The next morning came with a heavy mist, softening the edges of the academy buildings as though the world itself didn't want to be seen clearly.
Charles sat by the fountain in the school courtyard, sketchbook unopened. His hands were tucked under his cloak, not from the cold, but from the weight of hesitation.
Diana joined him with deliberate steps, holding a folded paper in her hand. "I asked around," she said, sitting beside him. "Three students from Isaac's stream admitted they bought that exact dog drawing. They said it was recommended by a 'quiet boy with sharp eyes.' Sound familiar?"
Charles closed his eyes. "He told me he only shared with his family…"
"Well," Diana said, placing the paper in his lap, "someone has made over 20,000 carnation points from your drawings in two days."
Charles didn't respond. The betrayal wasn't loud. It didn't scream or sob. It just sat there—silent and sickening.
"I need to know why," he said at last. "Why would he do this?"
---
Elsewhere, in the underbelly of the academy, Isaac moved quietly through the empty archives. His coat was heavier than usual, the lining sewn with dozens of folded scrolls—drawings he had replicated.
He wasn't proud.
He wasn't even relieved.
But necessity was a cruel motivator.
He pulled out a small mirror and looked at himself—not to adjust his hair, not to admire. Just to see what kind of person he had become.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the reflection. "You needed someone to protect you. I needed something to fight for."
His family had once lived in honor. His father had been a mid-tier carnate, respected until the famine. One year of hunger had undone everything. His sisters no longer studied. His mother had sold her heirlooms for bread. Isaac had sworn never to feel powerless again.
Then Charles appeared—clumsy, kind, oblivious to the danger he was in. Drawing after drawing, tier after tier, as if he didn't understand the worth of what he carried.
At first, Isaac helped him because he saw his younger self in Charles—meek, desperate to belong.
Then he saw something more: opportunity.
But it wasn't greed, not truly. It was survival.
When Charles gave him those drawings, he believed he was giving Isaac a chance to help his family.
He didn't know how far Isaac would take it.
Or someone else would..
---
Back on campus, Charles and Diana approached the market square near the east gates. The stalls were humming again—shady parchment sellers, ink vendors, and the occasional street-level carnate whispering deals behind crates.
They stopped in front of a narrow booth, where scrolls hung like draped silk. Charles scanned the titles.
There it was.
His original "king of jungle" sketch. The watermark—a tiny spiral hidden in the background—was unmistakable.
He snatched it from the stall.
"Who gave you this?" Diana asked the merchant, her voice firm.
The man looked up, pale and jittery. "A boy. Comes around early. Pays me not to ask questions."
They walked away.
"That's him," Diana said. "He's selling them directly. The merchant confirmed it."
"But why, Diana?" Charles asked, his voice cracking. "I didn't just give him drawings. I gave him my trust. He helped me. He stood between me and those monsters in school. Why betray me like this?"
"I don't know," she said. "But we're going to find out."
---
That night, Isaac slipped into the abandoned observatory near the academy's west wing—his secret retreat. He set the bag of scrolls down, lit a small crystal lamp, and finally allowed himself to sit.
He took one of Charles's drawings out. It was the first one—the dog that barked happiness. It still glowed faintly. A weak shimmer of golden Gana flickered in the lines.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Isaac froze.
"I should have known you'd be here," Charles said quietly, stepping through the arch.
Isaac turned, guilt momentarily flashing in his eyes before settling behind a mask of indifference. "You followed me."
"No," Charles said. "I remembered the place you mentioned once, when you talked about stargazing. The observatory."
Diana stepped into the light behind her brother, arms crossed. "We saw your scrolls at the market."
Isaac's shoulders dropped. "So this is it? Judgment?"
"No," Charles said, walking closer. "Just an answer."
Isaac looked at him long and hard. Then he exhaled.
"I needed to help my family," he said. "Your drawings were like spells from the gods. Every one of them could feed us for weeks. I told myself I was doing good. That you had more than enough power and didn't even know what to do with it."
"You should've asked," Charles said. "I already supply you them."
"yes, just a few'" Isaac replied.
Charles said nothing.
There was no easy answer.
"I'm sorry," Isaac added, softer this time. "I didn't mean for it to go this far. I was only supposed to sell one or two. Then people started asking for more. Then came the money. And then... I didn't know how to stop."
Diana spoke. "You crossed a line. People trust you. He trusted you."
"I know," Isaac said. Silence followed .
Charles walked up to the satchel and pulled out a handful of the stolen drawings.
"You didn't even alter them," he said, sadly. "Not even one line."
"I couldn't," Isaac whispered. "They were already perfect."