The hidden chamber beneath Austramore was cloaked in shadow, the only light coming from a single rune-inscribed lantern hanging from the arched ceiling. Its flickering glow cast jagged shadows across the stone walls, warping the intricate runes carved deep into the rock.

Sevrin Virelle paced like a caged predator, his sharp green eyes burning with frustration. His long black hair clung to his damp forehead, sweat beading at his temples. His fists clenched and unclenched as he muttered curses under his breath.

Sage Blackthorn leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes tracked Sevrin’s movements, his face an unreadable mask, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed the storm churning beneath.

“You didn’t tell me they were going to attack the school,” Sage said at last, his voice low and edged with accusation.

Sevrin snapped his head up, his scowl deepening. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

“Oh, so the basilisks just happened to show up?” Sage pushed off the wall, stepping forward. “That indestructible beast tearing through walls—that wasn’t planned either?”

Sevrin’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

Sage’s eyes narrowed. “Sevrin, what the hell did you get us into?”

Sevrin stopped pacing, his expression dark. “It’s not like I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not with them,” Sevrin snapped. His voice echoed in the stone chamber, sharp and raw. He hesitated, then muttered, “Not with Salsiar.”

The name hung in the air like poison.

Sage stiffened. “Salsiar?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re working with him?”

Sevrin turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know at first. It was supposed to be about power—about reclaiming what’s ours. But... he’s the one pulling the strings.”

“And you just went along with it?” Sage’s tone sharpened, disbelief lacing his words. “Do you even understand what Salsiar is?”

“I understand more than you think.” Sevrin’s voice was low, defensive. “He’s powerful. More powerful than anyone else we could’ve allied with.”

“He’s a demon, Sevrin!” Sage hissed. “A demon wearing human skin! This was never about pureblood supremacy. It’s about control. About destruction.”

Sevrin turned, face shadowed. “You think I don’t know that now? You think I’m not aware of what he’s capable of?”

“Then why stay?” Sage demanded, stepping closer. “Why keep following him?”

“Because it’s too late to turn back!” Sevrin roared. “You think I can just walk away? He knows everything. About me. About you. About our families.”

The words hit Sage like a punch to the chest. His breath caught.

Sevrin’s shoulders slumped, his voice dropping. “He’ll kill us if we try.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Sage’s mind raced. He hated his brother, feared his father, but this—this was beyond them. Sevrin had dragged them into something far worse than he realized.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Sage muttered, more to himself than to Sevrin. “I thought... I thought we were just going to scare people. Show off. Make them respect us.”

Sevrin let out a bitter laugh. “Respect? This was never about respect. It was about power.”

“No,” Sage said coldly. “It was about control. And now you’re not in control anymore.”

Sevrin glared at him, but the fire in his eyes was dimmer now. “So what, you want out? Go ahead. Run. But don’t think for a second you’re safe.”

Sage stared at him for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the chamber’s exit.

“Where are you going?” Sevrin called after him, his voice quieter, uncertain.

Sage paused at the doorway, his silhouette framed by the lantern’s dying light.

“To think.”

And then he was gone, leaving Sevrin alone in the dark, the shadows creeping ever closer.

The cold air of the underground corridor bit into Sage Blackthorn’s skin as he ascended the winding stone steps, each footfall echoing like a hammer against his racing thoughts. The narrow path twisted endlessly upward, dark and suffocating, but it wasn’t the shadows that unsettled him.

It was what he’d done.

His hands flexed unconsciously at his sides, fingertips tingling with the phantom sensation of his wand carving runes into flesh. The beast’s horn—its surface rough, resistant beneath his spellwork—flashed in his mind. The symbols he etched weren’t random. They had meaning. Purpose.

But he hadn’t known what that purpose was.

Not entirely.

Sage exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

You knew enough, a bitter voice in his mind sneered. Enough to stop. But you didn’t.

He gritted his teeth, his pace quickening as the narrow stairway opened into a broader hall. Dust motes hung in the thin shafts of moonlight streaming through cracked, barred windows.

“They said it was for control…” Sage muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper in the stale air. “Control, not destruction.”

His chest tightened.

But that thing didn’t care about control, did it?

He hadn’t asked enough questions.

Didn’t care to.

Back then, Sevrin’s promises of power, of reclaiming their place among pureblood elites, had been enough. Sage had always lived in his father’s shadow, a man obsessed with tradition and control. Following Sevrin had felt like breaking free. Like forging his own path.

But this wasn’t freedom.

It was a leash.

Sage’s footsteps slowed as he reached a fork in the hall. One path led back toward the concealed exit Sevrin had shown him, the other toward the deeper tunnels beneath Austramore—the places where old magic still clung to the stones like cobwebs.

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He lingered.

The silence was suffocating, and yet he welcomed it.

“No one’s coming for us,” he muttered, almost laughing. “Not yet.”

If the professors even noticed they were gone, they’d assume the worst. Dead. Missing. Lost in the chaos. With the lockdown in place, no one could search for them even if they wanted to.

Would they even bother?

The thought struck him harder than he expected.

Sage wasn’t exactly popular. His family’s reputation preceded him, and he had never made an effort to change that. It was easier to lean into the cold, sarcastic persona than to risk being vulnerable.

But Sevrin—Sevrin had always been the charismatic one. The leader.

And now, even Sevrin wasn’t in control.

Sage’s eyes drifted to his hands again, and for a moment, he imagined the runes still burned into his skin.

Ancient markings. Ones only a handful of people alive knew how to create.

Seikan. Salem. Me.

And now Sevrin.

He leaned heavily against the stone wall, dragging a hand down his face.

“Salem…” he muttered.

His brother wouldn’t understand. No, Salem would hate him for this. For the runes. For the creature that tore through their school.

Would he hate me enough to stop me?

A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corner of Sage’s mouth.

Probably.

Sage let the thought sit for a moment. The logical move was to run. Disappear. Let Sevrin drown in his own mess.

But logic didn’t feel right anymore.

He hadn’t signed up to burn down the world.

Sage pushed off the wall, turning away from the exit. His footsteps echoed as he moved deeper into the tunnels.

If Salsiar wanted chaos, Sage needed to understand why.

And more importantly, he needed to decide where he stood when the storm finally broke.

The low murmur of voices in the Thylacea common room faded behind Salem Blackthorn as he moved through the castle’s dimly lit halls. His boots struck the cold stone floors with quiet, deliberate steps, each one measured and controlled. His sharp green eyes flicked toward the prefect beside him, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent corridor.

The prefect—a stiff, narrow-faced boy with the air of someone who took their title far too seriously—kept pace with him, casting Salem the occasional wary glance.

"You’ve been quiet," the prefect finally remarked, attempting to sound casual but failing. "Not going to tell me why you need to see Professor Blackthorn?"

Salem’s eyes stayed forward. "No."

The prefect huffed but didn’t push further. Salem wasn’t in the mood for games. His mind was locked on the rune he’d seen in Soya’s room—the unmistakable curve and edge of runework he had grown up watching his father inscribe with deadly precision.

Only three people could create runes like that.

And Sage was one of them.

Salem’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t need to explain himself to some prefect. Not now. Not with the cold weight of suspicion pressing into his chest.

They turned sharply down a narrower hall, the glow of enchanted lanterns casting long shadows along the stone walls. Salem’s sharp eyes caught the faint shimmer of protective wards humming softly over the archways ahead.

His father’s domain.

The prefect slowed, glancing nervously at the runes that glowed faintly in the stone. "I’m not allowed past this point," he muttered, stopping in his tracks. "You can go in, but don’t make me regret this."

Salem shot him a dry glance. "I’d worry more about regretting keeping me waiting."

Without waiting for a response, Salem stepped forward, passing beneath the archway. The wards hummed against his skin, testing him, before reluctantly allowing him through.

The heavy wooden door to Seikan Blackthorn’s office loomed ahead.

Salem raised his hand and knocked, firm and deliberate.

A pause.

Then, Seikan’s cold, clipped voice cut through the door. "Enter."

Salem pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office was as imposing as ever—walls lined with ancient tomes, scrolls stacked in careless piles, and the faint scent of burning parchment lingering in the air. Faint runes glimmered on the walls, softly pulsing in rhythm with the room’s protective enchantments.

Behind the cluttered desk, Seikan Blackthorn sat, eyes sharp and cold, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He didn’t rise. Didn’t speak.

He simply stared.

Salem swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Father," he greeted evenly.

Seikan’s expression didn’t shift. "Salem."

The silence stretched.

Salem took a steady breath, reaching into his cloak and producing the folded parchment. He placed it carefully on the desk between them.

Seikan’s eyes flicked down to the rune.

For a moment, the air in the room seemed to still.

Then, slowly, Seikan leaned forward, studying the lines.

His fingers hovered over the parchment, not quite touching it.

Recognition glimmered—flickered—then was gone.

Salem watched him carefully. "You recognize it."

Seikan’s eyes lifted, sharp and cutting. "Where did you find this?"

"A friend had it. Said Eliza gave it to him before she disappeared."

Seikan’s gaze lingered on the rune for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair.

"And you thought it important enough to bring to me."

"It’s our work," Salem said, voice tighter than he intended. "But it’s not yours. And it’s not mine."

A slow breath escaped Seikan’s nose, but his face remained unreadable.

"No," he said at last. "It isn’t."

The words hung in the air.

Neither of them spoke the name.

But it was there. Heavy. Unspoken.

It’s Sage.

Seikan’s gaze didn’t waver. "Leave this with me."

Salem’s fists clenched at his sides. "That’s it?"

"You’ve done your part."

"That’s it?" Salem’s voice sharpened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "You’re not going to—?"

"Enough."

The word cracked through the air like a whip.

Salem froze.

Seikan’s eyes narrowed, voice low and cold. "You don’t speak on things you don’t understand."

Salem’s breath caught in his throat.

The room felt colder.

But Seikan leaned forward slightly, his gaze burning. "This is not your burden to carry. Leave it to me."

For a moment, Salem thought to argue. Thought to demand answers.

But the weight in his father’s voice crushed the thought.

Salem’s jaw tightened.

"...Fine."

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

But just as his hand reached for the handle, Seikan’s voice stopped him.

"Be cautious, Salem."

The warning was soft, but it carried the weight of steel.

Salem hesitated for only a second before slipping out the door, letting it close behind him.

The cold of the hall bit at him again.

But it wasn’t the cold that sent a shiver down his spine.

It was the thought that, for once, his father sounded afraid.

The cold air of Austramore’s stone corridors clung to Salem Blackthorn as he made his way back toward the Thylacea common room. His mind was a storm of thoughts, each one crashing into the next, but none offering clarity.

His father’s reaction had been sharp—too sharp. Seikan rarely betrayed emotion, but something about that rune had unsettled him. Salem knew better than to think it was just the symbol itself. It was the implication.

It’s Sage.

The thought was a splinter under his skin.

Salem’s pace quickened.

When he finally reached the entrance to the Thylacea common room, the stone archway glimmered faintly with layered enchantments. The prefect on duty barely glanced up as Salem muttered the passphrase and slipped inside.

The room was a low hum of voices, flickering firelight casting long shadows on the walls. The mingling of Thylacea and Bunjil students had turned the space into a chaotic mess of displaced students attempting to find comfort. Blankets were draped over chairs, books stacked in precarious towers, and half-finished chess games sat abandoned.

But Salem’s eyes immediately found who he was looking for.

Soya sat tucked into a corner near the fireplace, his sketchbook balanced on his knees. Davonte lounged nearby, absently flipping through a worn deck of enchanted playing cards. Draven sat cross-legged on the floor, reading some thick tome as if the chaos around him didn’t exist.

Salem didn’t waste time.

“Soya.”

The tone in his voice cut through the background noise. Soya looked up, blinking in surprise at Salem’s tense posture.

“Uh, hey—”

“Where exactly did Eliza find that rune you showed me?” Salem asked, voice low but firm.

Soya sat up straighter, confused by the sudden urgency. “The rune? It was by the lake. Near the cliffs. She said it was ancient, something that shouldn’t have been there.”

Davonte’s brow furrowed. “That’s the one Sevrin and Sage messed with, right? When they removed it?”

Salem’s jaw tightened at the mention of Sage. “Explain. All of it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Soya exchanged a glance with Davonte, hesitant.

But Salem’s expression was unwavering, sharp.

So Soya started to explain.

From the beginning.

He spoke about how Eliza had discovered the rune and how she had been obsessively researching it. About sneaking out to the lake with Davonte and Eliza to examine it, only to witness Sevrin and Sage arrive and remove the rune entirely.

“I don’t think they saw us,” Soya said quietly. “But Sage was the one who dismantled it. Eliza thought it was some sort of binding rune, like it was holding something back.”

Salem’s face darkened.

“That something was the basilisk,” Draven added without looking up. “Logically, the removal of the rune coincided with its appearance. Cause and effect.”

“And you’re sure it was Sage who broke the rune?” Salem’s voice was quieter now, dangerously controlled.

Soya hesitated. “I... yeah. It was Sage. Sevrin just stood there. It was Sage who knew how to take it apart.”

Salem ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a moment before stopping abruptly. His mind spun, but the pieces were starting to connect, though not in any way he liked.

“Why would they release it?” Davonte asked, leaning forward. “Why break the rune at all? What’s the point of letting a basilisk loose?”

“I don’t know,” Salem admitted, the frustration in his voice evident. “But they didn’t do it by accident.”

Draven finally looked up, studying Salem with sharp eyes. “Do you suspect they’re working for someone?”

Salem’s mouth was a thin line. He didn’t answer.

But the silence was answer enough.

“They’re connected to this,” Salem finally said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sage... and Sevrin. They’ve been tangled up in this longer than we realized.”

Soya’s voice was small. “So what do we do?”

Salem turned to him, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his face.

“We find out what they’re after.”

His voice dropped lower.

“And we stop them before they tear this school apart.”

The fire crackled in the silence that followed.

And somewhere deep in the castle, unseen and unheard, the walls seemed to hold their breath.