Sevrin moved cautiously through the damp, dimly lit corridors of the underhalls, the weight of the stone walls pressing in on him. The air was thick, a faint metallic tang lingering that made his stomach churn. He adjusted his pace, boots scuffing softly against the uneven floor, his hand instinctively resting near his wand holster. The torchlight from the sconces flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows that danced on the walls.

Ahead, in a cavernous alcove, a figure waited.

Salsiar.

The sight of him always sent a shiver down Sevrin’s spine, though he did his best to mask it. The demon stood tall, his broad frame cloaked in dark, tattered robes that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His piercing eyes, an unnatural shade of molten gold, locked onto Sevrin as he approached, their intensity cutting through the shadows like a blade.

"You’re late," Salsiar said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to resonate in the very walls around them.

Sevrin hesitated, his hand tightening into a fist. "I wasn’t followed."

Salsiar’s lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. "You don’t strike me as the careful type, Virelle. Reckless, perhaps. Impulsive, definitely. But careful?" He tilted his head slightly. "No."

Sevrin clenched his jaw, forcing himself to meet the demon’s gaze. "I did what you asked. The basilisk attacks, the runes—we’ve done our part. What more do you want?"

Salsiar stepped forward, the sound of his boots echoing ominously. "Your part? Tell me, Sevrin, do you truly understand the part you’ve played? Or are you just another pawn in a game you can’t comprehend?"

The air grew colder, and Sevrin fought the urge to take a step back. "I know enough."

"Do you?" Salsiar’s voice dropped, the words almost a growl. "Because from where I stand, all I see is a boy dabbling in forces far beyond his grasp. You’ve unleashed chaos, yes. But chaos without direction is meaningless."

Sevrin’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening. "I didn’t—"

"You didn’t think," Salsiar interrupted, his tone sharp. "And now the professors are undoing your work, one piece at a time. Your precious runes? Broken. Your beasts? Neutralized. You’ve been sloppy, Virelle."

The accusation cut deeper than Sevrin expected. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall.

Salsiar stiffened, his eyes narrowing as his head turned toward the sound. Sevrin’s stomach sank as a familiar figure stepped into view.

Professor Marilla.

Her sharp, hawk-like features were illuminated by the flickering torchlight, her dark robes billowing slightly as she approached. Her expression was unreadable, but her piercing gaze settled on Sevrin with unmistakable authority.

"Mr. Virelle," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. "What exactly are you doing down here?"

Sevrin swallowed hard, his mind racing for an excuse, but the words caught in his throat. The presence of Salsiar loomed behind him, a silent reminder of the precarious situation he was in.

Marilla’s eyes flicked to the demon, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t flinch or show any sign of fear, though her wand hand remained ready at her side. "And who is this?" she asked, her tone icy.

Salsiar chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "Just an old friend of young Sevrin here. Passing through, you might say."

Marilla’s gaze didn’t waver. "Passing through? Unlikely. You’re trespassing in Austramore’s restricted areas. Leave now, or I’ll ensure you do."

Salsiar smirked, his molten eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "How bold. But I’m not here to cause trouble, Professor. Not yet."

Marilla’s grip on her wand tightened imperceptibly. "You’ll leave regardless. Now."

The demon’s smile faded slightly, but he inclined his head, stepping back into the shadows. "Very well. But I’ll be seeing you again." His voice lingered, even as his form disappeared into the darkness.

Once the silence returned, Marilla turned her full attention to Sevrin, her expression hard. "You’re coming with me."

Sevrin hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to run, but the weight of her presence left him rooted to the spot. Without another word, Marilla gestured for him to follow, her eyes watching him like a hawk as they ascended the winding steps back toward the castle proper.

Sevrin’s footsteps echoed hollowly as he followed Professor Marilla through the winding corridors toward the Headmaster’s office. His mind churned with a thousand questions, but none of them found their way to his lips. The air grew heavier as they climbed the spiraling staircase leading to the heart of Austramore’s authority. The stone rainbow serpent at the base of the stairway had parted without a word from Marilla, and now the door loomed ahead, a barrier between him and the reckoning he knew awaited.

Marilla pushed the door open with a firm hand, stepping aside to allow Sevrin to enter. The Headmaster’s office was grand yet austere, its walls lined with towering shelves filled with tomes and artifacts older than most wizards could comprehend. The air hummed faintly with enchantments, and the flickering candlelight illuminated the intricate carvings on the wooden desk that dominated the room’s center.

Sage was already there.

He sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, his expression guarded but tinged with defiance. His gaze flicked to Sevrin for a brief moment before returning to the Headmaster, who stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

Boromus Spellchecker was an imposing figure, not because of his stature—he was shorter and frailer than most imagined—but because of the way his presence filled the room. His deep-set eyes, sharp and calculating, seemed to see into the very soul of anyone who dared meet them. His silver beard, long and meticulously kept, gave him the air of a sage whose wisdom transcended lifetimes.

"Mr. Virelle," Spellchecker said, his voice calm but laced with authority. "Take a seat."

Sevrin hesitated for a moment before obeying, lowering himself into the chair beside Sage. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of an ancient clock on the wall.

Marilla closed the door behind her and took her place to the side, her stern gaze fixed on the two boys.

Spellchecker regarded them in silence for a long moment, his hands resting on the edge of his desk. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he spoke. "I trust you both understand the seriousness of this situation."

Neither boy responded, their silence speaking volumes.

Spellchecker’s gaze sharpened. "Mr. Virelle, Mr. Blackthorn—your absence during the lockdown has not gone unnoticed. Nor have the events that unfolded during that time. Basilisk attacks, breached walls, ancient runes tampered with… and yet, here you are. Safe, and suspiciously unscathed."

Sevrin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but Sage remained stone-faced.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed. "I am not here to accuse you. Not yet. But I am here for answers."

Sevrin opened his mouth to speak, but Spellchecker held up a hand, stopping him. "Not yet, Mr. Virelle."

The Headmaster circled his desk, his movements deliberate. His gaze swept over the two boys, as if assessing their very essence.

And then, his inner thoughts stirred.

These boys… they are but pieces in a game far greater than they realize. Pawns, yes, but not innocent. They’ve been used, manipulated. But by whom? And to what end?

His eyes lingered on Sage, noting the tension in his posture, the way his fingers fidgeted subtly against the armrest of his chair.

Sage Blackthorn… so much like his father. Brilliant, but reckless. And dangerous, if guided by the wrong hands.

Then his gaze shifted to Sevrin. Unlike Sage, Sevrin wore his emotions on his sleeve—anger, frustration, fear. All barely contained.

Sevrin Virelle. Always seeking something just out of reach. Approval, power, purpose. But now… he’s tangled in something far beyond his understanding.

Spellchecker’s voice broke the silence. "Mr. Blackthorn, let us begin with you. Where were you during the lockdown?"

Sage’s jaw tightened, but he met the Headmaster’s gaze evenly. "Exploring," he said simply.

Spellchecker raised an eyebrow. "Exploring? In the middle of a lockdown that saw basilisks breaching the castle walls?"

Sage’s expression didn’t falter. "I wanted answers. I thought I could find something the professors had missed."

"And did you?" Spellchecker asked, his tone sharp.

Sage hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "No."

Spellchecker nodded slowly, as if expecting the answer. He turned to Sevrin. "And you, Mr. Virelle? What was your role in all of this?"

Sevrin’s throat tightened. "I… I was with Sage. We thought—"

"You thought," Spellchecker interrupted, his voice cutting through Sevrin’s words like a blade. "You thought, or you acted without thought?"

Sevrin’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked away, unable to meet the Headmaster’s piercing gaze.

Spellchecker exhaled softly, the weight of his years evident in the sound. "I see. You believed you were seeking answers, but instead, you found yourselves deeper in the web of those who would see this school—and our world—brought to ruin."

He returned to his desk, placing his hands on its surface and leaning forward. "The two of you know more than you’re willing to admit. I am certain of it. And I will uncover the truth, whether you choose to share it or not."

The room fell into a heavy silence once more.

But Spellchecker’s thoughts continued, unspoken.

They’re hiding something. Perhaps not out of malice, but fear. Fear of retribution. Fear of whatever, or whoever else holds their strings.

He straightened, his expression softening slightly. "You will remain in your common rooms unless accompanied by a professor or prefect. Any further infractions will result in expulsion. Am I understood?"

Both boys nodded, their silence finally broken by their subdued agreement.

“Now,” Spellchecker began, his voice calm but pointed, “there’s another matter we must address. Eliza Trent.” He paused deliberately, watching the subtle reactions the name provoked.

Sage’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, his eyes darting toward Sevrin for the briefest of moments. Sevrin shifted in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair a little too tightly. Both reactions were slight, almost imperceptible, but Spellchecker missed nothing.

“Miss Trent has been missing for quite some time now,” the Headmaster continued, his tone measured. “A concerning disappearance, particularly given the timing of recent events. Tell me, do either of you have any information regarding her whereabouts? Perhaps something you saw or heard during your so-called explorations?”

Sevrin’s mouth opened, then closed again, his expression wavering between confusion and defensiveness. “We… we didn’t see anything. I mean, we heard about her, of course, but—”

Sage cut him off with a sharp glance. “We don’t know anything about Eliza,” he said firmly, his voice steady but lacking its usual confidence.

Spellchecker leaned forward slightly, his steepled fingers resting under his chin. His gaze remained fixed on the boys, unblinking, unyielding. “You seem very sure of that, Mr. Blackthorn. And yet, your reactions tell a different story.”

Sage’s composure faltered for the first time, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “I—what do you mean?”

The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed. “I mean that your demeanor suggests you’re withholding something. A detail, perhaps. A fragment of information you deem unimportant or inconvenient. Let me be clear—this is not the time for half-truths.”

Sevrin looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting nervously. “We don’t know anything,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Spellchecker studied them for a long moment, his mind whirring behind his calm exterior.

Eliza’s claims hold water. Their reactions all but confirm it. They know more than they’re willing to admit, but fear binds their tongues. Fear of what? Retribution? Exposure? Or the forces they’ve entangled themselves with?

Finally, the Headmaster straightened, his tone shifting to one of finality. “Very well. I will take you at your word for now. But understand this—secrets have a way of surfacing at the worst possible times. If there is anything you are keeping from me, you would do well to reconsider.”

Both boys nodded stiffly, relief barely masked behind their tense expressions.

Spellchecker waved a hand toward the door. “You are dismissed. Return to your common rooms and stay there unless summoned. This is not a suggestion.”

Sevrin and Sage rose quickly, neither daring to meet the Headmaster’s gaze as they exited the office. The heavy oak door closed behind them with a soft but resounding thud, leaving Spellchecker alone.

The Headmaster sat back in his chair, his sharp eyes flicking toward the enchanted map on the wall. The fractures in Austramore’s defenses still pulsed faintly, a visual reminder of the danger lurking within the castle’s very walls.

He steepled his fingers again, his expression unreadable.

They know more. That much is certain. But they are not the architects of this chaos. They are pawns, manipulated by forces far older and darker than themselves. And Eliza… her survival must remain hidden for now. If those responsible were to learn of her recovery, they would escalate their plans. I cannot allow that.

Spellchecker’s gaze drifted to the pile of reports on his desk, each one detailing the mounting threats facing Austramore. Basilisk sightings, ancient runes tampered with, the indestructible beast that breached the castle walls—every piece of the puzzle pointed to a grander scheme, one that still eluded him.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of his years pressing heavily on his shoulders.

This is far from over. But the game is shifting, and the next move must be mine.

With that, he reached for his quill, the soft scratch of ink on parchment filling the room as he began drafting his next course of action.

The quiet corridors of Austramore echoed with Sevrin and Sage’s hurried footsteps, their voices hushed as they walked side by side, their minds heavy with the weight of Spellchecker’s interrogation.

“Do you think he knows?” Sevrin asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes darting nervously down the dimly lit hall.

“He suspects,” Sage replied flatly, though his jaw clenched as he spoke. “He wouldn’t have asked about Eliza if he didn’t already have some idea. But he’s careful—he won’t act unless he’s sure.”

Sevrin frowned, his pace slowing slightly. “What if he finds out about the beast? About the runes? We didn’t exactly cover our tracks well.”

Sage shot him a sharp look, his voice low and laced with frustration. “Don’t fall apart on me now, Sevrin. Spellchecker might be wise, but he doesn’t have proof. And as long as he doesn’t, we’re still in the clear.”

Sevrin nodded hesitantly, but his unease lingered. “I just… I didn’t think it would get this far.”

Sage’s expression hardened. “Neither did I.”

As they approached the Yarramundi common room, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them. Both boys stiffened, exchanging a wary glance before turning to see the imposing figure of Seikan Blackthorn striding toward them, his emerald-green eyes sharp and unyielding.

“Sevrin,” Seikan said curtly, his voice cold and clipped. “Continue to the common room.”

Sevrin’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his face as he glanced at Sage, who remained unnervingly still.

“Professor Blackthorn,” Sevrin began, his voice trembling slightly, “I—”

“Go,” Seikan interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

Sevrin swallowed hard and gave Sage a fleeting, uncertain look before turning and hurrying toward the common room, the heavy door creaking shut behind him.

The hallway grew deathly silent as Seikan turned his full attention to Sage. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable.

“Walk with me,” Seikan said, his voice low but commanding.

Sage followed silently, his face carefully neutral, though his mind raced with possibilities. They moved down the corridor, the faint glow of enchanted torches casting long shadows along the stone walls.

When they were far enough from the common room, Seikan stopped abruptly and turned to face his son. His gaze was piercing, cutting through the mask Sage so often wore.

“I know it was you,” Seikan said simply, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of restrained anger. “The runes on that beast’s horns—they’re unmistakably mine. And there are only two others alive who could replicate my work. Salem was accounted for, which leaves you.”

Sage’s composure faltered for a split second, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I—”

“Do not lie to me,” Seikan interrupted sharply, his tone like a blade. “You inscribed those runes, Sage. And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

Sage straightened, his expression hardening as he met his father’s gaze. “Yes, I did. But I didn’t know—”

Seikan’s eyes flashed with fury, and Sage fell silent.

“You didn’t know what?” Seikan demanded, his voice rising slightly. “That your runes would be used to create a weapon? That they would breach the walls of this school and endanger countless lives? Or did you simply not care?”

“I didn’t know it would be used here,” Sage snapped, his frustration boiling over. “I thought—”

“You thought nothing,” Seikan cut in coldly. “You acted recklessly, arrogantly, and now you’ve dragged this family’s name through the mud. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Sage’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But it did,” Seikan said sharply. “And you will take responsibility for it.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, the tension between them almost unbearable. Finally, Seikan exhaled slowly, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge.

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet,” he said, his tone icy. “But know this—if I ever find out that my craft has been used in such a manner again, expulsion will be the least of your concerns.”

Sage’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

“Go to your common room,” Seikan ordered, his voice firm. “And pray you haven’t destroyed what little trust remains between us.”

Without another word, Seikan turned and walked away, his robes billowing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Sage stood there for a moment, his mind a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and frustration. Finally, he turned and made his way back to the common room, his father’s words echoing in his ears like a bitter reminder of the line he had crossed.