Soya sat cross-legged near the common room window, his sketchbook balanced on his knees. The light filtering through the enchanted panes cast soft, shifting patterns across the floor. His pencil hovered hesitantly over the page, the events of the previous night replaying vividly in his mind. Every detail felt etched into his memory—the basilisk, the old corridors, and the portraits that seemed alive with secrets.

Across the room, Davonte paced near the fireplace, his usual composure replaced with a restless energy. His silver eyes darted toward Soya occasionally, as though ensuring he was still there. The tension between them was palpable, though neither spoke of it directly.

“You’ve barely said anything since last night,” Davonte finally muttered, breaking the silence. “I mean, you disappeared, got smacked through a wall by a bloody basilisk, and now you’re just... drawing?”

Soya glanced up, his expression faintly apologetic. “It helps me think,” he murmured, though the truth was that drawing was his way of grounding himself. The swirling chaos of his mind needed an outlet, and his sketchbook provided it.

Before Davonte could respond, the door to the prefect’s corner creaked open, and Thalia Greaves stepped out, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. She held a parchment in her hand, sealed with the Austramore crest. Without a word, she walked toward the bulletin board and pinned it up, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“What’s that about?” Davonte asked, moving to get a closer look.

Thalia didn’t answer immediately, instead turning to address the room. “Stay here,” she said firmly. “No exceptions.”

With that, she left, her robes billowing behind her as she disappeared into the hallway. Davonte read the parchment aloud, his voice dripping with skepticism. “‘Students are to remain in their common rooms until further notice. Prefects will ensure compliance. This is for your safety.’ Yeah, because that’s reassuring.”

Soya sighed, setting his sketchbook aside. “I don’t think we’re getting any real answers.”

“Obviously,” Davonte said, tossing the parchment back onto the board. “But sitting around here isn’t going to fix anything.”

Soya opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sudden shift in the narrative—one that took the reader far from the Thylacea common room.

Seikan Blackthorn leaned over his cluttered desk, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering light of a floating candle. The potions professor’s office was a chaotic blend of alchemical tools, ancient texts, and enchanted jars filled with substances that glowed, bubbled, or hissed faintly. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and something acrid he hadn’t yet identified.

He tapped the tip of his quill against the desk, his dark eyes scanning the report before him. The lockdown had been a necessary precaution, but it was also a logistical nightmare. Containing a basilisk within the walls of Austramore was no small feat, and the additional sightings of strange runes only added to the complexity.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention. “Enter,” he called, his voice smooth but edged with impatience.

Professor Elise Marilla stepped inside, her oceanic robes trailing behind her like waves. “Seikan,” she began, her tone clipped, “I trust you’ve read the latest report?”

He gestured to the parchment on his desk. “If by ‘latest report,’ you mean this ambiguous drivel, then yes. ‘Unusual activity in the western corridors,’ ‘rune remnants detected near the breached wall’—hardly actionable information.”

Marilla’s expression hardened. “We’re doing our best under the circumstances. The basilisk is contained for now, but that’s the least of our concerns. The wards near the lake have weakened significantly. If another breach occurs—”

“I’m well aware of the stakes,” Seikan interrupted, his voice low but firm. “But patching wards isn’t a long-term solution. We need to understand what caused the breach in the first place.”

Marilla hesitated before nodding. “I’ve sent scouts to investigate further. We’ll need your expertise if we uncover anything involving runic magic.”

Seikan waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. Keep me informed.”

As Marilla turned to leave, Seikan’s gaze lingered on the door. He had a sinking feeling that the events unfolding at Austramore were only the beginning. The runes, the basilisk, and the strange energy emanating from the depths of the school—it all pointed to something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

Returning to his desk, he picked up his quill and began sketching a series of runes, his mind racing with possibilities. Somewhere in the labyrinthine halls of Austramore, answers lay waiting—and Seikan intended to find them.

Chapter 19 - Part 2

Seikan Blackthorn sat in his office, his sharp eyes darting between the various parchments and reports strewn across his desk. The flickering light from his enchanted lamp cast jagged shadows across the room, highlighting the tension etched into his features. The events of the past week were far too calculated to be coincidence, and each piece of information felt like a shard of a puzzle that refused to fit together.

He reached for the nearest document, a report from the wards team tasked with analyzing the breach in the castle walls. The runes etched into the massive creature’s horns, the inexplicable resistance to magic, and the nearly fatal encounter with the basilisk by the lake—they all pointed to deliberate, malevolent intent.

A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration.

“Enter,” he called, his voice low and clipped.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The door creaked open, and Headmaster Boromus Spellchecker stepped inside. Despite his age, the headmaster carried himself with an aura of command. His flowing emerald robes seemed to shimmer faintly with protective enchantments, and his piercing eyes betrayed no hint of weariness.

“Seikan,” Spellchecker began, his tone steady but grave. “I trust you’ve made some progress?”

Seikan gestured to the piles of parchment on his desk. “Progress, yes. Solutions? Not yet. Sit, Headmaster. We have much to discuss.”

Spellchecker closed the door behind him and took a seat opposite Seikan, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic desk. “Start from the beginning. Summarize what we know.”

Seikan leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers as he organized his thoughts. “First, the basilisk at the lake. It wasn’t a random appearance. Someone—or something—removed the binding rune that kept it dormant. The rune itself was ancient, likely predating Austramore’s founding. Its removal unleashed the creature, endangering students.”

Spellchecker nodded, his expression unreadable. “And the students who encountered it?”

“Safe, thankfully,” Seikan replied, though his voice was tinged with frustration. “But the incident raises questions. Who placed that rune originally, and why was it removed now?”

“Continue,” Spellchecker prompted.

“Next, the breach in the castle walls,” Seikan said, his tone growing sharper. “A massive creature, nearly indestructible, marked with glowing runes. It tore through enchanted stone as if it were parchment. Its runes are unlike anything I’ve seen—ancient and dark, designed to dampen or deflect magic. This creature didn’t act randomly. It was sent.”

Spellchecker’s eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

“That,” Seikan admitted, “is the question I can’t answer. But whoever or whatever is responsible has a deep understanding of both runic and magical constructs. This isn’t the work of an amateur.”

Spellchecker leaned forward slightly, his fingers resting on the edge of the desk. “And the strange runes appearing around the school grounds?”

Seikan tapped a finger against a parchment displaying sketches of the runes. “They’re connected. These runes aren’t just appearing randomly—they’re placed with intent. Some are bindings, others seem to disrupt our wards, and a few are outright offensive. It’s as though someone is testing the limits of Austramore’s defenses.”

Spellchecker’s expression darkened. “Have you determined their origin?”

“Not definitively,” Seikan admitted, his frustration evident. “But there are hints of ancient Austramorian magic, blended with something... foreign. It’s a hybrid form, combining elements of traditional spellwork and raw magical energy.”

The headmaster was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the sketches. “What about the students? Any indication they’ve been targeted specifically?”

Seikan hesitated before responding. “There are patterns. Eliza’s disappearance, for instance—she was investigating the rune by the lake before she vanished. Soya and Davonte encountered the creature with the runes and have been unnervingly close to several incidents. It’s as if someone is either testing them or using them as pawns.”

Spellchecker’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This is far more deliberate than I feared.”

“I agree,” Seikan said. “But we’re missing critical pieces. The connection between these events is undeniable, but the motive remains unclear. What is the endgame? Chaos? Power? Something else?”

Spellchecker stood, his presence commanding despite the gravity of the discussion. “Seikan, I trust your judgment and expertise in this matter. Continue your research, but take no unnecessary risks. The safety of the students must remain our priority.”

Seikan inclined his head. “Understood. But Headmaster, if I may—what do you make of this?”

Spellchecker’s gaze met Seikan’s, his voice calm but firm. “It’s a challenge. One aimed not just at our defenses, but at our very understanding of magic itself. Whoever is behind this is testing us. But they underestimate one thing.”

“And that is?” Seikan asked.

Spellchecker’s eyes gleamed with resolve. “Austramore has stood for centuries, through wars, betrayals, and dark magic. It will not fall now.”

With that, Spellchecker turned and left the office, his robes trailing behind him. Seikan watched him go, his mind racing with possibilities.

Seikan’s office was quiet except for the soft hum of magical wards and the faint crackle of the enchanted fireplace. He rubbed his temples, the weight of the conversation with Spellchecker still heavy on his mind. Sighing, he rose from his chair and shuffled to his small kitchenette. A strong cup of coffee was the least he deserved after pouring over cursed runes, marauding basilisks, and indestructible beasts.

He reached for his favorite mug—a plain black one with the words “World’s Okayest Wizard” magically glowing in faint silver—and filled it with steaming, dark brew. As he turned back toward his desk, the mug slipped from his fingers.

“No—!” Seikan’s hand shot out in a frantic attempt to catch it, but the cup began its slow, inevitable descent.

Just as the mug spun mid-air, the scene shifted abruptly.

---

“Checkmate.”

“No, it’s not!” Davonte’s voice rang out in frustration, his silver eyes narrowing as he leaned over the chessboard in the Thylacea common room. The enchanted pieces quivered nervously under his gaze, particularly his beleaguered knight, which was barely hanging on by a chipped visor.

“It is,” Draven replied evenly, his tone calm and completely devoid of smugness, which somehow made it worse. He tapped the head of his queen piece, which moved forward with a decisive clink, toppling Davonte’s king.

“Again!” Davonte groaned, sinking dramatically into his chair. “This stupid game is rigged.”

“It’s not rigged,” Draven said, resetting the board with a flick of his wand. The pieces scrambled back to their starting positions, looking visibly relieved to have a momentary reprieve. “You simply lack strategic discipline.”

“Strategic—what now?” Davonte frowned, his tone as sharp as his hair. “Big words don’t win games, genius.”

“They do when you use them to outthink your opponent,” Draven replied, his gray eyes flashing with quiet amusement. “Would you like me to explain basic opening tactics again?”

“No thanks,” Davonte muttered. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

Soya sat cross-legged on the couch beside them, his sketchbook resting forgotten on his lap as he watched the game unfold. “I think it’s kind of fun,” he offered tentatively, though he kept his tone neutral. “You know... watching. Not playing.”

“You should play, mate,” Davonte said, gesturing toward the board. “Draven’s been wiping the floor with me for the past hour. It’s time for a fresh victim.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Soya muttered, though he couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“You can’t win if you don’t try,” Draven said, his voice as monotone as ever but tinged with an odd sort of encouragement. “I could provide guidance as you play.”

“Great,” Soya said dryly. “So I’ll have two people shouting advice at me.”

Davonte grinned. “Come on, Soya. How bad could it be?”

“Famous last words,” Soya muttered, sliding off the couch and taking Davonte’s seat. He glanced nervously at the board, the tiny chess pieces shifting slightly as if preparing themselves for an impending disaster.

Draven raised an eyebrow. “Shall we begin?”

“Uh... sure?” Soya picked up a pawn, holding it uncertainly. “So... I just move this forward, right?”

“Correct,” Draven said, nodding approvingly. “But consider the implications of your move. Advancing that pawn opens up your defense slightly, but it also places pressure on my center pieces.”

“Pressure?” Soya frowned, setting the pawn down. “It’s just a pawn.”

“It’s never just a pawn,” Draven replied, his tone gravely serious. “Every piece on the board has a purpose. Pawns are often underestimated, but they can control the flow of the game.”

Soya blinked. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Welcome to my world,” Davonte muttered, leaning back in his chair and tossing a chocolate frog into his mouth. “Just wait till he starts talking about the ‘psychological impact’ of moving your rook.”

Draven adjusted his glasses. “The psychological impact of a rook’s positioning cannot be understated.”

Soya groaned but moved his pawn forward again. The game unfolded slowly, with Draven offering methodical advice and Davonte chiming in with loud, often incorrect observations. Despite himself, Soya found the tension of the lockdown easing slightly.

It wasn’t much, but it felt good to laugh again—even if it was at Davonte’s terrible chess strategies.