Sevrin and Sage walked in silence as the prefect led them down the long, winding corridors of Austramore. The atmosphere was subdued, the usual background chatter of students heading to class strangely absent. Perhaps it was the lingering weight of recent events, or perhaps it was the shift that had come with the lifting of the lockdown. Either way, the halls felt different.

Neither boy spoke. Sage, ever the more composed of the two, kept his expression neutral, his mind still occupied with his father's words from the night before. Sevrin, on the other hand, was brimming with frustration, but he knew better than to let it show. The prefect escorting them wouldn’t hesitate to report any sign of defiance, and right now, they couldn’t afford unnecessary attention.

Their destination was Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class both boys usually relished. But today, as they stepped into the classroom, Sevrin felt something was off. The moment they entered, his sharp green eyes flickered toward Professor Marilla, who stood at the front of the room.

She was waiting, arms crossed, her usual presence as rigid and commanding as ever. Yet… something was different.

Sevrin had always prided himself on his ability to read people. It was a skill that set him apart, a skill that made him dangerous when he chose to be. And right now, something about Marilla’s demeanor wasn’t right.

At first glance, she looked as she always did—tall, confident, her dark robes perfectly in place. But when she moved to close the classroom door behind them, there was something almost… calculated about it. Too deliberate. Too smooth.

Sevrin took his seat beside Sage, his fingers drumming against the desk as he watched her. His eyes narrowed.

Marilla’s posture was rigid as she began the lesson, her voice clipped and precise. She was harsher than usual, quick to snap at students who hesitated with their spellwork, her usual patience absent. Yet—Sevrin noted with keen interest—her tone shifted whenever she addressed Soya Vareen.

It wasn’t the sharp reprimand she gave the others. Instead, it softened ever so slightly, just enough for Sevrin to notice. A warmth that shouldn’t have been there. And that was the moment it clicked.

This wasn’t Marilla.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk as he forced his expression to remain neutral.

Salsiar.

Sevrin didn’t need to confirm it aloud. He had spent enough time around Salsiar to recognize his influence. It was subtle, masterful even, but Sevrin was no fool. Salsiar was here, hidden in plain sight, walking among them in the guise of a trusted professor.

Sevrin stole a glance at Sage, but his friend didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t reacting. That was fine. Sevrin wasn’t about to say anything either.

Salsiar had always been someone Sevrin admired, even feared. He was power incarnate, someone who demanded respect with every word, every movement. If he had taken control of Marilla, there had to be a reason.

Still, that reason didn’t matter to Sevrin. What mattered was knowing when to stay quiet.

The lesson continued, and Sevrin forced himself to participate as normal. He practiced the spells when prompted, answered when called upon, and made sure not to act out of the ordinary. His mind, however, was racing.

Why was Salsiar here? What was he looking for?

And why, above all else, was he so interested in Soya Vareen?

Sevrin knew better than to ask. Whatever was happening, it was far bigger than him. Far bigger than Sage.

And that meant only one thing.

He would watch.

And he would wait.

Sevrin lounged against one of the stone pillars in the courtyard, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping across the crowd of students that had gathered. Sage stood beside him, looking disinterested as always, but Sevrin knew better. Sage was paying attention—he always was.

The so-called "dueling contest" had drawn quite a crowd, and that alone put Sevrin on edge. This wasn’t something Professor Marilla—or rather, Salsiar—would usually encourage. Encouraging reckless displays of skill outside of class? It didn’t add up.

But then Soya Vareen had been called up.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Sevrin straightened slightly, his keen green eyes narrowing as Soya stepped forward. A first-year, facing off against a fifth-year. It was absurd on the surface, but the moment the duel began, Sevrin saw it.

The boy was good. Too good.

Soya lacked the polish of older duelists, but his instincts were sharp—dangerously so. His movements were reactive, unpredictable, like someone who had never been formally trained but had an innate understanding of how to adapt under pressure.

Sevrin’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Salsiar wasn’t just watching. He was testing.

Every move, every spell, every moment of hesitation—Salsiar was studying the boy. And now that Sevrin was seeing it for himself, it was clear why.

Soya wasn’t just talented.

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He was exceptional.

The duel was fast-paced, the fifth-year throwing spell after spell at Soya, but the first-year held his own. Every time it seemed like he would falter, he recovered. Every time he was pushed back, he adjusted. His defenses were improvised, rough around the edges, but they worked.

Sevrin exhaled slowly.

This was why Salsiar had been so oddly gentle with him. Why "Marilla" had softened her tone, treated Soya with uncharacteristic kindness while the other students were met with cold detachment.

Salsiar wanted him.

Not as a student.

As an asset.

Sevrin had seen it before. Powerful people always wanted to mold talent, to shape it into something they could use. And Salsiar, being what he was, would see Soya as a rare opportunity.

Something he could turn into a weapon.

Sevrin’s fingers curled into a fist at his side.

Sage hadn’t seemed to notice, still watching the duel with his usual unreadable expression. That was fine. Sevrin wasn’t about to spell it out for him.

He watched as the fifth-year finally got the upper hand, Soya faltering just enough for the duel to end. The crowd erupted in murmurs, some impressed, some stunned that a first-year had even lasted that long.

Sevrin didn’t react.

His mind was already elsewhere.

Salsiar had set all of this up. This wasn’t just about amusement or training. It was about studying Soya, about figuring out what made him tick.

And now, Sevrin knew exactly where this was heading.

Salsiar wasn’t going to stop at observing.

Soon, he would make his move.

And when he did, Sevrin wasn’t sure if Soya would even realize what was happening until it was too late.

Soya sat at his desk, absentmindedly spinning his quill between his fingers as he stared at the board at the front of the classroom. Professor Wirruna, an older woman with long silver-streaked hair tied back in a loose braid, stood in front of the class with her usual composed air, chalk hovering in the air as she carefully drew a series of intricate symbols.

"Now, who can tell me the fundamental principle that separates runic magic from standard spellcasting?" Her voice was calm, but carried the quiet authority of someone who expected answers.

Several hands went up. Soya, as usual, did not raise his.

"Manaya," Wirruna called.

"The difference is in permanence," Manaya answered confidently. "Regular spells are temporary—charms, transfigurations, hexes—they all fade with time or can be undone. Runic magic, when carved correctly, can last for centuries."

"Good," Wirruna said, giving an approving nod. "But there’s more to it than that. Rune magic doesn’t simply persist—it interacts with its environment in ways conventional magic cannot. A rune is not just a spell written down; it is a language woven into reality itself. And because of that, it requires precise understanding."

She turned back to the board, tapping one of the symbols she had drawn. "Can anyone tell me what this rune represents?"

Soya squinted. The rune was vaguely familiar, but he had no idea what it meant. Before he could even consider guessing, Draven spoke.

"That’s Fehu," Draven said. "It represents wealth and prosperity in traditional runic scripts, but in magical application, it’s often used for energy flow and amplification."

"Excellent," Wirruna said. "This rune is often misunderstood because of its association with wealth. But in magical construction, it is one of the core runes for creating circuits of power. Properly inscribed, Fehu can increase the efficiency of any magical construct by stabilizing its energy flow."

She waved her wand, and another rune appeared beside it. This one was different, its lines jagged and sharp.

"And this one?" she asked.

Soya stared at it, and for some reason, his fingers twitched. He didn’t recognize it exactly, but something about it felt... familiar. Almost like the runes he had seen in his own strange drawings.

Sage, sitting a few rows back, went stiff at the sight of it.

"Thurisaz," Sage finally said. "It represents conflict. Power through hardship. It’s often used in barriers, but it’s also a war rune. It can be dangerous if used carelessly."

"Correct," Wirruna confirmed, and if she noticed Sage’s sudden tenseness, she didn’t comment on it. "Thurisaz is volatile. Many old battle runes were built upon its foundation, but its instability makes it difficult to use in more delicate enchantments. That is why it is often layered rather than used on its own."

She flicked her wand again, and more symbols appeared, forming a larger runic sequence.

"This," she said, "is a simple runic ward designed to deter magical interference. It is an example of how multiple runes must be combined to form a functional whole. A single rune is rarely enough on its own. They must work together, balancing strengths and weaknesses."

Soya frowned slightly, his mind drifting to the runes he had seen before. He thought of the strange symbols carved into the horns of the beast that had broken into the school. Were they using similar principles?

His hand moved to his notebook, and before he even fully processed it, he had started sketching. His ink swirled as he copied Wirruna’s sequence, but before he could stop himself, his mind began altering it—shifting the shapes, modifying the placement.

His fingers tingled.

He blinked down at the page, realizing he had drawn something entirely different. It wasn’t Wirruna’s ward anymore. It was something else. Something that felt old.

He quickly covered the page with his sleeve before anyone noticed.

"Today, you will all be practicing inscription," Wirruna continued. "Each of you will receive a slate. You will carve a basic protection rune and test its stability. This is a delicate process. If the strokes are too uneven, the rune will not activate properly. If they are too forceful, it may crack the slate."

With a flick of her wand, small stone tablets floated down onto each student’s desk.

Soya hesitated.

He had never carved a rune before. He barely understood them. But as he picked up his etching tool, he felt something in the back of his mind—a pull, like something guiding his hand.

As the class set to work, he let the instinct take over.

Soya pressed the tip of the etching tool against the slate, his fingers steady but uncertain. Around him, the classroom was filled with the soft scratching of stone on stone as students carefully traced the protective rune Professor Wirruna had demonstrated.

He glanced at Draven’s slate. His rune was clean, precise, each line perfectly carved. Manaya’s was similarly neat, though slightly deeper in the stone. Soya frowned at his own, feeling an odd pressure settle in his chest.

He knew he could copy the rune exactly, just as he had done with sketches before. But something told him that wasn’t the right way. His fingers twitched, and before he could stop himself, his lines curved just slightly, shifting the pattern. The original form was still there, but altered, as if instinct had taken over his hand.

A quiet hum filled his ears.

The slate in his hands pulsed.

He barely had a moment to register it before the rune glowed faintly and a gust of air rippled outward, knocking his inkwell off the table. It wasn’t violent, but it was enough to draw attention.

Wirruna’s sharp eyes snapped to him.

Soya quickly flattened his hands over the slate, but he knew it was too late. The professor approached, and when she reached his desk, she didn’t scold him—instead, she simply held out a hand.

"Show me," she said.

Soya hesitated but slowly lifted his hands, revealing the altered rune. It was still glowing faintly, the carved edges smooth but deeper than intended.

Wirruna studied it for a long moment.

"This isn’t the rune I instructed," she finally said, her tone unreadable.

Soya swallowed. "I— I just— I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to copy it."

Wirruna traced a finger over the lines. The glow flickered under her touch.

"This sequence is older than the standard protection rune," she murmured, mostly to herself. "A deviation, but not incorrect. It functions. Unexpected, but functional."

Soya had no idea what that meant.

Wirruna finally looked up at him. "Did you read about this variation somewhere?"

"No," Soya admitted. "It just… came to me."

Wirruna’s expression remained neutral, but something behind her eyes sharpened.

"Continue practicing," she said after a moment, before moving on to check the other students’ work.

Soya exhaled, his fingers still tingling against the stone. He didn’t know what he had just done. But the way Wirruna had looked at him told him that whatever it was, it wasn’t normal.