Chapter Text
The sky over Ostania was no longer calm.
Smoke lingered in the air like the breath of war, and whispers of betrayal drifted through the elite halls of Eden Academy. Tension between Ostania and Westalis had reached a breaking point. Behind closed doors, war strategies were being drawn. In plain sight, children of powerful figures carried the burden of secrets they didn’t even understand yet.
Damian Desmond sat stiffly in his father’s grand study, the only sound being the quiet ticking of an ancient clock and the shuffle of papers from Donovan Desmond’s gloved hands.
"You wanted to see me," said Damian, keeping his voice formal, respectful. It was always like this with his father-measured, distant, rehearsed.
"Yes," Donovan said, not looking up. "There’s someone I’d like you to bring to me. Anya Forger."
Damian’s heart skipped a beat. His eyebrows pulled together in suspicion. His jaw clenched ever so slightly.
He opened his mouth, closed it again, then stood a little straighter, a protective heat flaring in his chest. Anya? What did his father want with her?
They were good friends, well, sort of. They argued a lot. Fought over stupid things at school. She got on his nerves like no one else could, teased him endlessly, and read him like a book. But she was also the only person he trusted. The only one who made him laugh, who saw through him when others only saw the Desmond name.
He’d never admit it out loud, but she was the only girl he ever saw.
He looked at his father, tension in his voice. "Why?" he asked, carefully.
Donovan finally looked at him, eyes unreadable. “You seem to be close with her.”
Damian’s brows furrowed, and he
leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “We’re not-- I mean, she’s annoying. Always messing around at school. She’s just a classmate.”
Donovan ignored the protest. “Your mother mentioned her a few times. Said you talk about her. Quite a bit, in fact.”
Damian looked away, jaw tightening. “She exaggerates.”
“She has an interesting background. And your mother seemed curious about her. I thought it might be good to meet her myself.”
“That doesn’t explain why you need me to bring her,” Damian muttered, but Donovan had already returned to his documents, conversation apparently over.
Damian stood stiffly. “Fine. I’ll ask her.”
The next day at school, he found Forger near the lockers, as usual looking like a total mess,papers half-hanging out of her bag, hair in her eyes, a pen cap dangling from her mouth. Honestly, it was a miracle she hadn’t tripped over herself already.
He crossed his arms and cleared his throat, standing stiff like he was doing her a favor just by being there.
She looked up and blinked at him.
“What now, sy on?”
He rolled his eyes like *she* was the one being annoying.
“I need to tell you something. It’s kind of important.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Important? What—did you run out of gel for your hair?”
“Tch—shut up. I’m serious.”
That got her attention. Her teasing expression faded a little.
He looked off to the side, annoyed by how awkward this felt.
“My father wants to meet you.”
There was a long pause. She stared.
“Huh?”
“I said—ugh, are you deaf? I said he wants to meet you.”
Her eyes widened.
“Why?!"
He shrugged like it didn’t matter.
“I don’t know. Said something about hearing your name a lot. Probably from my mom. Whatever.”
Now she looked confused and suspicious.
“Why would your mom talk about me?”
“Hell if I know,” he said, quickly. “Maybe I mentioned you once. Don’t overthink it.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Her eyes narrowed.
“Is this some kind of prank?”
He scoffed.
“Please. Like I’d waste my time setting up a prank for you”
That shut her up for a second. But her eyes still lingered on his face, like she could see through all the layers he tried to keep intact.
He bristled.
“Anyway, I’m just telling you. You don’t have to come if you’re too scared or whatever.”
She gave him a flat look.
“I’m not scared.”
He smirked.
“Didn’t say you were.”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“Will you be there?”
He clicked his tongue and looked irritated, like it was obvious.
“Of course I’ll be there. What, you think I’m just going to let you embarrass me in front of him?”
That made her raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, so this is about you.”
“It’s always about me, Forger.”
She snorted.
“You’re ridiculous.”
He turned and walked away without looking back.
“Whatever. Just don’t wear anything weird.”
“Like your face?”
He paused, glanced at her over his shoulder, smirked again.
“Try harder.”
And then he was gone.
But the nervous twist in his gut didn’t leave.
Anya watched Damian’s retreating back, her smile fading into a look of quiet determination.
Meeting his father wasn’t just some random event , it was an opportunity. Operation Strix was on the edge, and if there was any way she could help her dad through this, she had to take it.
Her thoughts swirled with questions and possibilities, but one thing was clear: she couldn’t let this chance slip away.
Damian stood at the door of the Forger residence, arms crossed, waiting.
Anya eventually came out, her usual smug grin in place.
“Took you long enough, Forger.”
“You said twelve sharp. It’s literally twelve-oh-two.”
“Twelve sharp means early,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “Let’s go.”
They had lunch in the Desmond estate’s sunroom, with a full table set—though the silence between the three at first was nearly louder than the silverware.
Donovan Desmond occasionally asked Anya questions, none too personal. Her favorite subject. Her views on world affairs. What she thought of Eden Academy. She answered each one with the weird, blunt honesty she always carried, occasionally glancing at Damian as if to say, *Is he for real?*
Damian didn’t talk much. He just chewed and kept glancing back and forth between the two of them, a tight frown settling deeper with every passing minute.
Finally, Donovan set down his fork, his eyes locking onto Anya in that calculating, slow-burning way that always made Damian sit straighter.
“You’ve made quite an impression,” he continued. “My son talks about you. My wife, too.”
Anya glanced at Damian, who immediately looked away, ears slightly red.
Donovan’s eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
“You’re clever,” he said. “You don’t come from a powerful family. No political lineage. No wealth. And yet somehow, you’ve become... significant.”
Anya’s throat was dry.
“I just try to be a good friend,” she said. “And a good student.”
“Hmm.”
He tapped a finger once on the desk.
“Tell me, what does your father do?”
Anya blinked.
"He's a psychiatrist."
Here it was.
“I’d like a word with Miss Forger alone.”
Anya blinked. Damian froze.
“With—what?” Damian asked, not hiding his frown now. “Why?”
“I believe I said I’d like a word. Alone.”
Damian looked at Anya, then back at his father. “Tch.” He stood slowly, the chair scraping the floor. “Whatever.”
He turned to Anya and leaned in just slightly.
“If he says anything weird, yell. Loud,” he muttered under his breath, then added, “Don’t be a dumb peanut.”
She gave a small smirk. “Noted, Mr. Tsundere.”
He scowled, and left.
Donovan waited until the door clicked shut.
“You’re very close with my son,” he said, tone unreadable. “He speaks about you. Quite often, in fact.”
Anya tilted her head slightly, unsure of where this was going. “He’s... okay, I guess.”
Donovan’s expression didn’t shift. “A Desmond falling for a commoner. How entertaining.”
Anya stiffened, her hands folding in her lap. “He’s not—”
“Oh, but he is. I see it. Whether he knows it yet or not.” Donovan’s voice was low now, cold. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Do you have any idea what that means for a boy in his position?”
She stared at him, mind going a hundred miles a minute, but her face stayed still.
“I’m not using him,” she said.
He let out a slow exhale, almost amused. “I didn’t say you were. But weakness... is contagious.”
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