The sharp, damp air of the underhalls clung to Sage Blackthorn as he carefully moved through the labyrinthine passages beneath Austramore. His footsteps were barely a whisper against the stone floor, each step deliberate as he avoided drawing attention to himself. The torches lining the walls flickered faintly, their flames struggling against the oppressive darkness.
He kept one hand on the cold wall, tracing his way through the narrow corridors. Though he was no stranger to the underhalls, the tension in his chest was undeniable. These hidden passages were rarely traveled by students, especially during the lockdown, and even Sage, with his penchant for secrecy, felt the weight of the silence.
As he approached a rusted iron grate embedded in the wall, muffled voices filtered through. Sage stilled, his ears straining to catch the conversation. He crouched low, his dark eyes narrowing as he peered through the slats. The room beyond the grate was a small, forgotten chamber, dimly lit by a single enchanted lantern. Two students stood there, their faces partially obscured by the shadows.
"...can't believe it. Classes are back tomorrow," one of them said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Yeah, the prefect said they’ve ‘resolved the issue.’ Whatever that means," the other replied, crossing her arms. "They didn’t explain anything about how they managed to fix the wards or deal with... you know."
The first student hesitated before speaking again, his tone dropping to a hushed whisper. "You mean the beast?"
The girl nodded. "What else? That thing tore through Bunjil’s common room like it was nothing. How could they possibly stop it?"
Sage leaned closer, his brow furrowing. The words sent a chill down his spine. He had etched those runes into the beast’s horns himself, a task that had taken days of careful work and secrecy. The runes were meant to channel raw magic, to amplify the creature’s natural power and resilience. They weren’t supposed to be used against the school.
At least, that’s what Sevrin had assured him.
But now the lockdown was lifted? And the professors had somehow resolved the very chaos Sage and Sevrin had helped unleash? It didn’t add up. The beast was nearly indestructible, its runes impervious to most magic. What could they have done to neutralize it so quickly?
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he tried to piece it together. Had the professors discovered the runes’ origins? Did they know he was involved? No, they couldn’t. If they did, he wouldn’t be skulking through the underhalls. He’d already be expelled—or worse.
The girl’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Anyway, we’ll know more tomorrow. The prefects didn’t say much, but it sounds like things are finally getting back to normal."
The other student let out a scoff. "Yeah, sure. Normal. As if anything’s been normal this year."
The pair moved toward the chamber’s exit, their voices fading as they disappeared down a side passage. Sage waited a moment longer, ensuring the coast was clear before he straightened and stepped away from the grate. His mind raced as he retraced his steps through the underhalls.
Something wasn’t right. The professors might have claimed to resolve the issue, but Sage knew better. The beast wasn’t the kind of problem that could be solved overnight. And if they’d somehow managed to stop it, it meant they had access to magic far beyond what Sage had anticipated.
Magic that could very well uncover his involvement.
His fists clenched at his sides, frustration and unease bubbling within him. He needed answers—and fast.
Sage paced through the dim corridors of the underhalls, his mind spiraling as the implications of what he’d overheard began to take root. The professors hadn’t simply neutralized the beast—it had to be more than that. They’d done something far beyond what he thought was possible. And if anyone at Austramore was capable of unraveling the runes he had painstakingly etched into the creature, it was his father.
Seikan Blackthorn.
The name weighed heavily in his mind. His father had taught him everything he knew about runes, their ancient power, their potential. It wasn’t just a family skill; it was an art, an inheritance passed down through the generations. Seikan’s mastery was unmatched. And Sage had foolishly thought he could operate in the shadows without his father noticing.
The realization hit him like a wave: Seikan must have seen the runes.
Sage halted in his tracks, leaning against the cold stone wall as he tried to steady his breathing. It made perfect sense. The creature had been stopped, and there was only one way that could have happened. Seikan had seen the runes, recognized the intricate style, and pieced it together. The symbols were unique to their family—a carefully guarded craft that only three living people could wield.
And Seikan would know his sons’ work anywhere.
Sage let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing faintly in the empty corridor. Of course his father would figure it out. He always did. But the thought that Seikan might know Sage was involved sent a chill down his spine. His absence from the school’s main halls, the lockdown coinciding with the chaos—it all painted a damning picture.
Still, there was something that didn’t add up. If Seikan had truly identified him as the culprit, why hadn’t he been dragged out of the underhalls and thrown before the headmaster? Why hadn’t he been expelled on the spot?
Sage’s mind raced. Maybe Seikan didn’t have concrete proof yet. Maybe he was biding his time, waiting for Sage to make a mistake. Or perhaps—Sage’s stomach turned at the thought—Seikan was keeping his involvement a secret. If his father had reversed the runes, it meant he had taken on the burden of responsibility himself, quietly cleaning up Sage’s mess without drawing attention to it.
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But why?
Sage pushed off the wall, resuming his restless pacing. He clenched his fists, the familiar frustration bubbling up inside him. Seikan’s silence wasn’t mercy—it was strategy. His father was likely calculating his next move, deciding how to confront Sage without exposing the family’s secrets to the rest of the school.
He cursed under his breath. He’d been careful, meticulous, but Seikan’s expertise had always been a step ahead. And now, Sage was caught in a web of his own making, with no clear way out.
His thoughts shifted to the beast. The runes he’d inscribed had been designed to amplify its power, to make it unstoppable. Yet, Seikan had undone them. It was a testament to his father’s skill—and a sharp reminder of Sage’s own limitations. He had underestimated Seikan, as he always did.
But more than that, Sage realized, he had underestimated the gravity of his actions. What had started as a way to impress Sevrin, to prove his worth among those who saw power as everything, had spiraled into something far beyond his control. And now, the consequences were closing in.
Sage slowed his pace, his hands pressed into his pockets as he leaned against the wall again. He needed to think, to plan his next steps. If Seikan truly knew, then Sage couldn’t afford to stay in hiding forever. He had to anticipate what his father would do next.
All he could do was wait—and prepare for the inevitable confrontation. Because if there was one thing Sage knew about Seikan, it was that his father didn’t let mistakes go unanswered.
Sage moved through the dim corridors with practiced silence, his footsteps light against the ancient stone. The route to the Yarramundi common room was burned into his memory, though it had been weeks since he’d last walked it. His heart pounded in his chest—not from fear, but from the anticipation of facing his housemates. He needed to be cautious, to control the narrative before questions spiraled beyond his ability to manage.
As he approached the familiar sandstone archway, he whispered the house password, "Eucalyptus." The magical barrier shimmered faintly before dissolving, granting him entry. The Yarramundi common room was just as he remembered it—warm tones of ochre and gold reflected in the furnishings, large windows enchanted to show a serene forest view, and students scattered about, talking or studying. For a fleeting moment, the normalcy of it all felt surreal.
The room fell quiet as soon as he stepped inside.
Every head turned toward him, eyes wide with shock. A few students stood up, their faces a mix of relief and disbelief. Sage clenched his fists at his sides, maintaining a carefully neutral expression as the tension in the room thickened.
"Sage?" One of the prefects, a tall boy named Lyle Henshaw, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "You’re... alive?"
The corner of Sage’s mouth twitched into a faint smirk. "Nice to see you too, Lyle."
Lyle didn’t return the smile. His sharp eyes scanned Sage from head to toe, as if searching for signs of injury. "You and Sevrin have been missing for weeks. Everyone thought..." He trailed off, his voice faltering.
"Thought we were dead?" Sage finished for him, his tone casual. "Sorry to disappoint."
The prefect’s frown deepened. "Where have you been? The professors have been searching everywhere."
"Out of sight, obviously," Sage replied smoothly, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Sevrin and I found a safe spot during the chaos and stayed put. Figured it was better than running into one of those creatures prowling around."
A few students murmured in agreement, their expressions softening. Lyle, however, didn’t seem entirely convinced.
"You didn’t think to send a message? Let someone know you were alive?" Lyle pressed, crossing his arms.
Sage tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "We would have, but, you know, creatures everywhere. Didn’t want to risk leading anything back to the rest of the school. Besides, it looks like everything’s under control now, right?"
The room was silent for a moment, the students exchanging uncertain glances. Sage could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but he kept his posture relaxed, his expression calm. Doubt was a fire easily extinguished with the right tone and timing.
"Well," Lyle said at last, his voice losing some of its edge, "I’m glad you’re alright. The professors will want to know you’re back. You and Sevrin need to report to them as soon as possible."
"Of course," Sage said, nodding. "First thing tomorrow."
Lyle hesitated, clearly debating whether to push the issue further, but eventually stepped back. "Alright. Just... don’t disappear like that again. It’s been chaos around here."
"Noted," Sage replied, his tone light. He glanced around the room, letting his gaze linger on a few familiar faces. "Good to be back."
The tension in the room gradually eased, conversations resuming as students returned to their books and games. Sage let out a quiet breath, his mind racing beneath the composed exterior. He had deflected their questions for now, but he knew the prefects would report his return to the professors soon enough.
For now, he needed to focus on his next move. Keeping his expression neutral, he made his way to an empty armchair by the window, settling in as though nothing was amiss. The enchanted view of the forest beyond was calm and unchanging, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him.
If Seikan truly knew what Sage had done, the days ahead would be anything but calm.
Sage sat on his bed, his rune book spread open before him, the pages illuminated by the soft glow of his wand. The familiar smell of old parchment and ink filled the air, grounding him as his fingers traced the intricate lines of a half-finished rune sketched on the page. Each line and curve told a story of power and precision, but tonight, they felt heavier than usual—like chains binding him to the choices he’d made.
His thoughts wandered as he flipped through the pages, revisiting older designs and notes from years of practice. These were the runes he had poured countless hours into, experimenting and perfecting under his father’s careful eye. Yet now, they seemed tainted, their purpose twisted by the events that had unfolded.
The memory of the beast flashed in his mind—the shimmering horns etched with his work, its destructive power unleashed upon the school. He clenched his jaw, the weight of responsibility pressing against his chest. This wasn’t what the runes were meant for. They were supposed to be tools of creation, of discovery, not weapons of chaos.
His hand hovered over a newer sketch—a binding rune designed to control movement. He had drawn it during a particularly restless night, his thoughts swirling with the possibilities it offered. Now, the sight of it made his stomach churn. The potential for harm was all too clear.
Closing the book with a soft thud, Sage leaned back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the enchanted window beside him. The forest view outside remained still, a serene backdrop that contrasted sharply with the storm brewing within him. He couldn’t dwell on this forever. He needed to act, to figure out what came next before everything spiraled further out of control.
Soya sat cross-legged on his bed in the Thylacea dormitory, his wand held loosely in one hand as he practiced simple spells. His other hand absentmindedly scratched behind Inkwell’s ears, the kitten letting out soft purrs between playful swats at an enchanted ball of light hovering above them.
“Lumos,” Soya muttered, his wand tip igniting with a warm glow. He waved it gently, causing the light to dance across the room in small, deliberate arcs.
Inkwell’s ears perked up, and she lunged at the light, her tiny paws batting at the air as if she could catch it. Soya chuckled softly, dimming the light with a quiet "Nox" before casting it again.
He glanced at his notes spread out on the blanket beside him. Basic charms, transfiguration exercises, and even a few jotted-down theories on how runes might amplify simple spells. The professors had warned against mixing disciplines too early, but curiosity always got the better of him.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he said, pointing his wand at a stray quill. It rose unsteadily into the air, wobbling slightly before falling back onto the bed. Soya sighed, adjusting his grip on the wand. “Alright, let’s try that again.”
The quill lifted once more, this time holding steady. A small smile tugged at Soya’s lips, though it quickly turned into a laugh as Inkwell leaped onto the bed, swatting at the quill and knocking it to the floor.
“Really?” Soya asked, raising an eyebrow at the kitten, who mewed innocently in response. He leaned over to retrieve the quill, pausing to give Inkwell a gentle pat on the head. “You’re a troublemaker, you know that?”
The dormitory was quiet apart from Inkwell’s soft purring and the occasional crackle of the fireplace down the hall. Soya found comfort in the routine, in the small moments of calm after weeks of chaos. Yet, even as he practiced, his mind wandered back to the events of the past few days—the runes, Eliza, the mysterious forces threatening Austramore.
He sighed, setting his wand down beside him and leaning back against the headboard. Inkwell climbed onto his lap, curling up into a tiny ball of fur. Soya absentmindedly stroked her back, his thoughts drifting as the flickering light of the fireplace cast shadows on the walls.