Liam stood outside Master Murrow’s office, his heart racing and his hands clammy. The hallway was quiet, save for the faint hum of magic that seemed to linger in every corner of the Academy. He hadn’t been in trouble since arriving at Aethermoor, but he knew this wasn’t going to be just a simple conversation. Murrow’s anger had been palpable back by the West Tower, and now Liam had to face him alone.

Taking a deep breath, Liam pushed open the heavy wooden door. The office was empty, dimly lit by a few floating orbs of light. Shelves filled with ancient tomes lined the walls, their spines cracked and worn. A large desk sat in the center of the room, neat and imposing, with a high-backed chair behind it. The space was surprisingly sparse compared to the other parts of the Academy he had seen, and it gave the room an air of cold authority.

Liam stepped inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind him making him feel even more isolated. He had no idea how long Murrow would be, but waiting in the stillness of his office was unnerving. The air was thick with a quiet pressure, like the very room held its breath, watching him.

He fidgeted with the strap of his bag, trying to distract himself. His mind raced over the events of the evening, replaying every moment. The pull toward the West Tower, the strange hum that had seemed to beckon him forward, and the shadowy figure he thought he’d seen. Whatever it was, it had felt… alive. Like something—or someone—was watching him. And the fact that Murrow had been so quick to shut it down only made Liam more certain that something was being hidden there.

Minutes stretched on, and Liam shifted in his seat, trying to shake the feeling of dread that was slowly creeping up his spine. The longer he sat, the heavier the silence became. He knew Master Murrow would be furious when he arrived, and the thought of facing him after everything that had happened made his stomach churn.

Just as the tension became unbearable, the door swung open.

Master Murrow entered, his robes billowing behind him as he strode into the room with a sense of quiet authority. His silver hair gleamed in the dim light, and his face was set in a hard, unreadable expression. He closed the door behind him without a word, the soft thud echoing in the stillness of the room.

Liam immediately stood, his heart pounding in his chest as Murrow crossed the room, each step measured and deliberate. The Master of Abjuration didn’t speak at first, simply walked around to his desk and sat down, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Liam.

“Sit,” Murrow said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than a shout ever could.

Liam obeyed, sitting down in the chair opposite the desk. He could feel the intensity in Murrow’s gaze, the quiet disappointment mixed with something else—something more dangerous.

Master Murrow leaned forward, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Do you have any idea what you almost did?”

Liam swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Murrow’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. The West Tower is not a place you wander near out of curiosity, Liam. It’s off-limits for very good reasons, reasons you clearly don’t understand yet.”

“I felt something,” Liam said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like I was being pulled toward it.”

Murrow’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered with something—concern, maybe, or recognition. “Pulled? You felt the Tower’s magic?”

Liam nodded, unsure if he should elaborate. “It was… like a hum. It got stronger the closer I got.”

Murrow leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “The magic in that tower is ancient. It doesn’t call to just anyone. The fact that you heard it, felt it…” He paused, his eyes sharpening. “That’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Liam’s heart raced. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Murrow said, his voice growing colder, “that you need to stay far away from it. Whatever is in that Tower, it’s dangerous. More dangerous than you can imagine. And you are not ready to face that kind of magic.”

Liam opened his mouth to argue, to say that he had felt something real, something important. But one look at Murrow’s face and the words died in his throat. He wasn’t just dealing with a curious teacher—Master Murrow was deadly serious.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Liam said, his voice small. “I just—”

“You didn’t think,” Murrow interrupted, his tone sharp. “That’s the problem. This isn’t the regular world anymore, Liam. Magic is not something you can play with. It has rules and boundaries, and if you don’t respect those, it will destroy you.”

Liam lowered his gaze, the weight of Murrow’s words pressing down on him. His fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of his robe, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Master Murrow was silent for a long moment, studying Liam with a gaze that seemed to pierce through him. Finally, he let out a long breath, his tone softening slightly. “You have potential, Liam. But potential means nothing if you don’t learn control. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re capable of, and until you understand that, you’re more of a danger to yourself than anything in that Tower.”

Liam nodded, the guilt twisting in his gut. “I’ll be more careful.”

Murrow’s expression remained stern. “You’ll do more than that. You’ll focus on your studies, and on learning the discipline you need to wield magic safely. That’s your priority now, nothing else.”

He stood, moving around the desk to face Liam. “And if you ever feel that pull again, if the Tower calls to you, you come straight to me. No hesitation. Do you understand?”

Liam looked up, meeting Murrow’s intense gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Murrow said, stepping back. “You’re dismissed. But remember, Liam—the West Tower is not something to be trifled with.”

Liam stood, his legs shaky, and quickly made his way to the door. As he reached for the handle, Murrow’s voice stopped him one last time.

“Liam,” Murrow said, his tone grave, “if you disobey this warning… there will be consequences.”

Liam swallowed hard, nodding before slipping out of the office and into the cool, dim hallway. The weight of the encounter still pressed on his shoulders, but more than anything, a new sense of unease settled in his chest.

Whatever was in that tower… it wasn’t finished with him yet.

Liam left Master Murrow’s office feeling both relieved and uneasy. The weight of Murrow’s warning still hung heavy on his shoulders as he made his way through the quiet halls of the Academy. The shadows seemed deeper, the magic in the air more tangible, and the West Tower loomed in his thoughts like an unanswered question. He had promised to stay away, but something about the Tower still called to him, pulling at the edges of his mind like a whisper he couldn’t quite hear.

But there was no time to dwell on it. As soon as Liam returned to his dormitory, his schedule for the week became his primary focus. His days were filled with classes that stretched his understanding of magic to its limits. And while the Tower’s pull still gnawed at the back of his thoughts, the intensity of Aethermoor’s curriculum left him little time to think about much else.

His first week at Aethermoor was nothing short of overwhelming. Each class presented new challenges, new puzzles, and new frustrations. Divination, with its swirling mists and cryptic lessons on sensing the future, left Liam more confused than ever. Master Lucinda’s sharp gaze seemed to pierce through him whenever he struggled to sense the magical threads she spoke of. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the frustration of not understanding or the feeling that everyone else was picking it up far more quickly.

Then there was Conjuration with Master Halloway, whose booming voice and larger-than-life presence made even the simplest summoning feel like an epic task. Liam’s first few attempts were clumsy, resulting in piles of misplaced objects crashing at his feet. “Precision will come with time,” Master Halloway had said, but Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that time was something he didn’t have enough of.

In contrast, Herbalism offered a reprieve from the chaos of spellwork. Master Verna’s classroom, a serene greenhouse filled with the scent of herbs and blooming plants, was calming. Liam found himself drawn to the steady, nurturing energy of the plants, and though the lessons focused on the magical properties of herbs, it felt like a welcome break from the more demanding subjects.

The Necromancy class had been… unsettling, to say the least. The atmosphere in the room was darker than anywhere else at Aethermoor, and the temperature seemed to drop the moment Liam stepped through the door. Master Corvin, with his deep-set eyes and gaunt appearance, looked like he belonged in a room filled with old bones and faded scrolls. His voice, low and gravelly, carried an eerie calm as he spoke about death being just another phase of existence, one that could be manipulated by those with the right understanding.

The lessons themselves were less about raising the dead—at least not yet—but focused on channeling the energy that came from life’s end. It was a strange, chilling magic that made Liam’s skin crawl. And yet, Marcus seemed to be completely at ease in the class, as though the darkness suited him in a way that made Liam uneasy. Marcus had been unnervingly focused, his eyes gleaming as Master Corvin discussed the balance between life and death. While most of the students, Liam included, had looked uncomfortable, Marcus seemed to relish every word.

Healing, on the other hand, was a different kind of challenge. Master Selene’s classroom was warm and bright, filled with the soft scent of herbs and the gentle hum of healing energy. Her approach was methodical and caring, emphasizing the deep connection between the healer and the patient. “Magic can heal, but only if your intent is pure,” she would often remind the students as they practiced channeling their magic into small cuts or bruises.

Liam found Healing difficult—not because of the spells themselves, but because it required a level of focus and empathy that didn’t come naturally to him. Where the other students were able to mend small injuries with relative ease, Liam’s attempts felt forced, his magic too stiff and unyielding to truly connect with the person he was trying to heal. Still, there was something comforting about the class, a quiet strength in the art of restoring life instead of destroying it.

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The Illusion class was, in many ways, the most disorienting. Liam had entered the classroom expecting to see more of the physical spellcasting he’d grown accustomed to in the other classes, but instead, the room itself seemed to twist and shift, as though it couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to be. One moment, the walls appeared covered in bookshelves, the next, they were shimmering waterfalls or glowing constellations. Everything felt fluid like reality itself was bending to the will of the magic in the room.

Master Sylis, the Illusionist, was a wiry man with eyes that sparkled mischievously as if he were constantly on the verge of playing some elaborate prank. His robes shimmered in and out of sight, blending seamlessly with the background. He spoke with a soft, almost hypnotic tone, drawing students into the fabric of his lessons. “Illusion is not about trickery,” he explained. “It’s about perception. How people see the world is far more important than what’s truly there.”

The first lesson had been simple—create a small visual illusion, something that would fool the senses. Some students quickly grasped the concept, conjuring flickering lights or making objects appear where there were none. Liam, however, struggled. The idea of manipulating someone’s senses felt slippery, almost intangible. His first attempt at creating a visual illusion resulted in a faint, flickering image that seemed more like a fading dream than anything convincing. The others had summoned shimmering copies of themselves or even concealed objects entirely, but Liam’s magic felt uncertain like it was trying to grasp something it couldn’t quite hold onto. As Liam fumbled with his spell, he caught a glimpse of Ethan across the room. Ethan’s illusion shimmered, creating a perfect copy of himself that laughed and waved back at the class, while Liam’s flickered like a half-formed shadow. Heat rose in his cheeks as he tried again, feeling every failure weigh heavier.

Still, despite the difficulty, something was fascinating about the class—an allure in the idea that reality wasn’t fixed, that it could be reshaped in ways no one else would ever notice. It left Liam wondering how much of what he saw in the Academy was real, and how much was simply the work of an unseen Illusionist.

But the real highlight of the week was Magical Zoology. The flarewings—tiny, glowing lizards that darted through the air in the classroom—had captured Liam’s attention instantly. There was something almost magical in the way they moved, leaving trails of light as they flitted around. Master Rennard’s enthusiasm for the creatures was infectious, and for the first time, Liam found himself smiling at the wonder of it all, even if only briefly. He swore to himself that he would write to Oliver soon and tell him all about this class, knowing he would love it.

Still, as the week wore on, Liam couldn’t help but feel the pressure building. While other students conjured perfect flames or summoned intricate shields, Liam’s spells were inconsistent, flickering to life one moment and failing the next. It was as if something inside him was holding back, keeping him from fully embracing the magic he knew was there.

By the end of the week, Liam was exhausted. The days had blurred together, filled with lessons, practice, and a growing sense that he was falling behind. But there was also something else—a quiet determination. He hadn’t been ready for the pull of the West Tower, hadn’t been prepared for the magic that called to him from the shadows. But that didn’t mean he would ignore it forever.

Liam stood at his window, looking out over the courtyard, the faint silhouette of the West Tower just visible in the distance. He had promised Murrow he would stay away, but the pull hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown stronger, humming beneath the surface of his thoughts. And as much as he tried to focus on his studies, he knew that whatever waited in that Tower wasn’t done with him yet.

Liam’s first weekend at Aethermoor arrived faster than he expected, and the tension from the previous week’s classes began to melt away. As he sat in his dormitory, waiting for breakfast to be delivered, he found himself thinking less about his struggles with magic and more about the buzz of excitement that had taken over the entire Academy. Everyone seemed to be talking about the same thing—Aetherstride.

Ethan burst into the room moments later, barely able to contain his excitement. “Today’s the day, mate! The first match of the season! Aetherstride! You ready?”

Liam blinked, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Uh, I guess? I don’t really know much about it.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped in mock horror. “You’ve never seen an Aetherstride game? Oh man, you’re in for a treat. This isn’t just any match—it’s against Las Arcanas from Spain! And get this—some of the Council members are going to be there. This is a big deal.”

Liam’s curiosity piqued. He had heard about the Council, the governing body of the magical world, but the idea of them showing up at a school match seemed… excessive. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed to think it was perfectly normal.

As they ate their breakfast in the room, Ethan’s enthusiasm was infectious. “This game is going to be insane! Aetherstride is more than just a sport—it’s magic in motion. You’ve got teams of five: Striders, Guardians, Conduits, Illusionists, and Wildcards. The goal is to capture Aethers—these spheres of magical energy—and charge them by holding them long enough to score at the central beacon. But it’s so much more than that—there are floating platforms, traps, and magic flying everywhere!”

Marcus strolled into the room just as Ethan was about to launch into another detailed explanation of the game. He shot the two of them a bored look as he grabbed a piece of fruit from the floating tray. “It’s just a game. Calm down.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Just a game? This is the game. Plus, the council members are coming to watch.”

Marcus stiffened slightly, and Liam noticed a tension in his posture that hadn’t been there before. Ethan didn’t seem to notice the shift, too wrapped up in his excitement for the match.

As they headed toward the Aetherstride stadium, Marcus grew noticeably quieter. The open-air stadium was already packed with hundreds of students, their voices a loud hum of anticipation. Floating platforms hovered high above the field, glowing faintly with magic, shifting in and out of place, ready for the upcoming match. The stands were enormous, able to accommodate not just the students of Aethermoor, but also the visiting team and their supporters from Las Arcanas. The tension in the air was electric.

Ethan practically dragged Liam toward the front of the stands, determined to get a good view. “You’ve got to see everything, Liam. Trust me, you’ll be hooked. This is what magic was made for.”

Liam looked around, taking in the sight of the enormous crowd. Among the spectators, he saw several figures dressed in robes far more elaborate than those of the students. They sat in a special section, clearly marked as important guests. Ethan nudged Liam, pointing toward them. “See that? That’s the Council’s section. Some of the most powerful sorcerers in the world are sitting right there.”

Liam’s eyes scanned the section and landed on a tall, regal woman with sharp features and raven-black hair. She sat with an air of authority, her gaze cold and calculating as she surveyed the crowd. Marcus, who had been walking a few paces ahead, froze as his eyes met hers. His face tightened, and for the first time since Liam had met him, Marcus looked genuinely uncomfortable.

“That’s my mother,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his voice cold. “Lady Elara Greaves.”

Ethan blinked, surprised. “Wait, your mom’s on the Council?”

Marcus gave him a sharp look. “Yeah, and don’t forget it.” There was an edge to his voice that Liam hadn’t heard before—a sudden shift from the usual sarcastic tone. Marcus’ entire demeanor changed, his posture stiffening as if preparing for some unseen battle. Liam got the sense that Marcus was hiding something, but he didn’t dare ask.

As they took their seats, Marcus remained silent, his eyes occasionally flicking toward his mother. Ethan, however, was too engrossed in the pre-game announcements to notice the tension. “Here we go, Liam! Las Arcanas vs. Aethermoor. You’ll love this!”

The crowd erupted into cheers as the two teams appeared on the field. Aethermoor’s team was clad in deep blue and silver, their magical auras crackling around them. Las Arcanas wore rich red and gold, their robes shimmering as they took their places on the opposite side of the field. The floating platforms began shifting into place, creating an ever-changing landscape of obstacles and opportunities.

The match began with a burst of energy. The Striders from both teams darted across the platforms, their speed enhanced by wind magic, their movements almost too fast to follow. One of Aethermoor’s Striders, a lean boy with silver hair, leaped from platform to platform, narrowly dodging a blast of lightning sent by Las Arcanas’ Guardian. The Guardian, a hulking figure with arms wrapped in glowing chains of magic, was quick to respond, summoning a shield of energy to block any incoming attacks.

“Look at that! Did you see the Guardian’s move?” Ethan yelled over the noise. “He’s one of the best defensive players at Aethermoor!”

Liam was too absorbed to respond. His eyes were glued to the field as Aethermoor’s Illusionist conjured multiple decoys of their Strider, sending them darting in every direction to confuse the Las Arcanas players. The real Strider was already making his way toward the central beacon, clutching the glowing Aether in his hands. But just as he reached the beacon, Las Arcanas’ Wildcard, a wiry figure with wild, untamed magic, unleashed a burst of chaotic energy, disrupting the illusion and sending the real Strider tumbling backward.

“That Wildcard is insane,” Ethan breathed, his eyes wide with admiration. “That’s what makes the game so unpredictable. The Wildcard can turn the whole match on its head in an instant.”

“You act like this matters,” Marcus muttered, shooting a cold glance at Ethan. “But these games are just for show. Real power doesn’t waste itself on spectacles like this.”

Liam watched as the Aethers—spheres of raw magical energy—glowed and pulsed in the air, waiting to be charged. Las Arcanas’ Conduit moved in swiftly, channeling ambient magic from the air and feeding it into the Aether. The energy sphere brightened, ready to be delivered to the beacon.

But Aethermoor’s Guardian wasn’t about to let that happen. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a massive wall of shimmering energy, blocking the Conduit’s path. The crowd roared in approval as the Conduit was forced to retreat, searching for another route to the beacon.

Liam’s eyes widened as the platforms shifted again, sending the players into a chaotic dance of magic and movement. This wasn’t just a game—it was a display of raw power, a testament to how magic could be controlled and unleashed in ways he’d never imagined. For a moment, he forgot his doubts, caught up in the spectacle. But then, his gaze shifted to the Council’s box, and the unease returned.

The Aetherstride players darted between them with practiced ease, their movements a perfect blend of athleticism and magic. Liam couldn’t believe the speed and intensity of the game. Every spell and every leap was a display of raw power and skill, and the crowd responded to each play with thunderous applause.

“Look over there,” Ethan whispered suddenly, his voice low. “Council members are watching closely. Some of them seem… too interested, don’t you think?”

Liam glanced over toward the Council members and noticed Lady Elara Greaves sitting stiffly, her eyes locked on the game. Something about the way she held herself felt off as if she were distracted by more than just the match. And she wasn’t the only one. Several other Council members whispered to each other, their gazes flicking back and forth between the field and the stands, as though they were searching for something—or someone.

Marcus, meanwhile, had grown even quieter, his usual smugness replaced with something darker. “The Council has their hands in everything,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re always watching.”

Liam frowned, but before he could ask what Marcus meant, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Aethermoor’s Strider had broken through Las Arcanas’ defense, leaping high into the air and slamming the charged Aether into the central beacon. The entire stadium glowed with magical energy as the beacon pulsed, signaling Aethermoor’s victory.

The crowd roared, students jumping to their feet in celebration. Ethan whooped loudly, his face glowing with excitement. “That was brilliant! Did you see that move? Best match ever!”

But Liam’s attention was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was happening here—something connected to the Council, the strange tension in Marcus’ voice, and the subtle glances shared between the powerful figures watching the game.

As they pushed their way through the crowd exiting the stadium, two men dressed in the distinctive manner of the council walked past the boys, “The team certainly has improved this year,” one Council member murmured to another, “But it’s the boy we’re interested in, not the match.” Before Liam could catch a glimpse of their faces they were lost in the sea of people. Who were they talking about? Marcus? Did this have anything to do with his weird response to seeing his mother?

They made their way back to the dorms, the excitement from the match still buzzing in the air, Liam couldn’t help but feel that the real game—the one involving the Council and whatever secrets they were keeping—was just beginning.