Professor Tanami Wirruna strode through the dimly lit corridors of Austramore, her sharp eyes scanning the flickering torchlight ahead. She was not one to seek out the assistance of others lightly, let alone Seikan Blackthorn. The man was brilliant, undeniably, but his arrogance and cold demeanor had always put her off. Still, there were some things that even she had to admit required his particular expertise.

And what she had seen in her class today was impossible.

She held the rune tightly in her grip, her fingers curling around its edges as if she feared it might disappear. The rune that Soya Vareen had created was not a modern interpretation, nor was it a crude approximation. It was ancient—far older than anything taught at Austramore. Even older than the runic systems used by the most accomplished scholars.

It should not exist.

Yet, there it was, drawn by a Muggle-born first-year student who, by all accounts, should have no knowledge of runes beyond the elementary scripts she had introduced in her lessons.

The heavy oak door to Seikan’s office loomed ahead, its edges lined with faintly glowing runes that only someone trained in the craft would notice. Wirruna exhaled sharply through her nose. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed his input.

Lifting her hand, she rapped twice on the door.

There was a pause, then a low voice from within. “Enter.”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was as cluttered as ever—shelves overflowing with ancient tomes, loose parchment covered in diagrams, and vials of dark, swirling liquids that she had long since decided she would rather not ask about. Seikan himself sat behind his desk, his long fingers tapping idly against the wood, his emerald-green eyes meeting hers with mild curiosity.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Wirruna?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair.

Wirruna stepped forward, placing the rune on his desk without preamble. “This was drawn by a student in my class today. I need your thoughts.”

Seikan raised an eyebrow but pulled the rune closer, his gaze flicking over the inked lines. The moment he registered what he was looking at, his casual demeanor shifted. His fingers stopped tapping. His eyes sharpened, and for a brief second, genuine surprise flashed across his face.

That, in itself, was telling.

Seikan was not easily surprised.

He straightened in his chair, lifting the rune to examine it more closely. “This… is not a modern rune,” he murmured. “This is… I would have assumed this was a forgery, but the structure—” He stopped, exhaling slowly. “This is ancient. A true ancient rune.”

Wirruna folded her arms. “Yes. And it was drawn by a first-year.”

Seikan’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, sharp and unreadable. “Who?”

She hesitated, then answered, “Soya Vareen.”

A beat of silence passed.

Seikan leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Vareen. The Muggle-born.”

“Yes.”

He stared at the rune again, his expression unreadable, but Wirruna could see the gears turning in his mind. Seikan Blackthorn was one of the foremost experts in runic magic. He had studied every recorded system, had even developed his own variation when the old methods proved inadequate. And yet, here was something that defied all of it. Something older. Something real.

“This is impossible,” Seikan murmured, but there was something else in his tone—something almost resembling intrigue.

Wirruna sighed, shaking her head. “And yet, here it is.”

Seikan’s fingers traced the edge of the rune. “Do you think he understands what he’s done?”

“No.” Wirruna’s answer was immediate. “He didn’t even recognize it as anything special. He was simply… experimenting.”

Seikan scoffed. “Experimenting. With an ancient rune that predates recorded magical history. Of course.”

Wirruna narrowed her eyes. “I came to you because I need your expertise. Not your sarcasm.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “And what do you expect me to do with this information, Wirruna? Announce to the entire school that we have a Muggle-born child casually recreating magic that has been lost for centuries?”

“I expect you to help me figure out what this means,” she countered. “And what to do about it.”

Seikan was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled, running his long fingers over the rune gently before placing it aside. “I will need to observe him,” he said. “If he can create one rune, he may be capable of more.”

Wirruna nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Seikan glanced at the rune again, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he murmured, “What are you, Soya Vareen?”

Neither of them had the answer.

Not yet.

But they would find out.

Soya sat cross-legged on one of the plush chairs in the Thylacea common room, his sketchbook open on his lap. Inkwell, his tiny calico kitten, was curled up beside him, occasionally swiping at his quill when it moved too close. The fireplace crackled softly, filling the space with a warm glow, though the conversations around him were anything but calm.

Davonte sat nearby, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, idly flicking his wand to make a quill hover just above the table. “So,” he mused, “classes are back, but the lockdown only just lifted. Doesn’t that seem a little... rushed?”

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Draven, who had been jotting something down in a small leather-bound notebook, barely looked up. “The staff wouldn’t have reinstated classes if they weren’t confident in the castle’s defenses.” He paused, then added dryly, “Or they simply don’t want students sitting around with too much free time to think about what’s really happening.”

Davonte snorted. “That sounds more likely.”

Soya didn’t contribute much to the conversation, too busy absently shading the edges of his latest drawing—a rough sketch of one of the strange runes he’d been experimenting with in class. He wasn’t even sure why he was drawing it again, but something about the lines felt... familiar. Almost natural.

Before the conversation could continue, the door to the common room creaked open, and a prefect stepped inside. Their gaze immediately landed on Soya.

“Vareen,” they called, crossing the room toward him. “Professor Blackthorn wants to see you. Now.”

Soya’s hand froze mid-stroke. The common room quieted slightly, a few students casting curious glances in his direction.

Davonte blinked. “Uh, why?”

The prefect shrugged. “Didn’t say. Just that he needs to speak with him.”

Draven finally looked up from his notes, his gray eyes studying Soya carefully. “You should go.”

Soya hesitated. Seikan Blackthorn was a name that carried weight at Austramore. The professor was notorious for his cold demeanor and terrifying intellect, and he had never spoken to Soya beyond the occasional glance in the halls.

Still, refusing wasn’t an option.

Soya closed his sketchbook, slipping it into his bag before carefully scooping up Inkwell and placing the kitten in Davonte’s lap. “Watch her for me?”

Davonte nodded, though he looked uneasy. “Don’t get cursed or anything.”

Soya sighed, getting to his feet. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The prefect turned, leading the way out of the common room, leaving the lingering whispers of curiosity behind them.

Soya followed the prefect through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps nearly silent against the stone floors. His mind raced with possibilities. He had barely interacted with Professor Blackthorn, let alone done anything that should warrant a private meeting.

When they reached the office door, the prefect gave a sharp knock before stepping aside.

“Enter,” came a cool voice from within.

The prefect gave Soya a brief nod before turning and walking away, leaving him standing alone. He swallowed, then reached for the handle and pushed the heavy wooden door open.

The room was dimly lit by enchanted blue lanterns, their soft glow casting shadows along the walls lined with tomes, scrolls, and stacks of parchment. The air carried the scent of ink, aged paper, and something faintly metallic. A large, rune-etched desk dominated the space, and behind it sat Seikan Blackthorn, his piercing emerald eyes already fixed on Soya.

Soya felt the weight of that gaze immediately. He swallowed hard as their eyes locked. The man was intimidating. His long black cloak pooled around his chair, the silver embroidery on the edges catching the light. His fingers, ink-stained from years of working with runes, tapped lightly against the desk.

Soya stood in the doorway, hesitant.

“Close the door,” Seikan instructed, his voice level but carrying a sharp edge.

Soya obeyed, the door shutting with a quiet click.

For a moment, the silence stretched.

Then Seikan reached into a drawer and placed something on the desk.

The stone tablet.

Soya’s stomach twisted.

“This,” Seikan said, his fingers tracing the etched rune, “was made by you?”

Soya shifted uneasily. “Y-Yeah… in class.”

Seikan lifted the tablet slightly, inspecting it with an almost clinical expression. “Professor Wirruna brought it to me. She seems to think it is of significant importance.” His sharp gaze returned to Soya. “Do you know why?”

Soya hesitated, not sure what answer Blackthorn was expecting. “She said it was… different. That it didn’t match the standard runic systems.”

Seikan leaned back in his chair, studying Soya with an unreadable expression. “That would be an understatement.” He set the tablet down with a measured motion. “This rune is not just different. It is ancient. Older than the runic systems currently in use—older than even the scripts I have spent decades reconstructing.”

Soya’s mouth went dry. He barely understood the runes they were taught in class. “I… didn’t think it was anything special. It just—” He hesitated, then admitted, “It just felt right.”

Seikan’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then he steepled his fingers, his voice calm but firm. “You are a Muggle-born.”

Soya tensed. He had heard that phrase spoken with many different tones since arriving at Austramore. Some dismissive, some curious, and some outright contemptuous. From Seikan, it was purely factual.

“Yes, sir,” Soya replied cautiously.

Seikan studied him. “And yet you were able to create a rune that predates modern magical knowledge. Something no Muggle-born should have any way of knowing.”

Soya felt a chill run down his spine. He had no explanation for it. “I… don’t know how I did it,” he admitted.

Seikan reached out and pressed a fingertip to the rune, and for a brief moment, the stone pulsed faintly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in his gaze now—something calculating.

“Curious,” he murmured.

Soya’s hands clenched at his sides. “Am I… in trouble?”

Seikan’s eyes flicked up to him, sharp and assessing. “No.” He leaned forward slightly. “But you are an anomaly, Soya Vareen. And anomalies do not go unnoticed.”

Soya swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of that.

Seikan was silent for a moment, then finally spoke again. “You will continue attending runes class. You will continue practicing. However, from this point forward, you will inform me if anything like this happens again.” His voice left no room for argument. “No one else. Understood?”

Soya nodded hesitantly. “Yes, sir.”

Seikan leaned back once more. “Good. You may go.”

Soya turned toward the door, eager to leave the unsettling conversation behind.

Just as he reached for the handle, Seikan’s voice stopped him.

“One last thing, Vareen.”

Soya turned back, tense.

Seikan’s emerald gaze locked onto him, unreadable.

“Be careful who you trust.”

Soya walked briskly through the corridors, his mind still tangled in the conversation he had just left. Seikan Blackthorn’s words echoed in his head. An anomaly. Be careful who you trust.

He wasn’t sure which part unsettled him more.

By the time he reached the Thylacea common room, the warm glow of the fire and the familiar sound of students talking should have been a comfort. Instead, it all felt distant, like he was walking through a world that wasn’t quite real.

The moment he stepped inside, Davonte was on him.

“There you are! What the hell did Blackthorn want?” Davonte demanded, arms crossed, his dark eyes full of concern. Draven stood slightly behind him, watching with his usual calm but attentive expression.

Soya hesitated. He had no idea how to explain it—how could he, when he didn’t understand it himself? “He just… wanted to talk about my runes from class.”

Davonte narrowed his eyes. “What, like a ‘wow, good job, kid’ talk? Because you look like you saw a ghost.”

Soya forced a small, tired smile. “It was fine. Just… unexpected.”

Draven tilted his head slightly, studying Soya. “He wouldn’t have called you in for something as simple as a class assignment,” he said. “Did he give you instructions?”

Soya hesitated. He had promised Seikan he wouldn’t tell anyone. “Sort of. He said to keep practicing.”

Davonte rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s… vague.”

Soya shrugged, trying to shake off the conversation. “Look, I’m just tired. I think I’m gonna head to my room.”

Davonte sighed but didn’t push. “Fine, but don’t think you’re getting out of explaining this forever.”

Soya gave a small nod before slipping past them and heading up the dormitory stairs.

As soon as he stepped into his room, he let out a long breath.

Inkwell, his tiny kitten, was curled up on his bed, but at the sound of Soya’s footsteps, she lifted her head and let out a soft mew.

“Hey, girl,” Soya murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running a hand through his hair. He felt exhausted, but at the same time, there was a strange, restless energy buzzing beneath his skin.

He didn’t even think about it—his hands just moved.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his notebook, flipping to an empty page. But as soon as his quill touched the paper, he hesitated.

Not words.

He wasn’t writing words.

Instead, his quill dragged across the parchment in smooth, instinctual strokes, forming intricate sequences of runes. They poured out of him like water, the ink flowing in patterns that felt… right. Like they had always been there, waiting for him to bring them to life.

He filled one page. Then another. Then another.

Minutes passed, then an hour. His fingers cramped, but he barely noticed.

By the time he finally stopped, he had covered dozens of pages in complex runic sequences, some small and precise, others sprawling and chaotic. His head throbbed, his vision swimming slightly from the sheer intensity of it.

Inkwell padded up to his lap and nudged his hand with her nose, as if sensing his exhaustion.

Soya blinked down at the pages. He had no idea what he had just written.

But deep in his gut, he knew one thing for sure.

This wasn’t normal.