The bells of the academy did not toll. Not at this height.
Above the spires, where the sky clung tightly to stone, stood a forgotten tower cloaked in shadow. Ancient magic masked its presence — not just from the eye, but from thought itself. Few knew it existed, and fewer dared approach. And tonight, the silence was broken only by the rhythmic click of boots on marble.
A figure stood before a mirror not made of glass, but of liquid shadow. It pulsed faintly, showing scenes from below — the shattered courtyard, the bloodstained stones, and finally, the motionless body of Raelius being taken away.
"Hmm," the figure muttered, voice smooth, ageless, and wrong. "Raelius was a failure… too impulsive. Weak-minded. He broke too soon."
The mirror's image distorted… then shifted — zooming in on a pale, unconscious girl lying in a sterile white bed under low candlelight. Bruises littered his chest. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. Alive.
