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96: The Starlight Majesty
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2025-05-10 07:00:01The Starlight Majesty wasn’t just a yacht. It was a floating kingdom—opulent, ostentatious, and unapologetically obscene in its grandeur.
It stretched across the sapphire sea like a gilded leviathan, glistening beneath the late afternoon sun, every inch designed to make the gods jealous.Gold-trimmed railings lined the upper decks, polished to such a shine they reflected the clouds. The marble floors inside were imported from Carrara, inlaid with rose-gold patterns that shimmered with every step.Overhead, handcrafted chandeliers dangled like captured constellations, each crystal sourced from remote mines and cut with surgical precision.The pool deck alone was bigger than some luxury resorts.An open-air lounge with temperature-controlled tiles, cascading waterfalls, and underwater speakers that played symphonies composed exclusively for the owners.Even the bar—curved, multi-tiered, made from fossilized wood—was stocked wi
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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
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 175: Monarch Bait
Monday had passed. House Six had won. Again. Thornecrest Academy buzzed like a stirred hive, tense and volatile. The leaderboard hadn't even finished updating before the forums caught fire—thread after thread, each one louder, messier, more unhinged than the last. But no one was really talking about the points anymore. They were talking about the Founder's Ball. It wasn’t just an event. It was a coronation in disguise. A political cage match dipped in champagne and dressed in velvet, where reputations were built, dismantled, and fed to the crowd in a single night. Two students would be crowned Monarchs of Thornecrest—ruling figures for the rest of the semester. Technically, anyone could win. Realistically? Only house leaders stood a chance. The current Monarchs were Denise Poppins and Adonis Hale. They weren’t just popular—they were strategically bred for this. The year before, it had been Anabel Lillington and Tristan Hope, both of whom were now interning unde
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 174: The Thornecrest Trials II
Monday arrived like a curse.No one was ready.The weekend had moved too fast, dissolving into tense whispers, failed study sessions, and broken sleep. Thornecrest Academy—glorious and gleaming under the midday sun buzzed like a hive ready to swarm.Banners rippled overhead, colored in house crests. The fields were packed, the air humming with chants, drums, laughter, and the low thrum of tension between allies-turned-rivals. Students crowded the stands in house-colored scarves, faces painted, throats raw from yelling. The leaderboard towered over the stadium like a guillotine, each new update drawing screams or groans.The second half of the Trials had begun.And no one was playing nice.Rivalries that had simmered during the first week were now frothing. Valiant had accused Dominion of sabotaging their climbing gear. Titan had gotten into a brawl with Prestige. Royal was in shambles—half their team hadn’t shown up to practice, and their leader was supposedly crying in the cons
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 173 - 5A.M Crimes
Fiero woke up to the sound of something thudding against his door. A dull, rhythmic thud that didn’t stop after the first one. Or the second. Thud. Thud. He cracked an eye open, one hand blindly reaching for his phone like he could slap the world into snooze mode. 4:58 A.M. He blinked. Then groaned. Another hit. Then— “Fiero, open this damn door!” Joy. Of course it was Joy. He sighed through his nose and dropped his phone onto his chest with a muted thunk. Yeah. He knew exactly what this was about. She was coming for him. Because of last night. The moment replayed like a cursed VHS: Moses, half-naked, Mika, even worse, together, and the kind of eye contact that made you want to bleach your soul. He had closed the door so slowly, like if he moved gently enough, time would reverse and give him a do-over. Joy hadn't come last night. He’d expected her to. Joy didn’t sit on things, she detonated. Which meant… He rolled onto his side with a groan and stared at the door. Mi
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 172 - The Trade
Midterms were finally over. The Academy felt like a corpse in the snow—drained, hollow, barely twitching. Students staggered across the frost-glazed lawns with caffeine in their veins and bloodshot eyes. Printers were still jamming out paper like distress calls. Someone had curled up and cried beside the vending machine. Someone else had definitely screamed into a stack of history books. Everyone looked like they’d either punched a wall, kissed a rival, or trauma-bonded with their TA. House Six? Too chaotic to break. Too feral to fold. But the air around them was volatile. Joy had nearly punched Hannah in the throat. Nearly. If Miriam hadn’t snatched her wrist and dragged her out of the West Wing Library with the reflexes of a track star, there would’ve been blood on the marble floor and probably a write-up. “You let her play you once,” Miriam had snapped under her breath, surprisingly strong for someone whose primary weapon was sarcasm and Wi-Fi. “Don’t give her another chan
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