Soya sat on the floor of the Thylacea common room, his sketchbook in front of him. The room hummed with quiet conversations, but he barely noticed the noise around him. His quill glided over the page, creating lines that seemed to form without conscious thought.
Davonte, lounging on a nearby couch, watched him with mild curiosity. "Still drawing, mate? You’ve been at that for ages."
Soya didn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the paper. The lines he sketched began to take shape—a narrow corridor filled with shelves stretching endlessly into the dark. His hand moved faster, adding intricate details: the faint glimmer of enchanted lanterns, the heavy spines of ancient books, and the faint wisp of mist curling along the floor.
Davonte leaned forward, peering over Soya’s shoulder. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“I don’t know,” Soya admitted, his voice distant. “It just… came to me.”
The drawing grew more vivid as if the ink itself carried a life of its own. Shadows deepened, and the lanterns seemed to flicker faintly on the page. Davonte squinted, rubbing his eyes. “Is it just me, or does that look like—?”
“The Whispering Archives,” Soya finished, his voice a whisper.
A chill ran down his spine as the image on the page shifted. A book, larger and more ornate than the others, appeared on one of the shelves. Its cover was embossed with runes that seemed to shimmer faintly, their design unfamiliar yet oddly compelling. The ink pulsed softly as though calling out to him.
Davonte blinked, his voice tight with unease. “Did… did you just add that?”
Soya shook his head, his hands trembling slightly as he held the sketchbook. “No. It just… happened.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The common room seemed to fade away, leaving only the eerie presence of the drawing and the weight of its implications.
“What does it mean?” Davonte asked, his usual humor absent.
Soya traced a finger over the drawn runes, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But I think it’s important. Look at the book—it’s different. It feels like it’s trying to tell me something.”
“Feels?” Davonte echoed, his voice skeptical but tinged with worry. “Mate, it’s just a drawing.”
Soya shook his head again, more firmly this time. “No, it’s more than that. I can’t explain it, but… I think Eliza’s there. In the Archives. This book—whatever it is—has something to do with her.”
Davonte frowned, glancing from Soya to the sketchbook. “You’re sure about this?”
“As sure as I can be,” Soya replied, closing the sketchbook and hugging it tightly to his chest. “We have to check the Archives. If Eliza’s there, we can’t just leave her.”
Davonte hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But we’re not going alone. Draven’s gotta see this. He’ll know what to do.”
Soya exhaled slowly, his nerves still raw. “Yeah. Let’s get him. But we need to be careful. If this really is the Whispering Archives… it’s not just any library. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous is starting to feel like our specialty,” Davonte said with a weak grin. “Come on, let’s find Draven. The sooner we figure this out, the better.”
With the sketchbook clutched tightly in his hands, Soya stood and followed Davonte toward the dormitory stairs, the weight of the drawing pressing on his mind. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain: the answers they sought—and Eliza’s fate—were hidden within the dark and winding shelves of the Whispering Archives.
Davonte knocked on Draven’s dormitory door, leaning against the frame impatiently. “Oi, Draven! Open up, we’ve got something weird to show you.”
The door creaked open, revealing Draven with his ever-present journal tucked under his arm. His sharp gray eyes scanned both of them, lingering on the sketchbook Soya clutched to his chest. “Weird, you say? That seems to be our specialty.”
Soya hesitated before holding out the sketchbook. “I… I think I drew something important. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Draven’s gaze narrowed slightly, and he gestured for them to step inside. His dormitory was meticulously organized, with shelves of books and scrolls neatly arranged by topic. A sooty owl perched silently on the windowsill, its keen eyes watching the group as Draven took the sketchbook and set it on his desk.
“Alright,” he said, flipping it open. His expression shifted subtly as he studied the drawing of the Whispering Archives, his fingers lightly tracing the detailed lines. When his eyes reached the depiction of the strange book, he paused. “This is… curious.”
“You see it, right?” Soya asked, his voice tinged with urgency. “That book—it’s like it’s trying to tell us something.”
Draven nodded slowly, his tone measured. “The level of detail is exceptional, even for you. The runes on the book are particularly intriguing. They seem… ancient. Possibly even predating the Archives themselves.”
“Exactly!” Davonte chimed in, crossing his arms. “Which means we need to get in there and check it out.”
Draven’s head snapped up, his expression unusually stern. “Absolutely not.”
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Soya blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone. “What? Why not?”
“Because,” Draven said evenly, “the Archives are perilous at the best of times, and these are certainly not the best of times. The castle is under lockdown, which means whatever is happening out there is severe enough to warrant keeping students confined for their own safety.”
“Yeah, but—” Davonte began, but Draven cut him off.
“No,” Draven said firmly, his gray eyes narrowing. “You’ve already encountered a basilisk, barely escaped with your lives, and now you want to venture into one of the most dangerous areas of the castle during a lockdown? That’s reckless.”
Soya opened his mouth to protest but faltered under Draven’s piercing gaze. “I—I know it’s dangerous, but… Eliza could be there. That book could lead us to her.”
Draven leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded them both. “I understand your concern for Eliza. But consider this: if she is in the Archives, there’s a reason she hasn’t left. Either she’s hiding, trapped, or… worse. And if the Archives were dangerous enough to keep her there, do you truly believe you’re equipped to face whatever she encountered?”
Davonte frowned, his frustration evident. “So what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and hope everything magically works itself out?”
Draven’s voice softened slightly, though his expression remained serious. “No. We prepare. We think. We gather as much information as we can before taking any action. Rushing in without a plan will only put all of us in greater danger.”
Soya glanced down at his sketchbook, the weight of Draven’s words sinking in. He knew Draven was right—charging into the Archives without a clear strategy would be foolish. But the thought of leaving Eliza to fend for herself, especially with the strange magic of the drawing pushing him forward, made him feel helpless.
“What if there’s no time to wait?” Soya asked quietly, meeting Draven’s gaze. “What if she needs us now?”
Draven studied him for a long moment before exhaling slowly. “If there’s truly no time, we’ll act. But until we know for certain, we need to tread carefully. The Archives are not a place to be entered lightly—especially during a lockdown with basilisks and other unknown threats roaming the castle.”
Davonte groaned, rubbing his temples. “Alright, fine. But if we find out she’s in danger and you’re still dragging your feet, I’m going in without you.”
Draven didn’t flinch. “Then let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” He closed the sketchbook and handed it back to Soya. “In the meantime, keep this safe. It may provide more clues as we piece together what’s happening.”
Soya nodded reluctantly, clutching the sketchbook to his chest once more. Despite the frustration bubbling in his chest, he couldn’t ignore the logic in Draven’s words. “Okay. We’ll wait. For now.”
“Good,” Draven said, standing and retrieving his journal from the desk. “And while we wait, let’s focus on gathering any additional information we can. The more prepared we are, the better chance we’ll have of helping Eliza—and ourselves.”
ONE WEEK EARLIER
Headmaster Boromus Spellchecker adjusted the brim of his pointed hat as he stepped lightly through the dim corridors of the Whispering Archives, his wand casting a soft golden light. The shelves loomed high above him, packed with ancient tomes and scrolls that whispered faintly in a language long forgotten. It was a sound he had grown used to over the years, but it still had a way of prickling at the back of his neck.
“Students,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The recent incident with Soya and Davonte sneaking into the Archives still lingered in his mind. He had caught them with a mix of exasperation and intrigue, their young faces pale with guilt as they fumbled for excuses. After a stern reprimand and a quick escort back to their common room, Spellchecker had resumed his own search.
“Of all the places to wander,” he mused, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in an almost imperceptible smile. “At least they have curiosity.”
As he ventured deeper into the labyrinthine halls, the whispering grew louder, as if the books themselves were aware of his presence. Spellchecker paused before a section marked with the rune of Thylacea, the founders’ symbol for rare and volatile knowledge. His gaze sharpened as he extended a hand toward the shelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of the books.
“Ah, here it is,” he said softly, pulling a dusty tome from the shelf. Its leather binding was cracked with age, and the faint glow of protective enchantments shimmered as he held it. The cover bore no title, only a single rune that pulsed faintly in the dim light.
The headmaster carefully opened the book, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. The writing was a mix of jagged runes and flowing script, detailing spells and theories that predated modern magical practices. But it wasn’t the text that drew his attention—it was the illustration on the inside cover.
There, sketched in meticulous detail, was the same book that Soya would draw many days later. Its depiction was nearly identical, down to the faint glow emanating from the rune on its cover.
Spellchecker’s grip on the book tightened, his brow furrowing as unease crept into his expression. “So, it’s begun,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the whispers. He closed the book with a deliberate motion, his mind racing.
The headmaster turned sharply on his heel, the hem of his robes brushing against the stone floor as he moved deeper into the Archives. He needed answers—answers that this book might provide. Whatever ancient magic was stirring within the school, it was no coincidence that it was tied to the very students who had stumbled upon this place.
As the whispers seemed to grow louder, echoing in the vast space, Spellchecker cast a glance over his shoulder. The flickering light from his wand illuminated the shadows for a moment, revealing nothing but the empty corridor behind him.
Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Archives were watching him just as closely as he watched them.
The air in the Whispering Archives grew heavier as Headmaster Spellchecker carried the ancient book deeper into its maze-like corridors. His wandlight flickered across the walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to shift and ripple in the corners of his vision. The faint whispers of the tomes grew louder, their cadence almost urgent, as if urging him onward.
Reaching a secluded alcove, Spellchecker placed the book on a stone pedestal inscribed with protective runes. He examined the tome carefully, his fingers hovering just above its cracked leather cover. The rune on the book pulsed faintly, a rhythmic beat that matched no magic he had encountered in recent memory.
“This seal,” he muttered, leaning closer, “ancient and layered. But it isn’t protective—it’s imprisoning.” His voice was laced with both curiosity and concern as he traced the edges of the rune. His knowledge of runic magic was vast, but this was something different. Something darker.
Raising his wand, he began to chant softly, the incantation resonating through the chamber. The runes on the pedestal glowed in response, their light encircling the book. As the spell intensified, the rune on the cover began to twist and unravel, the strands of its magic dissipating into the air like tendrils of smoke.
With a final whispered word, the seal shattered, the sound echoing like the toll of a distant bell. The room plunged into silence, the oppressive whispers of the Archives abruptly ceasing.
The book’s cover creaked open on its own, and from its pages, a soft, golden light spilled out, illuminating the alcove. The light coalesced into a form—a girl, her outline shimmering like morning mist before solidifying into the familiar figure of Eliza. Her dark hair was disheveled, her robes torn, and her face pale with exhaustion. She stumbled forward, collapsing to her knees as the light faded.
“Eliza,” Spellchecker said, stepping forward and kneeling beside her. His voice was calm but edged with urgency. “Are you hurt?”
Eliza looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with fear and relief. “Headmaster... they trapped me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Sevrin and Sage—they did this. They lured me into the Archives and sealed me inside that book. I couldn’t get out. I... I don’t even know how long it’s been.”
Spellchecker’s expression hardened, his usual composed demeanor giving way to a rare flicker of anger. “Sevrin and Sage,” he repeated, the names laced with quiet fury. “I should have suspected as much. Their movements have been too calculated, their actions too precise.”
Eliza nodded weakly, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the pedestal for support. “They’re planning something, Headmaster. The rune by the lake, the basilisk, the creature in the castle—it’s all connected. They’re using ancient magic, but I couldn’t figure out why before they—before they trapped me.”
“You’ve done enough,” Spellchecker said firmly, helping her to her feet. “You’re safe now, but we must tread carefully. If Sevrin and Sage realize you’ve escaped, they’ll accelerate whatever scheme they’re working on. For now, no one can know you’ve been found.”
Eliza’s brow furrowed, confusion and unease crossing her face. “Not even Soya and Davonte? They’ve been looking for me—I know they have.”
Spellchecker hesitated, the weight of the decision clear in his expression. “Not yet,” he said at last. “Their safety depends on secrecy. We can’t risk drawing attention to you until we know more. But rest assured, Eliza, I will ensure justice is served.”
Eliza nodded reluctantly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “What do we do now?”
“For now, you’ll stay hidden,” Spellchecker said, his tone resolute. “I’ll assign you a safe location within the school, far from prying eyes. And in the meantime, I’ll continue investigating. We’re closer to the truth than they realize.”
As he guided Eliza toward the exit of the Archives, Spellchecker cast a final glance at the pedestal where the book still lay, its pages now blank. The seal had been broken, and with it, the next chapter of the mystery had begun.