The cold winter air seeped into the grand arena, its enchanted torches flickering against the snow-dusted stones. The banners of Aethermoor’s various schools of magic waved gently in the breeze as students filled the stands, eager for the first-year duels. Liam stood at the edge of the arena, adjusting the clasp on his cloak as he glanced nervously at the enchanted field where the duels would take place. His breath hung in the air in front of him, a misty reminder of how tense he felt.

Ethan stood beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is it, mate! This is where we prove what we’ve learned. You’ve got this!”

Liam forced a smile but couldn’t shake the unease that had been growing inside him since the West Tower’s pull had grown stronger. His mind kept wandering back to everything—The Shadow Court, the journal, the wraiths—but he knew he had to focus. This was his chance to show what he could do.

Sarah approached quietly, sensing Liam’s distraction. “You’re ready for this, Liam. Don’t overthink it. Just focus on your magic and be careful.” Her voice was steady, but there was a hint of worry in her eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” Liam replied, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. He glanced across the arena to where Marcus was standing, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes distant. Something had changed in Marcus over the last few weeks—he looked thinner and weaker, but there was a dangerous energy surrounding him.

The crowd quieted as the duel announcement rang out: “Liam Hawthorne versus Marcus Greaves.”

Liam’s stomach dropped. Of all the opponents he could have faced, it had to be Marcus.

The arena’s magical barrier flickered to life, surrounding Liam and Marcus in a shimmering dome of protective energy. The duel was meant to be a test of skill, a chance to demonstrate what they had learned in their first year. But as Liam stared at Marcus, he could feel the tension in the air, thick and oppressive.

Marcus stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly, his skin pale against the dark robes he wore. His eyes, once sharp and confident, were now hollow and shadowed. There was something deeply wrong, and Liam could sense it—an undercurrent of dark magic pulsing beneath Marcus’s surface.

“Let the duel begin,” Master Halloway’s voice echoed through the arena.

Marcus was the first to act, summoning a swirling mass of dark energy in his hand. Necromantic magic. Liam had seen it before, but never like this. The shadows Marcus called forth seemed alive, writhing and twisting with malevolent intent.

Liam reacted instinctively, raising his hand to cast a shimmering abjuration shield. The blue light of his magic flared to life just as Marcus’s attack collided with it. The impact sent a wave of force rippling through the arena, but Liam’s shield held firm, though the darkness clawed at its edges.

“Marcus, what are you doing?” Liam called out, his voice shaking slightly.

But Marcus didn’t respond. He was already preparing another spell, his hands flickering with dark energy. This wasn’t a simple duel—Marcus wasn’t holding back.

Liam gritted his teeth, reinforcing his shield as Marcus launched another attack. Shadows lashed out like tendrils, striking against Liam’s defenses. The crowd watched in stunned silence, sensing the unnatural aggression in Marcus’s magic.

As the duel wore on, Marcus’s attacks became more vicious. The necromantic magic he wielded wasn’t just meant to disarm or weaken—it was meant to hurt. Liam could feel the cold, deadening energy behind each spell, and it was taking everything he had to hold his ground.

Marcus’s face twisted with frustration as he failed to break through Liam’s shield. His eyes burned with something dark and desperate as he raised his hand and summoned a spear of shadow, its tip crackling with dark energy.

“Marcus, stop!” Liam shouted, but it was too late.

The spear shot forward, slicing through the air with deadly precision. Liam raised his shield, but the force of the attack was too strong. The spear shattered through the barrier, grazing Liam’s arm and sending a shockwave of pain through him. He stumbled back, clutching his arm as the cold of the necromantic magic spread through his veins.

The crowd gasped, and even Master Halloway took a step forward, concern etched on his face.

Ethan had been watching the duel intently from the sidelines, his hands clenched into fists. When Marcus’s shadow spear struck Liam, something inside Ethan snapped. His best friend was in danger, and Marcus had crossed the line.

Without thinking, Ethan surged forward, his hands already crackling with flames. “What the hell are you doing, Marcus?” he shouted, his voice filled with fury.

Before anyone could stop him, Ethan hurled a fireball toward Marcus. The flames exploded in the air, forcing Marcus to dive out of the way. But Ethan wasn’t done. His anger fueled his magic, and soon the flames were swirling around his hands, growing hotter and more volatile.

“Ethan, stop!” Liam called out, still reeling from the cold pain in his arm.

But Ethan was beyond reason. His magic flared out of control, the fire burning brighter and more erratic with each second.

Just as the situation seemed on the verge of spiraling completely out of control, a voice cut through the chaos like a thunderclap. “ENOUGH!”

The ground trembled, and an overwhelming force of magic swept through the arena, instantly snuffing out Ethan’s flames and dissolving Marcus’s shadows. The air seemed to vibrate with power as Archmaster Caelus Eryndor strode into the arena, his presence commanding and terrifying.

His silver robes shimmered with runes of power, and his eyes glowed with deep, ancient magic. With a flick of his hand, he lifted both Ethan and Marcus into the air, suspending them with an invisible force.

“This is not how students of Aethermoor behave,” Caelus said, his voice low but filled with authority. “You are not here to destroy one another. You are here to learn discipline and control.”

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He released them, and both Ethan and Marcus fell to the ground, gasping for breath. The Archmaster’s gaze swept over the gathered students, his expression hard and unyielding. “I will not tolerate such reckless behavior in my Academy.”

Archmaster Caelus turned to the gathered Masters. “These students have shown a dangerous lack of control. They will answer for this.”

Master Galen Murrow stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he said quietly, though his voice held a hint of disappointment. Liam followed, his arm still aching from the duel, his mind spinning from everything that had just happened.

Master Corvin, his face a mask of cold disapproval, approached Marcus, who was still lying on the ground, trembling from the aftermath of his magic. “You will explain yourself,” Corvin said sharply as he pulled Marcus to his feet.

Ethan, still flushed from his outburst, was taken by Master Halloway, who looked both angry and concerned. “What were you thinking?” Halloway muttered under his breath as he led Ethan away.

Liam sat in the familiar chair in Master Murrow’s office, the dim glow of the floating orbs casting long shadows across the ancient shelves of books. His body still ached from the duel with Marcus, and the memory of Marcus’s twisted necromantic magic trying to strike him down sent a shiver through him. The aftermath of the duel had been chaotic—Ethan losing control, Marcus’s eerie, dangerous magic, and then the Archmaster’s sudden appearance, subduing them all with a wave of raw magical power.

Now, Liam was alone with Master Murrow, the silence in the office heavy. Murrow stood behind his desk, his arms folded, his sharp blue eyes fixed on Liam. The air between them was tense, but Murrow’s gaze wasn’t just filled with disappointment—it was filled with concern.

“You’ve been reckless, Liam,” Murrow began, his voice low and steady. “I don’t need to tell you that what happened in the duel could’ve ended much worse than it did. You’re lucky to be sitting here at all.”

Liam swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at him. He knew Murrow was right. The duel had spiraled out of control, and Marcus had tried to hurt him—seriously hurt him. But there was more to it than just Marcus’s attack. So much more.

Murrow sat down behind his desk, leaning forward slightly. “There’s something going on, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling me.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been holding back for so long—keeping everything about the West Tower, the journal, and his family’s legacy to himself. But now, sitting in front of Murrow, the weight of it all was too much to carry alone.

“Yes,” Liam admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you. But I think you need to know everything.”

Murrow’s gaze sharpened. “Then start from the beginning.”

Taking a deep breath, Liam began to explain. He told Murrow about the strange pull he had felt toward the West Tower from the moment he arrived at Aethermoor, the journal they had found in the vault beneath the school, and the dark magic of The Sovereign—the entity his family had sealed away centuries ago. He explained how he had kept it all a secret, not wanting to burden anyone or draw attention to himself, but the danger was growing, and now he realized that he couldn’t handle it alone.

When Liam finished, he looked up at Murrow, expecting anger or disappointment. Instead, Murrow’s expression was unreadable—his face tight with concentration, as though he were piecing together a puzzle.

“You should have come to me sooner,” Murrow said finally, his voice hard, though there was an undertone of something softer—perhaps regret. “You’re dealing with powers far beyond your understanding, Liam. The Sovereign is not just some ancient entity trapped in a ward. It is a being of pure magic, chaos-given form. And your family’s connection to it is… complicated.”

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest. “What do you mean? What connection?”

Murrow leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered his words. “Your family, the Hawthornes, were once among the most powerful magical bloodlines. They were the ones who sealed The Sovereign away centuries ago. Your ancestors sacrificed everything to create the wards that keep it imprisoned. But magic like that always comes with a cost. The Hawthorne family gave up their magic to maintain the ward… or so it seemed.”

Liam frowned, confusion swirling in his mind. “But my family doesn’t have magic. I thought… I thought I was the first.”

Murrow shook his head slowly. “No. The magic was dormant in your bloodline, waiting. As the wards around The Sovereign began to weaken, the magic started to return to your family. That’s why you and Oliver have developed abilities. The weakening of the wards is tied to the resurgence of your magic.”

Liam sat in stunned silence, the weight of Murrow’s words crashing down on him. It made sense now—the strange pull he had felt, the hum in the back of his mind growing louder each day, the way he had always felt different.

“When the wards around The Sovereign began to weaken, I sensed the shift in magic,” Murrow continued, his voice growing softer. “I sought you out, Liam. It wasn’t a coincidence that I was there when the drake attacked you and Oliver. I had been observing you both, watching for signs of the magic reawakening. I wanted to make sure you were protected.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

Murrow nodded. “I suspected. When I felt the wards start to falter, I knew that the Hawthorne bloodline would play a role in whatever was coming. I didn’t know how or when, but I knew you would be important.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Liam asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Why didn’t you warn me about any of this?”

Murrow sighed, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed down on him. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that you could live free of it all.” Liam clenched his fists at his side, staring hard at the floor to keep his rising frustration from spilling over. “But now… now it’s clear that you’re at the center of it. And if The Shadow Court is after you, it means they know it too.”

Liam’s stomach twisted at the mention of The Shadow Court. He had seen their power, felt their presence. They had already made several moves, but he hadn’t realized how deeply it connected to him.

“The Shadow Court,” Murrow continued, his face darkening, “wants to release The Sovereign. They seek chaos, destruction, and power. And you, Liam—you are the key to stopping them. Whether you like it or not, your family’s legacy has fallen to you.”

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest. The enormity of what Murrow was saying hit him like a tidal wave. His family, the Hawthornes, had been protectors—wardens of something far greater and more dangerous than he had ever imagined. And now it was his responsibility to continue that fight.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop them,” Liam admitted, his voice wavering. “Marcus… he’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

Murrow’s expression hardened. “Marcus’s family has always had their ambitions, and it seems that Lady Elara is willing to do whatever it takes to see her plans succeed. But Marcus… I believe he’s caught in something beyond his control. He may not fully understand the consequences of his actions, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.”

Liam nodded, the image of Marcus’s gaunt face and the twisted necromantic magic still fresh in his mind.

“I’ll train you,” Murrow said, his tone resolute. “From now on, your studies will focus on mastering your magic and strengthening the wards. You’ll need every bit of skill to protect yourself—and to stop The Shadow Court.”

Liam looked up at Murrow, a newfound determination settling in his chest. He wasn’t alone in this fight. Murrow had been watching over him, and now, he would guide him through the storm that was coming.

“Thank you,” Liam whispered.

Murrow gave a slight nod. “Remember, Liam. You are not defined by your past or your family’s legacy. But you have a choice now—to fight for what is right, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. And I believe you’re strong enough to do it.”

Liam felt the weight of responsibility settle over him, but alongside it was a glimmer of hope. He wasn’t sure how he would stop The Sovereign or defeat The Shadow Court, but he knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t going to give up.

Murrow stood, signaling the end of their conversation. “Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin.”