Chapter 80 The Price of Fortune
Aurora's POV
I watched Moira's face light up with that eager-to-please expression she always wore when she thought she could gain something from being helpful, and I had to suppress the urge to laugh at how predictable she was.
"Thank you, Aunt Moira, you're so good to me!" I said with just the right amount of grateful warmth in my voice.
The moment the words left my mouth, Silk's notification chimed in my mind with that familiar crystalline clarity: "Target has agreed to request. Energy extraction successful."
The mechanism was beautifully simple, really. When I made a request of someone I'd already established a connection with and they agreed to fulfill it, their positive energy flowed directly to me without any need for physical tokens or elaborate rituals. If they refused, the system would automatically deduct one point from their affection rating, which meant I had to be strategic about timing and targets. But Moira had been so desperate for my help with her variety show problem that she would have agreed to almost anything I asked.
I felt the energy settle into my core like warm honey spreading through my veins, substantial enough to sustain me for at least another week without needing to make any additional requests.
Moira stood and smoothed down her elegant cashmere sweater with that practiced grace she'd perfected over years of performing for cameras, then headed toward the kitchen with the kind of determined efficiency.
Twenty minutes later, I heard the crash from the kitchen, followed by Moira's sharp cry of pain and the frantic apologies of what sounded like multiple servants. I set down my book and walked calmly toward the source of the commotion, taking my time because there was no real emergency that required rushing.
When I reached the kitchen doorway, I found Moira sitting on the floor surrounded by broken ceramic and splattered soup, her expensive sweater soaked through with what looked like scalding liquid across her chest and shoulders.
Two female servants were hovering over her with expressions of genuine horror, trying to help her stand while apologizing profusely about the collision that had apparently caused the disaster.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Sterling, I didn't see you coming around the corner," one of the maids was saying, her voice shaking with distress. "The tray was so heavy and the soup was fresh off the stove—"
Moira tried to wave away their apologies with one hand while using the other to brace herself against the counter, but when she attempted to put weight on her left foot, she gasped and immediately collapsed back down. The ankle was already starting to swell visibly, turning an angry red that suggested a serious sprain at minimum.
I stepped forward with my face arranged in appropriate concern and followed as the two servants carefully helped Moira toward the stairs, supporting her weight between them while she limped and winced with every step.
"This is all my fault," I said softly, making sure my voice carried just the right note of guilty distress. "I shouldn't have asked you to make soup. If I hadn't distracted you, none of this would have happened."
Moira looked at me with pain-glazed eyes and managed a weak smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. "Don't blame yourself, honey. It was just an accident, these things happen."
We reached her bedroom door and the servants helped her inside, closing the door firmly behind them to give her privacy while they helped her change out of the soaked clothing and assess the damage to her ankle. I stood alone in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of movement and conversation from behind the closed door.
Then I allowed my expression to relax completely, let the mask of concerned guilt slip away as naturally as removing uncomfortable shoes after a long day. My lips curved into a small, satisfied smile as I turned away from Moira's door and headed back downstairs.
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Elara's POV
My phone buzzed with an incoming text just as I was finishing my evening study session, and when I saw James's name on the screen with multiple exclamation points, I knew something had gone wrong at the pack house. [Elara! Aurora is seriously problematic!]
I stared at the message for a moment and hit the video call button and waited for him to pick up, which he did almost immediately with his face filling the screen and his expression radiating the kind of agitation that came from witnessing something genuinely disturbing.
"Calm down and tell me exactly what happened," I said before he could launch into an incoherent explanation.
James took a breath and began describing the scene he'd witnessed in detail, how Aurora had asked Moira to make her soup and how Moira had agreed with obvious eagerness, then how a series of increasingly improbable accidents had befallen Moira in rapid succession.
"The timing was too perfect to be coincidence," he insisted, his voice tight with conviction. "Aunt Moira collided with a servant carrying boiling soup, got scalded badly enough that her entire chest was soaked, then slipped on the spilled liquid and twisted her ankle so severely that she couldn't walk without support. Three separate pieces of bad luck within the span of maybe five minutes."
I leaned forward with my full attention focused on his account, because the pattern he was describing aligned too well with my existing suspicions about Aurora's abilities. "What did Aurora do after Moira got hurt?" I asked. "Did she say anything specific or make any unusual gestures?"
James shook his head. "She followed them upstairs acting all worried and guilty, kept saying it was her fault for asking Moira to cook when she was tired. Moira actually tried to comfort her and told her not to blame herself. Then the servants took Moira into her room and closed the door."
"And after the door closed?" I pressed.
James's expression darkened with remembered disgust. "Aurora stood in the hallway for maybe ten seconds after they shut the door. Then her whole face just... changed. Like someone flipping a switch. All the worry and guilt disappeared completely and she smiled, this satisfied little smile like she'd just accomplished exactly what she wanted."
I sat back and processed this information. "She doesn't need the dolls as a medium," I said slowly, working through the logic out loud. "She just needs the target to agree to fulfill a request, and that agreement itself becomes the channel for extracting their positive energy or luck or whatever supernatural force she's drawing on."
James nodded vigorously. "That's what it looked like to me. So are you coming home to deal with this? Because Aunt Moira is in serious danger if Aurora keeps using her like this."
I considered the question carefully, weighing the actual threat level against the practical limitations of my current situation at the academy. "Moira's experiencing a concentrated burst of bad luck, but it's not life-threatening. She'll recover from the burns and the sprained ankle, and more importantly, she'll start to recognize that something unnatural is happening to her and begin looking for solutions on her own."
James looked disappointed by my decision not to rush home immediately, but he didn't argue with my assessment.
I ended the call and headed toward the academy training grounds where I was scheduled to practice defensive formations with several other advanced students.
I was walking down the corridor that led to the main training arena when I heard it—a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, ancient and hollow like wind moving through abandoned spaces, speaking my name with deliberate emphasis. "Elara... guardian..."
I froze mid-step with every muscle in my body locking into defensive readiness, then spun around to scan the empty hallway behind me with my senses extended to their maximum range. "Who's there?" I demanded, my voice sharp with authority and challenge. "Show yourself!"
The corridor remained empty and silent except for the distant sounds of other students training in various rooms throughout the building. No one responded to my question and no supernatural presence manifested itself in any visible form, but I knew with absolute certainty that I hadn't imagined what I'd heard.
This was the second time since arriving at Moonveil Academy that I'd experienced unexplained auditory phenomena—first the sighing sound during combat training that no one else had seemed to notice, and now this direct address that used my name and called me "guardian" in a language that felt older than modern pack dialects.
The academy's official regulations explicitly forbade any magic involving necromancy, spirit summoning, or interactions with entities from the death realms, which suggested that at some point in the institution's history, someone had violated those rules and the consequences of their actions were still lingering in the present.
It was possible that someone performed forbidden rituals here years ago. The residual spiritual energy or bound entities from those rituals could have remained dormant in the academy's foundations until something triggered them to become active again."
But the entity hadn't just made random noise or created general disturbances—it had called me by name and used the term "guardian," which implied recognition and purpose.
"If you're bold enough to call my name, then I'm going to find you and figure out exactly what you are and what you want."