The boys had had enough of the sappy, heavy emotions, so they decided to have the best night of their lives — and they made it happen. They played some video games, watched movies until their cheeks hurt from smiling, and even danced the night away. Guess whose idea that was.
Though neither of them knew how to dance, it only made the scene a glorious, ecstatic chaos of flailing limbs and uncontrollable laughter.
Eiran laughed the whole night — truly laughed — and anyone could tell the difference from his practiced one. This laugh was wild, unrestrained, almost violent in its release, like something that had been trapped inside him for eons. It didn't flow like water, smooth and predictable; it moved like air, boundless and eager to explore, finally free of the walls he'd built around himself.
Eiran clapped his hands together with a spark in his eyes. "Alright! If we are doing this, we are doing it properly. Solaran style."
Lucen blinked. "Solaran style?"
"Oh, you poor sheltered child," Eiran said dramatically. "Prepare yourself."
The first game Eiran introduced was Ember Toss, a childhood classic played with glowing, heatless stones that flickered like tiny embers. The goal was simple: keep the stones in the air using only the back of your hands. Lucen failed instantly. The stone bounced off his wrist and hit him in the forehead.
Eiran laughed so hard he fell off the bed.
Lucen grumbled, rubbing his head. "This game is stupid."
"No, you are just terrible at it," Eiran corrected cheerfully. "Try again."
Lucen did — and failed again… And again… And again…
By the tenth attempt, they were both laughing so hard they couldn't breathe.
Next came Whisper Chase, a game where players whispered a phrase into a crystal orb, and the orb repeated it back in distorted, hilarious tones.
Lucen whispered, "Eiran is ridiculous."
The orb repeated: "Eeeeeeeeee-ran issssss… a sparkly turnip."
Eiran screamed. Lucen wheezed. The orb kept repeating "sparkly turnip" until they begged it to stop, still laughing their brains out.
Lucen had never played anything like this. He had spent most of his childhood locked away in his room, listening to his brothers laugh with others while he sat alone. Now, with Eiran beside him, he felt like he was experiencing childhood for the first time.
Eiran then taught him Star-Step Shuffle, a dance game hybrid where glowing tiles appeared on the floor in random patterns. You had to step on them before they vanished. And like another party dance game…
Lucen stepped on Eiran's foot.
Eiran stepped on Lucen's foot.
They both tripped over each other and collapsed in a heap.
And the only ones who seemed to be enjoying the game were the tiles because they blinked mockingly.
"Why do Solaran games require so much coordination?" Lucen groaned.
"Because we are fun," Eiran said proudly.
"You are dangerous," Lucen corrected.
Then came Moon Ring Flick, a game involving tiny silver rings that floated when flicked. The goal was to land them on hovering pegs. Lucen flicked his ring so hard it shot across the room and hit the wall.
Eiran stared. "That is… not how physics works."
Lucen shrugged. "I do not follow rules."
"Clearly."
Eiran's laughter filled the room again — wild, unrestrained, the kind that shook his shoulders and made his eyes water. This was real. This was raw. This was freedom
Eiran introduced Shadow Mimic, a game where your shadow copies exaggerated versions of your movements.
Lucen raised a hand, and his shadow raised two.
Lucen blinked. "Why does it have extra limbs?"
Eiran cackled. "It likes you."
Lucen was not comforted.
They played until their sides hurt, until the room felt too small to contain their laughter. Lucen kept failing every game, but Eiran insisted that it made it even better. "You're adorable when you're confused," he said.
Lucen threw a pillow at him.
Finally, they tried Lantern Leap, a game where floating lanterns drifted around the room, and players had to tap them in a specific order.
Lucen tapped the wrong lantern, and all the lanterns exploded into harmless glitter.
Eiran screamed in delight. "You broke the game!"
Lucen looked horrified. "I WHAT?"
"It's fine! It's fine! It's supposed to do that!" Eiran said, trying to calm the disoriented boy.
"It is?" Lucen asked for reassurance.
Eiran's eyes moved left then right before he leaned in and whispered softly. "…No."
Glitter covered everything — the bed, the floor, their hair, their clothes. Eiran looked like a starburst, and Lucen looked like a disgruntled constellation.
They laughed until they fell over.
Eiran kept laughing until he almost forgot how to breathe, the kind of laugh that clenched his stomach and sent a pounding through his head, but he didn't stop it. He didn't want to. It felt too good, too freeing, and for a moment, he wished it could last forever.
And Lucen? He wasn't any better. The boy was laughing his face off — literally. He had spent years envying the way others laughed around him, convinced half of them were faking it. Hypocrisy, he called it. A belief carved into him by his brothers, who were cruel behind closed doors, making him hate his own existence, then smiling like saints in public.
So laughter — real laughter — had always felt like a luxury he wasn't allowed to touch.
By his own definition, Eiran should have been one of those people — all smiles, all brightness, all performance. But tonight proved otherwise; here was something different here. A connection. One I'm sure you've noticed by now. Tonight, Lucen saw the cracks, the softness, the truth beneath the glow.
And now, as they bounced together on Eiran's large green bed, covered in glitter, breathless from laughter, their hands flying wildly in the air, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.
Their eyes met — not in a dramatic way, no expectations, but in the way two lonely boys recognize something familiar in each other. A shared ache. A shared relief. A shared beginning.
And in that moment, with joy pounding in their chests like a second heartbeat, they were finally — finally — ready to face the world together.
Finally, their joints began to ache, their bodies pleading for even a second of mercy, and as much as they wanted the chaos and laughter to stretch on forever, they were forced to stop and catch their breath. Their chests heaved, sweat clung to their skin, and the room still trembled faintly with the echo of their joy.
"I had so much fun," Eiran managed between breaths, his voice softening as the last traces of laughter faded from his lips.
"Same. Never thought we could have that much fun," Lucen chuckled—only to wince as a sharp pain shot through his side.
"I guess it's because your kingdom is fun to be in," Eiran nodded, still catching his breath.
"I always saw children playing some of those games outside, but back then, I barely went out," Lucen admitted.
"But why, though? It's surprising that someone of Solaran blood doesn't know most of her games. Were you an introvert from birth?" Eiran asked.
"What can I say? I was born an introvert," Lucen chuckled.
"I can see that," Eiran laughed with him—then immediately winced in the same painful way.
They were just about to plan what to do next when a loud explosion echoed from outside — not a simple boom, but a deep, cracking detonation that rolled across the Academy grounds like a shockwave. The sound hit the walls first, then the windows, rattling the glass so violently it seemed they might splinter. The air itself shivered, vibrating with leftover energy, and a faint tremor rippled beneath their feet as if the entire building had flinched in instinctive fear. Even the lanterns hanging from the ceiling swayed, their light flickering in response to the uncontrolled magical force outside, casting frantic shadows that danced across the walls.
Lucen jerked upright, heart leaping into his throat. "What was that?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, edged with instinctive alarm that made his breath hitch. His eyes darted toward the door, half-expecting it to burst open with something monstrous to come crashing through.
Eiran shook his head with the weary calm of someone who had lived through far too many Soulborne Academy training mishaps. "There is never a dull moment in this Academy." His tone carried a mix of resignation and annoyance, like this was just another one of those days— another explosion, another mess, another reason to roll his eyes at the chaos of their peers.
Lucen turned to him fully, eyebrows raised, expression demanding answers he clearly wasn't getting fast enough. "What?" His voice was quieter now, but sharper, like a blade waiting for truth.
"Just some guys sparring again," Eiran said, disappointment slipping into his voice like a familiar habit. "They get carried away." He shrugged, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed how normal — and how exhausting — this routine had become. His eyes flicked toward the window as if bracing for the next blast.
"It happens?" Lucen asked, still trying to understand how that explosion could be considered normal. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the calm in Eiran's voice with the violence of the sound outside, wondering what kind of place he had stepped into.
Eiran nodded. "Almost every day around this time. It's like their bodies itch for chaos once the sun goes down." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this nightly ritual physically drained him, the gesture speaking of long familiarity with Solaran restlessness.
Before Lucen could respond, another explosion tore through the air — this one louder, sharper, and far more violent. The sound cracked like thunder right above their heads, a brutal snap that made the walls tremble. A heavy shockwave rippled through the floor, strong enough to make the bed jolt beneath them. Dust drifted from the ceiling in soft, trembling clouds, and the air pulsed with the aftershock of raw, unstable magic, thick enough to taste — metallic, electric, like the air before a storm.
Both boys froze, breath caught mid-chest, as if the room itself had commanded them to be still. Even the lanterns seemed to hold their light tighter, dimming for a heartbeat.
Lucen slowly turned his head toward Eiran, moving as though any sudden motion might provoke whatever was happening outside. His eyes were wide, searching Eiran's face for confirmation that this was still normal — that this was still something they could laugh off. But Eiran's expression had shifted, and that alone made Lucen's pulse spike.
"That was not normal," Eiran said, his neck stiff, his voice low and tight. His eyes had lost their casual annoyance; something sharper had taken its place — alertness, caution, maybe even fear.
"Ya think?" Lucen muttered, pulse racing, sarcasm barely masking the spike of fear crawling up his spine. His hands curled slightly, instinctively preparing for something he didn't yet understand.
Then came the sound of a violent stampede rushing through the hallways — dozens of feet pounding in unison, voices rising in panic, the unmistakable chaos of students running from something they didn't understand. The floor vibrated with their movement, the noise swelling like a wave crashing closer and closer, echoing off the stone walls with a sense of urgency that made the air feel thinner. Someone screamed. Someone else shouted orders. Something heavy slammed into a wall.
Lucen glanced at his comrade, adrenaline already pushing him to his feet. "Shall we?" His voice was steady, but his hands were already curling into fists, ready for whatever waited outside.
"Duh," Eiran replied, his expression making it painfully clear that staying put was not an option. He was already halfway to the door, shoulders squared, eyes sharp, as if the night had suddenly shifted into something far more serious than either of them had expected.