The gleaming halls of the Australian Ministry of Magic echoed with hurried footsteps and tense murmurs. The air was thick with unease, a palpable weight pressing down on the wizards and witches who bustled about, clutching scrolls and parchments filled with reports of destruction.

Davonte’s father, Sigord Evander, strode through the grand atrium, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His typically composed expression was marred by a deep frown, the kind that only came with sleepless nights and too many unanswered questions. At his side, Hilda Evander walked briskly, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She clutched a sealed folder in her hand, its contents far more disturbing than she cared to admit.

“Another attack overnight,” Sigord muttered, voice low. “Perth this time. Basilisk sighting near the Magical Botanical Gardens. Five injured. One still petrified.”

Hilda’s grip on the folder tightened. “That’s the third major attack in as many days. It’s spreading faster than we thought.”

Sigord’s jaw tightened. “And still no word from Austramore. Not a public one, at least.”

“They won’t risk it,” Hilda replied, adjusting her pace to match his. “Mass panic would spread like wildfire. But this is beyond containment now.”

They approached the Ministry's High Council Chamber, an imposing set of doors carved with ancient rune symbols pulsing faintly with magic. Aurors stood guard on either side, their wands drawn and expressions hard. Sigord nodded grimly to them, and the doors creaked open, revealing a room alive with frantic energy.

The chamber was a semi-circular room lined with tiered seats filled with witches and wizards of various departments. Magical maps floated in the center, displaying red-glowing markers scattered across the continent. Each pulsing mark represented a reported basilisk attack.

“Evander, over here,” a familiar voice called.

Sigord and Hilda moved towards Director Callahan, head of Magical Security. His robes were slightly disheveled, and deep lines creased his weathered face.

“This is worse than we feared,” Callahan said grimly, gesturing to the maps. “Look at this. Sydney, Brisbane, Perth, even as far as Alice Springs. And it’s not just the cities. Remote magical sites are being targeted too.”

Sigord’s eyes narrowed as he studied the map. “It’s coordinated.”

“That’s the working theory,” Callahan confirmed. “And that’s not even the worst of it.” He waved his wand, and a section of the map zoomed in on Melbourne—specifically, the Ministry itself.

A flickering red marker glowed ominously near the Ministry’s perimeter.

“We were attacked,” Hilda breathed, disbelief coloring her tone.

Callahan’s jaw tightened. “Last night. A basilisk breached the outer wards. Only the emergency enchantments kept it out. We fought it off, but this… this is escalating.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the room as more officials filed in, carrying reports and magical recordings. The tension thickened as theories bounced between departments—sabotaged wards, dark wizards, rogue magical beasts—but none had solid answers.

Sigord glanced at his wife, their shared look speaking volumes. If the Ministry itself wasn’t safe, nowhere was.

Callahan leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “There’s more. Some of the attack sites had traces of rune magic.”

Sigord stiffened. “Runes?”

“Old magic. Binding, releasing, controlling. We don’t have the expertise to analyze them, not properly. But they’re connected. And Austramore’s silence is… unsettling.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Hilda’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “They must know something. They’ve had basilisk sightings too.”

Sigord exhaled sharply. “We need answers.”

Before more could be said, the room quieted as the Head of Magical Affairs, Minister Rowan Kerrigan, entered. His stern gaze swept across the room.

“We begin now,” he announced. “The safety of the Australian magical community depends on swift, decisive action. We cannot afford to falter.”

The council chamber buzzed with tension, the hum of frantic whispers and the rustle of parchment filling the air. Minister Rowan Kerrigan stood at the center, his robes immaculate despite the exhaustion in his eyes. Magical charts hovered above the table, pulsing softly with red markers.

“We need solutions,” Kerrigan’s voice cut through the noise. “Not theories. The wards are failing, attacks are increasing, and public safety is hanging by a thread.”

An elderly wizard from the Department of Magical Beasts cleared his throat. “Minister, we’ve deployed specialized beast handlers to the major cities, but these basilisks are unlike any we’ve encountered. They don’t seem to behave naturally—coordinated, even.”

Sigord Evander leaned forward. “That’s because they’re not acting alone. We have evidence of rune magic at several attack sites. Someone—or something—is guiding them.”

Hilda Evander’s eyes narrowed, scanning the magical map that still floated above the table. Her voice, steady but laced with concern, broke the growing silence. “We need to send more aid to Austramore.”

Several heads turned.

“Excuse me?” came the curt voice of Deputy Minister Barron.

Hilda didn’t flinch. “Austramore has been silent through all of this. It’s one of the most secure magical institutions on the continent, and yet, not a word. If these attacks are coordinated, the school could be a central target—or worse, already compromised.”

Barron’s expression hardened. “Austramore is fully capable of protecting its students. Diverting more resources leaves our cities vulnerable.”

Hilda’s voice didn’t waver. “And if Austramore falls, every child in our community is at risk. Including my son.”

The room went still. For a fleeting moment, Hilda’s professional mask slipped, her eyes darkening with barely concealed fear. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the composed, calculating official they all knew.

Kerrigan’s sharp gaze flicked between the two. “The safety of our children is paramount. I’ll authorize a small task force—discreetly. We can’t let this panic spread.”

Hilda gave a curt nod, masking the slight relief in her chest. The meeting pressed on with more reports, more plans, but her mind drifted.

LATER THAT NIGHT

The Ministry halls were quieter now, the hum of activity dimmed to a distant murmur. Sigord and Hilda Evander walked side by side through the stone corridors, their footsteps echoing off the walls.

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Neither spoke at first, the silence between them more comfortable than words.

Finally, Sigord broke it. “You were right to push for aid. But it won’t ease your mind, will it?”

Hilda’s stride didn’t falter, but her shoulders tightened. “No. Not until I hear from him.”

Sigord’s expression softened. “Davonte’s resilient. You know that.”

“He’s still a child,” Hilda replied, her voice quieter now. “Resilient or not, he’s in the middle of this mess. And we’re stuck here, sitting in meetings while basilisks tear through our world.”

Sigord was quiet for a moment. “If we leave, we’re no help to him. This is where we fight.”

Hilda exhaled slowly, stopping near a large window that overlooked the darkened city. Below, faint lights flickered in the streets, magical wards pulsing faintly in the distance.

“I know,” she murmured. “But he’s still my son.”

Sigord placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “And he knows that. He’s smart. Reckless, like me, but smart.”

A soft, humorless chuckle escaped Hilda. “That’s the part that worries me.”

They stood in silence, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them.

“I should send him a letter,” Hilda finally whispered.

Sigord shook his head gently. “No. If Austramore’s silence is intentional, any message could be dangerous. We can’t risk drawing more attention to him.”

She closed her eyes, steadying herself. “You’re right.”

The silence stretched between them again, heavier this time.

“But when this is over,” Sigord said quietly, “I want to bring him home.”

Hilda didn’t answer, only nodded slowly.

And together, they turned back toward the endless maze of hallways, carrying the silent hope that their son would make it through whatever darkness Austramore was facing.

The transition from the cold, towering walls of the Ministry back to Austramore was almost jarring. Where the Ministry had been filled with tension and quiet dread, the Thylacea common room was bursting with noise and movement.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor leading to the common room. Soya looked up from his sketchbook, blinking in confusion as the door creaked open.

Prefects from Bunjil House led a long line of students inside, their faces pale and tense. Behind them, Professor Wickham followed closely, her expression severe but composed.

Davonte, lounging in his usual spot, sat up straighter. "Uh... are we getting new roommates or something?"

Draven, seated cross-legged on the floor near the fireplace, didn't look up from his journal. "Unlikely. Their arrival suggests an evacuation or displacement due to a security breach."

Davonte shot him a flat look. "Yeah, that was my guess too, but thanks for making it sound worse."

Professor Wickham’s commanding voice cut through the chatter. "Thylacea students, listen closely. Bunjil House has been temporarily relocated here due to a security breach in their common room. Until further notice, both houses will share this space."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the room. Soya exchanged a glance with Davonte, tension tightening in his chest.

“What kind of breach?” Davonte asked aloud, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

Professor Wickham’s sharp gaze pinned him for a moment. "That is not for students to concern themselves with. Prefects will organize sleeping arrangements and ensure order is maintained. You are all expected to act responsibly."

With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving the students to process the news.

The room became a buzz of hushed conversations as the Bunjil students began spreading out, some looking wary, others relieved to be somewhere safer. Soya spotted a few familiar faces—students he vaguely recognized from shared classes—but many were strangers.

One girl with long dark braids and sharp eyes caught his attention. She was quietly directing a few younger students toward open spots near the fireplace. Soya recognized her as Mira Tan, a Bunjil prefect known for her no-nonsense attitude.

Davonte whistled lowly. "Well, this is going to be... cozy."

"Chaotic is the more accurate term," Draven muttered, closing his journal with a soft snap.

Soya remained quiet, his eyes scanning the room as the two houses awkwardly tried to settle in. Beds were conjured along the walls, and students shuffled around, trying to claim spots without causing tension.

A first-year Bunjil boy tripped over his own trunk, nearly falling face-first into one of Thylacea's chairs. Davonte caught him by the arm with practiced ease.

"Whoa, easy there, mate. What’s your name?" Davonte asked, steadying him.

"J-Jasper," the boy stammered, cheeks red.

"Well, Jasper, welcome to Thylacea. Try not to break anything, yeah?" Davonte smirked, giving him a reassuring pat on the back before the boy scurried off.

"Smooth," Soya mumbled, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Davonte grinned. "It's a gift."

Despite the forced politeness and the quiet attempts at mingling, there was an undeniable tension in the air. Everyone was acutely aware that Bunjil House wasn't here by choice.

Soya leaned in closer to Davonte and Draven. "If their common room was breached... do you think it was the basilisk again?"

Davonte’s smirk faded. "Could be. Or it could be that other monster that nearly tore us apart."

Draven tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Regardless of the cause, the breach confirms one thing: the school’s wards are deteriorating. Nowhere is safe."

Davonte groaned, slumping back in his seat. "Great. Just what we needed."

Mira Tan's sharp voice carried over the room. "Prefects, start grouping first-years together near the fireplace. Older students, make room."

The organization was swift, if awkward. Soya watched as more students filed in, filling every available space. The Thylacea common room, normally so spacious, now felt suffocating.

Davonte sighed, rubbing his face. "Guess we’re all stuck here for the long haul."

Soya glanced at his sketchbook, the half-finished drawing of the Whispering Archives staring back at him. The room was packed, but the noise dulled in his mind. Something about the drawing tugged at him again, and with the walls of the castle failing, that tug felt heavier than before.

Draven’s eyes flicked to the sketchbook. "We should be careful what we discuss moving forward. More ears mean more chances of the wrong people listening."

Davonte nodded, eyes scanning the room. "Yeah. No more chat about the archives or... anything, really."

Soya closed the book softly, the weight of their secrets pressing down harder in the now-crowded common room.

The Thylacea common room was packed, voices weaving into a dull hum as students from both houses tried to make sense of the sudden change. Amidst the scattered conversations and the shuffling of trunks and belongings, Soya sat quietly near the window, sketchbook resting on his knees. His pencil moved absentmindedly across the page, but his mind wasn’t focused on drawing.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. Two familiar figures weaved through the crowded space, moving toward him with purposeful strides.

"Well, look who hasn't been swallowed whole by the castle yet," a dry, familiar voice cut through the noise.

Soya glanced up, blinking in surprise. "Saunak?"

Saunak Carswell offered a lopsided grin, pushing his white hair back with a lazy hand. "In the flesh. Thought you might’ve gone and vanished like half the school."

Beside him, Salem Blackthorn gave a small, amused smile. "That would’ve been inconvenient. You’re one of the few people here I can tolerate."

Soya let out a breathy laugh, genuinely relieved to see them. "It’s... been a while. With everything going on, I wasn’t sure if you two were alright."

Saunak shrugged, dropping into the seat opposite Soya without invitation. "Define ‘alright.’ Our common room’s been wrecked, we’re stuffed in here like cattle, and the professors are acting like we’re one sneeze away from disaster. So, yeah, we’re great."

Salem leaned against the back of a nearby chair, his green eyes scanning the crowded room. "Saunak’s complaining aside, we’re fine. Bunjil’s been on lockdown, but nothing tried to eat us. Yet."

Davonte, overhearing from his spot on the couch, smirked. "Lucky you. We’ve been getting front-row seats to all the fun."

Saunak arched a brow. "Fun? Is that what we’re calling near-death experiences these days?"

Davonte gave a nonchalant shrug. "It’s better than calling it what it is—pure chaos."

Draven, seated nearby, barely glanced up from his journal. "Chaos is often a prelude to opportunity, provided one knows how to act on it."

Saunak stared at Draven for a moment before leaning toward Soya. "Who’s the encyclopedia?"

Soya rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "That’s Draven. He’s... new. But he’s been helping us figure some things out."

Draven gave a small, acknowledging nod without looking up.

Salem folded his arms. "You lot look like you’ve been scheming. Should I be worried?"

Soya hesitated, glancing at Davonte. They hadn’t exactly been subtle, and Salem was sharper than most.

Davonte leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Let’s just say we’ve been trying to piece together why this place is falling apart."

Saunak’s smirk faded slightly. "I figured as much. People are scared, but the professors aren’t telling us anything. All we get are vague warnings and lockdowns. Some of us want answers."

Salem tilted his head. "And from the look of it, you already have some."

Soya fidgeted with the corner of his sketchbook, feeling the weight of their words. "We... might know a little more than most. But it’s dangerous."

Saunak’s grin returned, sharper this time. "Dangerous is relative. If there’s something we can do to help, maybe it’s time you let us in."

Davonte eyed them cautiously. "This isn’t some school prank, Saunak. We’re dealing with things that make even the professors nervous."

Salem’s expression didn’t change. "We’re not stupid. We’ve seen how scared the staff are. You’re not the only ones paying attention."

Draven finally closed his journal, his gray eyes locking onto Saunak and Salem. "If we were to involve you, it would require discretion. No impulsive actions, no bravado. Just commitment."

Saunak leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "I can be discreet. Mostly."

Salem gave a small, knowing smirk. "We wouldn’t offer if we weren’t serious. So, what’s the plan?"

The group fell into a tense silence, the noise of the crowded room fading into the background. Soya exchanged glances with Davonte and Draven.

Maybe having more allies wasn’t such a bad idea.

Not with what was coming.