An Elegy For The Soul

Chapter One

Secrets in the Night

The taste of madness lingered on Lucan's tongue and it was sweet. Journal pages, yellowed with age, lifted in the breeze creeping through his cracked window. With slow, deliberate care, Lucan pressed the cover closed, sensing the weight of foul secrets beneath his fingertips.

His battered book could finally rest now that his work was finished.

He ran his fingers down the worry-softened leather, tracing every crease and fold, each frayed page calling out to him, beckoning his gaze.

He could open it once more, sink into those pages, reread his completed thesis guaranteed to secure him an apprenticeship under Professor Terasaki— a man who was the master of a field that lurked at the fringes of human understanding: Theoretical Physiology.

Terasaki's apprenticeship was a rare opportunity, bestowed upon only one student of unparalleled ambition and skill. Driven by a hunger that gnawed at the core of his being, Lucan was determined to seize the chance and be that one student.

He lifted his thumb to his lips, feeling the sting of his own mortality as he bit down on the tender flesh. A dark smile twisted his features, mirroring the twisted path he had chosen for himself... because Lucan had done so many unspeakable things in pursuit of his end game, delving into realms that would drive lesser souls to madness.

His deeds, both beautiful and horrifying, had left their mark on his soul, carving scars into his very essence. He could feel those scars within himself, just beneath his flesh. They puckered and ached, leaving behind an unreachable itch, one too deep for his fingers to scratch. 

But no matter the cost brought upon him, he couldn't stop. Like a man dying of thirst in the salt laden sea, Lucan couldn't help but drink—each sip forever unquenchable in an ocean of knowledge.

Other students at the academy had not bled for their discoveries. No one had anguished during the darkest hours of night, teetering on the razor's edge between brilliance and madness, with little pieces of their soul swallowed whole by the void.

But Lucan had, and it changed him. It made him a worse person. It had delivered him to the precipice of his greatest triumph, one he couldn't turn back from.

Tales of caution, whispered warnings, haunted the halls of Burnell. They spoke about the danger that lay in wait for those who tread where others feared to roam.

Lucan paid them no heed.

Caution left a bitter taste on his tongue. Too often did it plague great minds, stifling their potential and reducing them to mediocrity. These people were destined to be forgotten with the passage of time. A tragedy he refused to accept as his fate.

Because Lucan was a man who boldly reached forward and unveiled all the truths hidden in the cracks of the universe, where they lay shrouded in darkness as a nebula of secrets who, without him, could only yearn for the light.

In the dim light of his study, Lucan leaned forward and savored a breath of his journal. Metallic inks, smelling of stale blood, ignited his passion—a fiery craze no amount of academic mastery could extinguish.

As he attempted to lay his thesis to rest for the night, the swollen wood of his desk drawer stuck, so he pulled harder, jostling the pens in the cup on his desk. Their metal tips clanked against the glass like little wind chimes, rang by the dead, to be ferried across the horizon into the farshore.

"Scribbling away at this hour?" 

Lucan glanced over his shoulder and found River standing in the empty space between his door frame, spine straight, shoulders back, exuding an unusual elegance that starkly contrasted with his imposing stature. A small book was tucked under one arm, while a gray coat was casually thrown over the other. Candlelight danced across River's impassive features, highlighting the glint of gold chain around his neck and deepening the shallow bruises of exhaustion beneath his hooded eyes.

Lucan hadn't heard him come in.

He straightened in his chair, raised one eyebrow. "Better than gallivanting around campus with no more than a sliver of moonlight to guide my way."

River's chin lifted, granting him the illusion of added height as he stared Lucan down. "I was in the library."

Lace curtains, caught by the breeze, billowed in the candlelight, casting speckled shadows that were inkblots come to life. Shapes shifted along the wall—moth-dusted wings transforming into visions of chaos—and amidst these rapid changes, Lucan discerned River's lie. "I didn't realize they relocated the library. Near the cultivation grounds now, is it?"

River stared back at Lucan, maintaining his impassive expression to no avail. After five years of shared quarters, studies, and the not so occasional insult, the two could read each other better than any of the texts they so ardently devoured.

Lucan pointed down to River's feet. "There is dew clinging to your boots. Were you burying the bodies or exhuming them?"

He leaned back, balancing on the rear legs of his chair, tapping his steepled fingers together in sync with its gentle sway.

"My business is my own." River said nothing more. He stood still, body language a well-honed defense against prying eyes, guarding his secrets.

A mirthless smile spread across Lucan's face. River may have considered himself proper, but Lucan knew what lurked below the poise and civility. He knew what River truly desired. "So is the business of all who make dealings beneath the cover of night. Tell me, how is our little flower?"

Silence thickened between them, both men locking gazes, unyielding in the face of a challenge. In the common room, the clock's second hand filled the void. Lucan counted the ticks.

One. Two. Three. Four.

"Goodnight, Thurst," River bid before turning and heading to his room. The door closed soundlessly, save for the click of the lock thrown into place. 

Lucan leaned forward, all four legs of his chair meeting the floor once more. He licked the tip of his finger and pinched the candle's wick. The flame extinguished with the hiss of a dying breath. Lucan's eyes followed the languid trail of smoke that rose up to meet his nostrils. He breathed it in deeply, relishing the smell of burnt things.

"And to you, Dr. Kim," he murmured in the darkness.

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