It's as if the Atrium has become a new room altogether. Even Derald, who could care less about decor and other nonsense, can't help but gape at the gorgeousness of the makeshirt ballroom. The Atrium is a pretty place on it's own, with pretty, light-inviting skylights fitted together. They've hung a massive white chandelier from the skylights and it looks as though moonlight is raining down from the night sky.

Derald thinks fondly of his sisters, Gia and Gwynn, who'd been obsessing about the Midwinter Ball since the school year had started. Gia, who's close to graduation, has taken it upon herself as a responsibility to educate Gwynn on how to be a lady. And Gwynn, who's idolized the concept of nobility and galas since she could talk, has floated about in a dreamlike state ever since.

Xara gently bumps into him, equally as immersed in the ballroom as he is. She looks fiercely beautiful, with her eyes edged in dark liner and her hair tied high up her head. It portrays a girl older than her 12 years. But out of the five of them, Xara has always been the more mature, more serious one.

The five of them huddle up. Vieva looks bored, most likely having seen the party scene previously. Owain looks positively green, and his knees knock together. Upperclassmen have always freaked him out and it's as though the entire school has decided to pack into the Atrium.

Lysabel glances at everyone impatiently, though what she's waiting for, Derald doesn't know.

"We all know the plan, right?" Xara confirms. Small tendrils of black hair fall forward. Her cinder block gray eyes are determined.

"I still don't understand why the vault needs to be looked at more," mumbles Owain. "I thought we couldn't get in."

Vieva scowls at him, her platinum blonde hair waterfalling forward in a sheet of white. "It's clear something valuable is there, something the Warlord wants. We have to get it first."
"Doesn't that mean that he'll come after us instead?" Owain insists hotly. "Why are we making ourselves a target?"

Xara places a hand on his wrist, smiling encouragingly. "If you want to opt out, Owain, it's completely understandable. It's risky, what we're doing, considering what's at stake for us. The four of us can manage well."

At that, Owain straightens indignantly. "No, I'm going."

Derald can't help but feel a small prick of satisfaction. Finally, Owain seems to have grown a backbone.

Partygoers swish around them, glancing at them curiously. Xara notices it too, nodding at Derald.

"We're gathering too much attention. Let's split up." Xara grabs Derald's arm, her skin cool. "Derald and I will go right, and Lysabel and Owain will go left. Vieva, you're on your own."

"Thank the Founders."

Derald rolls his eyes at her, and Vieva merely tosses her hair. There's no heat behind either of their actions; as much as he hates to admit it, Vieva Bestel is growing on him. And by the looks of it, it's mutual.

She melds into the crowd, while Lysabel all but drags Owain away. He sends Derald a panicked, save me look, but Derald only gives him a thumbs up. Mellow music drifts around the room, and in the center, people sway to the lulling beat. It's mostly filled with upperclassmen; the first years stay off the floor, content to gaze on. Xara tucks her hand under his arm, sneaking a glance at him.

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah." His cheeks flare and he ducks his head to hide it. He can feel the coolness of her skin through the thin shirt.

The dancers swirl together perfectly as Xara and Derald maneuver around the dance floor. They bump into a few people, who glare at them unhappily, but manage to keep a good pace. Until now, Derald hasn't visited the Atrium, but he could see it from his dorm room. It's unexpectedly larger than he'd expected. The exit is still a good distance away, and the crowds force Xara and Derald closer and closer to the dance floor.

Xara inhales sharply, her gaze honing in on a figure approaching them. At first, Derald thinks it's Kayd, and locks his jaw. They don't have time to deal with Kayd, which alone is an ordeal. But as the person comes closer, Derald sees it's not Kayd.

Caedric Bestel. The upperclassman is probably the finest dressed here, to no one's surprise. Gazes-female gazes, especially-linger on him as he passes, but his eyes are trained on Xara alone. Derald catches a scathing look from some of the upper class girls, but Xara tunes them out entirely. He can feel her pulse speeding erratically. He tightens the pressure on her arm slightly, reminding her to breathe.

"Ah, Xara Roffinnes. Just the girl I'd hoped to see tonight." That's when Caedric finally notices him, squinting. "Have I seen you somewhere?"

Xara answers for him. "Derald was Vieva's escort to the Inventory Gala."

The furrow in Caedric's expression clears. "That makes sense."

"Do you need something, Caedric?" Xara asks, pursing her lips. Despite her obvious reaction to his arrival, Xara knows the importance of their task tonight. She won't gamble it away because of her crush. At least I hope so.

Caedric smirks, taking her words as a challenge. "I couldn't leave without saying hello to the prettiest girl in the room."

Xara tries to act stoic but faint pink tinges her cheeks.

"And to ask for a dance."

Her head jolts up. "Seriously?"

"Of course."

"You're asking the girl who hit you with a bookbag-who left a bruise on your face that's still there, by the way- for a dance."

Caedric laughs, stepping closer. "Precisely."

Xara glances helplessly at Derald, who releases her. She can't outright say no.

"One dance. That's it."

"I'll make it count."

He sweeps her away onto the floor, and Derald loses sight of them. Awkwardness washes over him as he waits for one, two seconds. Then, he makes an executive decision. He will wait, hidden, by the exit, along with the others. Hopefully, Xara will catch on and make her way alone to them.

The waltz begins, and the dancers take their places. Dance lessons had never been Derald's priority; he recalls, if weakly, the basic steps to the dance. Couples swirl in a sea of colors and sequins along with the elegant, soothing music. The Atrium has three exits, but only one of them connects to the school's main building. That entrance is currently being guarded by two professors. They stare sternly into the mass of students, taking their jobs seriously.

Derald catches, in the corner of his vision, a flash of white blonde hair. Vieva's nearly reached, and he's guessing Lysabel and Owain have to.

He finally squeezes through a flock of girls, who scowl at him angrily, but go back to their conversation. Vieva waves him over frantically, peering behind him.

"Where's Xara?"

"She's... handling something."

Lysabel and Owain break through the crowd and join them a second later. Vieva glances quickly at them then returns her attention back to him.

"Where?"
Derald hooks a thumb to the dance floor, where the waltz has turned into a jaunty sort of tune. Vieva glances at him incredulously.

"She's dancing? Now?"

Derald scratches his neck. "She didn't really have a choice. Someone asked her to. She couldn't exactly say no."

Vieva snorts, disbelieving, crossing her bone white arms over her chest. At the last second, Vieva had gone to her house to pick up a dress from there. Apparently, the thought of wearing a dress from the market had been too horrid for her to go through with. The dress is red, the color of blood. Hopefully, the only time they'll see that color tonight.

Derald has been thinking about what they'll find in the vault all day long. Professor Evenfall had berated him heavily when he nearly zoned out with panic during a sparring match. His opponent, an Arcane, had nearly torched him. But standing here, waiting to slip away and find that strange door, an odd mix of adrenaline and fear and nerves scamper through him. What if they find the Warlord there? He had been terrified when he'd shown up at the Warehouse. Partially because they'd been caught unawares, but mostly because he's, well, the Warlord, for Founder's sake. He's the monster parents tell their children about.

"Wait, who asked her to dance?" Lysabel asks, and Derald realizes he'd missed over that piece of information. He sucks in his cheeks.

"Vieva, don't freak out." Derald directs towards her. Vieva narrows her molten eyes at him suspiciously, angling her head in that signature way of hers.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"It's Caedric. Your cousin."

"I know who Caedric is." She snaps instantly, but not before Derald had caught her eyes widening. "How does Caedric know Xara?"

"They've bumped into each other a few times," supplies Lysabel. Her eyebrows raise a fraction. "I've seen."

"Founders. He's unbelievable." Vieva curls her lip. "And why her?"

Derald looks at her sharply. "And why not Xara?"

"Actually, that makes a lot of sense," sighs Vieva dramatically, pretending not to have heard Derald. She fiddles with a strand of her hair. "Caedric has always been... out of the box. Of course he would go after Xara."

Derald chooses not to comment on Vieva's statement. Most of the time, arguing with Vieva Bestel is mentally draining.

"How long ago did the waltz start?" Owain worries, wringing his hands. Vieva lightly slaps his wrists.

"Stop that. It's annoying me."

Owain meekly obeys. Derald rolls his eyes. You can take the girl out of the harpy, but you can't take the harpy out of the girl.

Around five minutes later, Xara arrives, wide-eyed and flushed and breathing hard.

"I'm here. I'm so sorry for the delay."

Vieva observes her, dragging her gaze up and down. Her eyes land on the flush tinging Xara's smooth skin.

"I don't believe that." Vieva responds, with a pointed glare at Xara's rumpled appearance. As Xara finger-combs her hair, Vieva flattens herself behind the silk drapes. The five of them scrunch behind the silk. The professor on the left sneezes, and Derald starts. Vieva pinches him lightly, and jerks her chin towards the door, a silent command to follow.

"What do you think you're doing?" The professor from the left, the same one who'd sneezed, demands. He purses his lips disapprovingly, but with his bushy mustache, Derald finds it difficult to take him seriously.

Vieva glares back at them, briefly. Her eyes dance with a warning.

In the time she turns back to the professor, she transforms into a docile, sweet girl. "We forgot some things in our dorm. Might we go back?"

The professors exchange glances. Owain squeaks behind him. If there is anything that terrifies Owain more than monsters, it's angry professors.

"No one can go through this way. You may go out the way you came."

Vieva pouts, eyes widening. "Oh, but it took us so long to just get here! And besides, this way gets us there faster. Please?"

The professors harrumph. Vieva discards her act, sighing melodramatically.

"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but very well."

"Is she going to use her magic?" Owain gasps to Derald. He turns, giving his roommate an incredulous look.

"How would that even work?"

Owain grins sheepishly. "Sorry. It was the first thing that came into my head."

Anyone who knows Vieva Bestel would understand that Owain's sentiment isn't extreme. Whenever she's angry, or even irritated, Derald can practically see the sparks leaping from her pale fingertips.

Vieva digs into an unseen pocket of her dress, withdrawing a small drawstring bag. The color, a rich mahogany, matches her draped dress. She jangles the back, luring the professors into her trap.

"Let us go, and you can have this entire bag."

Derald jaw detaches from shock. How can she give away money so easily? Though, for Vieva, conjuring such an amount is not a problem. In fact, he's not even sure her father knows, or cares.

The professor on the right speaks for the first time, arching a gray eyebrow. "Are you trying to bribe us, Ms. Bestel?"

Vieva plays with the strings casually. "Bribe, gift. Call it what you want." She holds their gaze, a confident smirk on her face.

In the end, the professor on the left caves. After a surreptitious glance about the ballroom, he discreetly accepts Vieva's bag of coin. Her smile widens. His partner looks at him, disbelieving.

Vieva gives them both a sweet smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. It's all for show.

"I appreciate your choice, Professors." She dips her head at them both. "We'll be back."

The two men go back to ignoring the five of them pointedly. The minute they enter the dark, empty hall, all the breath in his lungs whoosh out. He contemplates thanking Vieva but decides against it. She'll never let him live it down.

Vieva, however, doesn't miss the lack of gratitude. She plants her fists on her hips.

"I don't see why I do anything for you unappreciative lot."

"Thank you for your great sacrifice, Vieva Bestel," comments Xara dryly, her eyes sweeping across the hallway swathed in dark. "I'm sure getting that money was a very hard accomplishment."

Vieva glowers at Xara's back.

"The vault is at the end of this hallway." Xara glances back at the door. The pulse of the waltz is faint from the Atrium. "We better run. I don't want to be gone too long."

"Do we even know how long this will take?" Lysabel says, after the five of them break into a jog. Derald prances behind the group on tiptoes, even though there is no one here. Somehow, it makes it even spookier that it's just the five of them.

"No. But whenever we can speed it up, we should try." Xara leads confidently, her dress fluttering at her calves. "This way. Keep close."

"What do you take us for, Xara? We aren't ninnies." Vieva snaps, skidding around the corner. Her hair has come loose from her updo, but she doesn't seem to notice or care.

Xara doesn't respond. She slows to a stop as they bank right.

"Vieva, light, please."

She obliges, grumbling glumly as she does. The doors look relatively the same, but already Derald recognizes this hallway. It's memorable. The most elaborate paintings of the Founders are located in this hallway. Xara lopes down the hall, muttering to herself.

Then she stops at a door. Derald recalls the patterns embedded in the wood. The strange markings. Whomever decided that putting such a distinguishable door must not be very intelligent. It's very appearance begets curiosity.

Xara wrenches the door open with conviction, seemingly unafraid of whatever could be lurking behind it. Owain yelps, bringing his hands up quickly.

"Get a grip, Snagsnout," hisses Vieva, before stomping after Xara into the room. Traces of the old Vieva Bestel are showing- she must be nervous.

The five of them crowd into the room. Lysabel pulls the door securely shut behind them. He's not sure if they've set the Fenrirs inside the campus, but they can't take any risks of leaving the door open for someone to find them.

"How exactly are we going to get in? My impression from our last visit was that it was locked."

Xara twists her lips as she stares up at the safe.

"I have a theory."

"That's it?" Owain whispers vehemently. "We're out here, risking ourselves, on a theory?"

Xara stays calm. Somehow. "There has to be a way to get in. I've been thinking about it. It's the most logical solution." While her voice sounds calm, her eyes betray her. Those gunmental gray eyes are swirling and churning, an internal storm. Derald ponders what Xara is really thinking.

"Stand back."

The four of them take a good step back.

Xara withdraws something sharp from her pocket. It glints in Vieva's dull firelight. Sharp.

A dagger.

"What are you doing?" Lysabel says, aghast.

Xara quirks a smile. "Testing my theory." As she lifts the knife to her palm, dimly, Derald's mind wanders to Slyff, his familiar. The kelpie is adept at reading emotions and intent. He wonders if Slyff could peruse what Xara's up to. It's pretty clear, judging by the way she lays the knife against the base of her thumb.

With one quick motion, she cuts her skin open. Owain inhales sharply at the sight of freshly brimming blood. Xara's face contorts for a brief second, the only indicator of her pain. Even Vieva's gone a shade paler, which Derald previously hadn't thought to be possible.

Xara holds up her blood-stained hand. Her blood drips on the floor, splattering. Derald can feel the contents of his stomach convulse. Wide-eyed and unblinking, the four of them watch on as Xara raises her sliced palm to an indentation in the safe door Derald hadn't seen before. It's a strange shape, an oval of sorts.

Xara presses her palm to the stone.

They wait with bated breath.

"It's not going to work," says Vieva, so quiet Derald nearly misses it.

"No." Xara's response is firm. "Wait for it."

They wait once more.

Then, there it is: a switch, a click.

The safe has opened. 

>>AUTHOR'S NOTES:

it's happened. I'm nearing the end of The Elixir. i literlly can't even begin to tell y'all how excited I am to have reached this point. And how excited I am to begin book 2!

yay!

peace&love,

raniaditi