hum that bounced off the stone walls.

Theon took a step toward the serving line.

The effect was immediate.

Every student within ten feet of him froze. Then, as if responding to some invisible signal, they scrambled backward—some nearly tripping over benches in their haste to clear a path. Forks clattered against plates. Chairs scraped against the floor. Within seconds, a wide empty space had formed around Theon, as though he were surrounded by an invisible barrier.

Theon blinked, his brow furrowing. "What’s going on?"

A third-year student, pale-faced and trembling, shook his head vigorously. "N-no, Your Highness. This isn’t right."

"What isn’t right?"

"You can’t stand in line with us," another student stammered, clutching his tray to his chest like a shield. "You’re an imperial prince. You should be served first."

Theon stared at them. "I just want food. The line works fine."

"That can’t be allowed!" a girl squeaked from somewhere behind the crowd.

"You’re far above us!" another voice added.

Theon looked at the serving line, where the cafeteria staff had also frozen, ladles hovering mid-air as they watched the commotion with wide eyes. The head cook, a stout woman with flour dusted across her apron, hurried forward and bowed deeply.

"Your Highness, please allow us to prepare a proper meal for you immediately. The standard fare is not suitable for someone of your station."

Theon pinched the bridge of his nose. "The standard fare is what everyone else is eating. It’s fine."

"I couldn’t possibly—"

"All right." Theon’s voice cut through the protests, calm but firm. He folded his arms and fixed the crowd with a level stare. "If no one is going to collect their food, then I’m not eating either."

A collective gasp rippled through the cafeteria. The head cook’s face went pale.

"Your Highness, that would be a grave offense to your health!"

"Then tell everyone to get back in line," Theon said simply. "I’ll wait my turn like everyone else. That’s not up for debate."

For a long moment, silence reigned. Students exchanged bewildered glances, as though Theon had just announced he planned to personally scrub the academy floors. The head cook’s mouth opened and closed several times before she finally turned to the stunned crowd.

"You all should join the line," she said, her voice carrying the weight of reluctant surrender. "His Highness has spoken."

Slowly, hesitantly, the students reformed the line. Theon took his place at the back, ignoring the nervous glances thrown his way. As the line began to move, he noticed the atmosphere shifting—confusion giving way to something like cautious curiosity.

"That’s not how I expected an imperial prince to act," someone whispered nearby.

"Maybe they’re not all arrogant after all," another voice murmured.

Theon pretended not to hear, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he reached the front of the line and accepted his tray of food.

Theon found an empty table near the windows and sat down, Lyra settling into the seat across from him. The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, casting golden patterns across the wooden surface as they began to eat.

Lyra poked at her vegetables with her fork, her eyes darting around the cafeteria with barely concealed amusement. After a few minutes, she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Big brother, you’re really pulling in a lot of attention, aren’t you?"

Theon paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Lyra tilted her head to the left, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Theon followed her gaze. At a table roughly fifteen feet away, a group of girls huddled together, their heads bent close in animated discussion. Every few seconds, one of them would glance in his direction, then quickly look away, cheeks flushing. A girl with long auburn hair covered her mouth with both hands, barely suppressing a squeal.

Theon stared for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "Haha."

"See?" Lyra grinned, popping a piece of bread into her mouth. "You’ve got fans already."

"Or they’re just curious," Theon said, returning to his meal. "The sparring probably made them curious."

"Mm-hmm. Sure." Lyra’s tone suggested she didn’t believe him for a second.

Theon shook his head, but before he could respond, movement near the cafeteria entrance caught his attention. His smile vanished. Leon had just walked in, flanked by a small group of students, his gaze already sweeping the room—probably searching for the most advantageous place to sit.

Which would, inevitably, be near Theon.

"Lyra, finish your food quickly."

Lyra’s head snapped up at the sudden urgency in his voice. She followed his gaze, spotted Leon, and immediately understood. Without another word, she began eating at double speed, shoveling food into her mouth with an efficiency that would have impressed the academy’s military instructors.

Theon matched her pace, cleaning his plate in record time. The moment Lyra set down her fork, he stood, picking up his tray.

"Let’s go."

They rose and moved toward the tray return station with practiced coordination, slipping between tables and clusters of students. Leon had only made it halfway across the cafeteria by the time Theon and Lyra reached the exit, disappearing through the doors without so much as a backward glance.

The students who had been watching Theon earlier exchanged confused looks.

"Did he just... leave because Leon showed up?"

"Is he avoiding him?"

"Maybe there’s bad blood between them?"

The speculation continued as Theon and Lyra vanished into the corridor, leaving the cafeteria buzzing with fresh gossip.

The academy halls were quieter now, most students still in the cafeteria or making their way to afternoon activities. Theon walked with Lyra at his side, his steps measured and relaxed—until a faint shift in the air behind him made his shoulders tense.

There it was again. That presence.

He’d sensed it throughout the day: a subtle pressure, the feeling of eyes on his back that didn’t belong to curious classmates. Always lingering. Always watching.

Clestia.

Theon didn’t turn around. He already knew she was there, trailing behind them at a careful distance, probably peeking around corners and pretending to examine random objects whenever he glanced back. She’d been doing it since the match ended.

A slow grin spread across his face.

"Lyra," he said, keeping his voice light and casual. "Do you want to play tag?"

Lyra’s eyes lit up with instant enthusiasm. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Theon reached over and tapped her shoulder. "Tag."

Then he ran.

Lyra squealed with delight and sprinted after him, her laughter echoing through the corridor. Their footsteps pounded against the stone floor as they weaved through hallways, ducking around corners and dodging past startled students.

Behind them, Clestia eyes went wide. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before breaking into a run, her carefully maintained distance collapsing as she bolted after them.

"Theon!" she shouted, her voice carrying through the corridor with desperate energy. "Wait!"

Theon didn’t wait. He grabbed Lyra’s hand and pulled her through a gap between two groups of students, their surprised exclamations fading behind them.

"Theon!" Clestia called again, her voice rising. "I like you! I really like you!"

The words echoed off the stone walls, impossibly loud in the enclosed space. Every student in the vicinity froze. Heads turned. Jaws dropped. A second-year boy dropped his textbooks with a loud clatter, staring at the scene unfolding before him.

Lyra glanced back, her expression torn between shock and glee. "Big brother, she’s confessing!"

"I know," Theon said flatly, increasing his pace. "Keep running."

They rounded another corner, Clestia footsteps close behind. Her face was flushed, her carefully styled hair beginning to come loose from its pins, but she showed no signs of giving up.

"Theon! Please! Just stop and talk to me!"

Theon did not stop. He ran with the focused determination of someone fleeing a natural disaster, navigating the academy’s winding corridors with the precision of someone who had memorized every possible escape route.

The classroom door came into view. Theon burst through it, Lyra right behind him, and they skidded to a halt inside. Clestia appeared in the doorway a moment later, chest heaving, her eyes wild.

She took one step forward.

The entire classroom fell into awkward silence.

Every student in the room stared at the three of them—Theon standing calmly beside his desk as though he hadn’t just sprinted through half the academy, Lyra giggling uncontrollably, and Clestia frozen in the entrance, her face now burning with mortification.

The silence stretched.

Then, mercifully, the instructor cleared his throat and announced, "Take your seats. Classes will resume."

Celestial slumped into her chair, burying her face in her hands as the whispers began.

The final bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the day. Students gathered their belongings, their voices rising in a familiar chorus of relief and chatter. Theon packed his books with practiced efficiency, already planning the quickest route back to the imperial dormitory.

Then he saw her.

Clestia stood near the main exit, partially hidden behind a pillar, her eyes fixed on the doorway. She had clearly recovered from the earlier embarrassment and appeared determined to continue her pursuit.

Theon’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted.

Nope.

He turned to Lyra, who had just finished organizing her own bag. "Come with me."

Without waiting for a response, he scooped her up, one arm supporting her legs and the other wrapped securely around her back. Lyra let out a surprised squeak but made no move to resist, instead looping her arms around his neck with practiced ease.

"We’re taking the long way," Theon said.

"Because of the stalker?"

"She’s not a stalker."

Lyra grinned. "Whatever you say, big brother."

Theon carried her through the side entrance, moving away from the main path and toward the less-traveled eastern corridor. The hallway was empty, most students heading in the opposite direction toward the campus gates.

He quickened his pace, then activated his ability. The familiar surge of power flowed through him, lifting them gently off the ground. They rose above the corridor, soaring over the academy walls and cutting across the open air toward the imperial dormitory in the distance.

The wind rushed past them, cool against their skin. Lyra laughed with delight, throwing her arms out wide as though she were flying on her own.

"This is way more fun than walking!" she declared.

Theon didn’t respond, his focus fixed on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the academy. The imperial dormitory grew larger in his vision, its elegant spires rising against the late afternoon sky.

They touched down at the entrance moments later, Theon setting Lyra down gently before straightening his uniform. He allowed himself one brief glance back toward the academy.

No sign of pursuit.

Good.

Ifrith opened the door before Theon could reach for the handle, his sharp eyes immediately scanning both children for signs of distress. Finding none, he stepped aside to let them enter.

"What happened, Master? Why didn’t you use the normal path?" His voice carried a note of genuine concern beneath its usual calm.

Lyra answered before Theon could speak. "Theon has a stalker."

"No, I don’t," Theon said immediately.

Lyra fixed him with an incredulous look. "Yes, you do."

Ifrith’s expression shifted from concern to something far more irritating: amusement. A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes gleamed with barely suppressed mirth.

"It’s finally time for my master to grow up to that level, isn’t it?"

Theon felt his eye twitch. "No, it’s not. I’m still ten years old. Too young."

Ifrith tilted his head, his smile widening. "Actually, even a nine-year-old can get betrothed in this empire. It’s quite common among noble families, especially when political alliances are involved."

Theon stared at him, his brain momentarily refusing to process the information. When it finally clicked, he recoiled as though Ifrith had suggested he get married tomorrow morning.

"WHAT?!"

The word exploded from him with enough force to make Lyra jump. Ifrith simply chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his master’s horrified expression.

"Of course, I’m not suggesting you rush into anything," Ifrith continued smoothly. "But you should be aware of the customs. Knowledge is power, after all."

"That’s not knowledge—that’s a lockdown!" Theon ran both hands through his hair, pacing the entrance hall. "I’m ten. I shouldn’t even be thinking about marriage. I should be... I don’t know... doing whatever normal ten-year-olds do!"

"Normal ten-year-olds don’t have Inhuman powers, Master."

Theon opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, realizing he had no counterargument. He settled for a frustrated groan.

Lyra patted his arm sympathetically. "Don’t worry, big brother. I’ll protect you from all the scary girls."

"The ones chasing him or the ones he chased after?" Ifrith asked innocently.

"Both," Lyra said with absolute seriousness.

Theon buried his face in his hands.

The sound of the door opening again made Theon lift his head. Lazaria and Silver stepped into the entrance hall, their expressions shifting as they took in the scene before them—Theon looking thoroughly defeated, Ifrith radiating smug satisfaction, and Lyra standing protectively at her brother’s side like a tiny guardian.

Lazaria raised an elegant eyebrow. "Did something happen?"

Ifrith turned to greet them, his smile never wavering. "Master has a stalker now."

"I don’t have a stalker," Theon said, the words coming out with the weary tone of someone who had repeated them far too many times.

"But you do, and she may be closer than you think, Master." Ifrith replied smoothly.

"Where? Where is she?" Theon demanded, gesturing around the room. "I don’t see any stalkers. A stalker would follow someone everywhere, right? And currently I am in my chamber, no proper lady would chase a man to his home. Right?"

Ifrith calmly raised a finger and pointed toward the balcony.

Theon fell silent. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to look.

Through the glass doors, floating high in the sky outside the imperial dormitory, was Clestia. She hovered in the air with an expression of intense concentration, her gaze sweeping across the building as she searched for any sign of him. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind, but she seemed entirely focused on her mission.

Theon lunged for the chamber door and slammed it shut. He pressed a panel on the wall, activating the dormitory’s Stealth Mode—a privacy feature that shielded the building from external observation. The windows dimmed, and a faint shimmer rippled across the outer walls.

"Ah..." Theon exhaled heavily, leaning against the door. "She’s been chasing me all day, and now to my chambers."

Ifrith clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Sorry, Master. That’s the life of women. That’s a woman for you."

A sharp crack echoed through the room as Silver’s hand connected with the back of Ifrith’s head.

"Excuse me?" Silva’s voice was deceptively calm, but her eyes flashed dangerously. "You were the one who chased me. I didn’t chase you. Don’t go spreading nonsense about women as though you understand a single thing about us."

Ifrith rubbed the back of his head, his expression suggesting he was about to deliver a retort.

Theon cut him off before he could speak. "You both should stop it."

He paused, then added, "Is this really the right time for you two to be having a couple’s fight?"

Silence descended over the room.

"We’re not having a couple’s fight!" Ifrith and Silver shouted in perfect unison, their voices overlapping with uncanny precision.

Lazaria let out a small laugh, the sound soft and melodic. She covered her mouth with one hand, but her eyes sparkled with amusement at the scene unfolding before her.

Lyra didn’t bother hiding her laughter, giggling openly at the flustered expressions on both adults’ faces.

Theon sighed, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to ease. Despite the chaos—the chase, the embarrassment, the absurd conversation about marriage—moments like this reminded him that the imperial dormitory was more than just a residence.

It was home.

And whatever challenges tomorrow brought, at least he’d face them with this ridiculous, chaotic, wonderful family at his side.

"Well," he said, pushing himself off the door and walking toward the common area, "if anyone needs me, I’ll be somewhere without windows."

"That’s the spirit, Master," Ifrith called after him, his tone warm with affection. "Very brave of you."

Theon didn’t dignify that with a response.

He was too busy planning his escape route for tomorrow.

Theon’s expression gradually lost the last trace of levity left from the earlier exchange. His eyes shifted toward Ifrith, then toward the door beside his chamber, and the air seemed to tighten with that glance alone.

"That door," he said at last, his voice steady and firm. "We should do something about it."

Ifrith straightened immediately. "Yes, Master."

Theon kept his gaze on the door for a moment longer, as if weighing how much of its silence he could afford to tolerate. Then he looked back at Ifrith. "We’ll deal with it after the spirit contracting."

Ifrith bowed once. "Understood, Master."

A brief pause followed, quiet and watchful. Then Ifrith turned and moved to leave, with Lazaria and Silver falling in beside him. Even as they departed, their voices did not fully fade.

"If that stalker shows up again, she’s going to regret it," Silver muttered.

Lazaria gave a small, sharp huff. "Regret it? She’ll probably run the moment he sees us."

"If she’s stupid enough to come back," Ifrith said in his usual measured tone, "then she will need to be removed from Master’s path."

Their argument continued down the corridor, the three voices growing softer as they walked away, still bickering over what Theon’s "stalker" might do next. The sound was faint enough to be almost comforting.

Almost.

Theon remained where he was, staring at the door for a few seconds longer before letting out a quiet sigh. There was something unsettling about postponing it again, as though the decision itself had weight. Still, he had other matters to handle first.

The door stayed closed.

And its silence felt dangerous than before.