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179: The Oracle
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2025-07-27 22:56:58
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THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 181: Heir & Error
Luca Avancii had spent his youth being ruthless—an unrelenting force in business, carving out an empire with sharp instincts and sharper decisions. He didn’t negotiate. He didn’t pause. He didn’t second-guess. But now, in the later years of his life, something had shifted. Power never left a man willingly. It clung like a second skin, but these days, Luca took greater pleasure in simpler things: the weight of a good book in hand, a glass of thirty-year whiskey neat, the chaos of his children shrieking down the hall. Still, one thing hadn’t changed. Legacy. Legacy was everything. And that was why, at this moment, he stood in the center of the master bedroom, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, facing off with his wife, Maria, as though she were a rival in one of his old boardroom wars. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said, voice low and tight.
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 180: Puppet master
House Six’s dorm was still under lockdown, but that didn’t stop them from thriving in their own brand of chaos. Their lavish common room was alive with noise—Joy was lying upside down on the couch reading a magazine, Samuel was balancing a knife on one finger. Moses was deeply invested in a game of chess against himself, and Mika was throwing darts at a moving target: Fiero, who, as usual, did not seem to care. At the center of it all, Xavier Peterson or rather, D.C Tenebris, their ever-unbothered House Master, sat in a throne-like armchair, sipping tea and radiating the smug aura of a man with too much power and absolutely no intention of using it responsibly. “Alright, you feral children,” Xavier finally spoke, snapping his fingers. “Family meeting.” Joy groaned. “Again? We literally had one yesterday.” “Yes, and I hated it,” Xavier said, setting down his tea. “But I’ve decid
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 179: The Oracle
The hallway outside Principal Whitmore's office was silent, save for the faint hum of electricity from the overhead lights. House Six moved like ghosts, each step calculated. Miriam was at the front, her fingers gripping the cool metal of the master key as she slid it into the lock. The door clicked open, and they slipped inside. The office smelled of old paper, cigar smoke, and a faint trace of Whitmore's expensive perfume. The large oak desk was littered with neatly stacked files, but Miriam ignored them. She moved straight to the surveillance system on the far wall, its screens dimmed in standby mode. Samuel stood beside her, a flick knife twirling between his fingers as he leaned in. "We don't have all night, genius." Miriam rolled her eyes and began typing rapidly. The system was layered with firewalls, but nothing she hadn't cracked before. Within moments, the footage began to rewind. The others crowded around, watching intently. The timestamp read: 11:01 PM. They were re
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 178: 327.11.9
The woods swallowed them whole. Behind them, the Founder’s Ball kept playing—music echoing faintly like a distant dream—but it was already too far, too fake, too slow. The trees took them, greedy and wild, shadows stretching long as the adrenaline wore off. Julia staggered. Her heels had long since been discarded. Her gown, once pristine, now dragged in the dirt, soaked with blood from the growing stain near her ribcage. She moved like a marionette with fraying strings—jerky, unsteady, slow. Fiero walked beside her, wordless. Every time she slipped, he caught her. Every time her knees buckled, his grip found her wrist and yanked her upright. “Who did this to you?” Joy hissed. Her voice held something terrifying—controlled fury, sharp and clinical, like she was dissecting the idea of violence one layer at a time. Her eyes flashed, and even in the dim moonlight, her stance was lethal. Julia didn’t answer. Her eyes were glassy. Her mouth opened once, closed again. Then she whisper
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 177: The Founder's Ball
The Founder’s Ball had finally arrived.The ballroom at Thornecrest Academy shimmered beneath a thousand golden lights, chandeliers catching every whisper of motion. It smelled like perfume, ambition, and too much hairspray. Music played—a haunting string quartet tucked into the alcove but no one was really listening. Students from every house arrived in waves, dressed like royalty, masks discarded in favor of presence.House Royal and House Prestige strutted in early, all stiff posture and practiced smiles. Their heels didn’t scuff. Their dates didn’t sweat. They knew the cameras would pan to them first.Titan was already raiding the drink table—flasks passed under velvet coats, their laughter too loud. Dominion and Valiant arrived together, all political tension and sideways glances toward Elect.And House Elect?Adonis Hale looked like he’d eaten the concept of wealth and pissed out status. His suit probably cost more than tuition, and the gold stitching on his cuffs spelled his
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 176: D.C Tenebris
“Yeah, fucking boring-ass names,” Joy repeated, arms folded, legs crossed, the embodiment of bored royalty mid-execution. Across from her, Mika Graves—small, sharp, and eternally one snap away from war crimes narrowed her monolids. Her fingers were already twitching toward metal. Fiero sighed. Just once. His fingers dragged along his temple like the conversation was physically offensive. His face stayed unreadable. Same as always. Xavier straightened to his full height, unbothered by the mood in the room—his trench coat still catching the gold light like he was auditioning for villain of the year. “Damien Cassius Tenebris,” Moses corrected flatly from the couch without even looking up, one hand flicking a sound dial on his janky setup. “Trash name.” Miriam clicked her tongue. “Pretentious. Reads like an off-brand cologne.” Xavier—no, Damien Cassius Tenebris stood in the center of their common room like he was trying not to get eaten. Which, to be fair, was an entirely valid f
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