The weeds were overgrown since Vahn's confrontation in the abandoned training ground. The skies over Mystara remained cloaked in darkness, which gives an eerie vibes. Within the solitude of the observatory, Vahn sat, the pendant from Leslie resting in his palm, its glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The Academy of Mystara was known for its soaring spires, ancient archives, and walls pulsing with silent magic—but hidden in its heart was a place far more enigmatic: The Mirror Courtyard.
It wasn't found on any map. Students only spoke of it in hushed voices—half-dismissed as legend, half-feared as cursed. Those who claimed to have seen it never spoke of what they experienced inside.
Vahn Romanoff had never been one to chase rumors.
Until now.
A Door That Shouldn't Exist
It started with the pendant.
Since the night of his dream—the ash field, the figure in white fire, and the blooming stormflower—Vahn had felt something shifting within him. His connection to Source energy, especially lightning, was sharpening. But more than that, the pendant pulled. Not outwardly, like a compass, but inward—toward the academy's core.
It led him to the old arboretum. A forgotten garden tucked behind the alchemical wing, overgrown and left to ruin. There, behind a collapsed archway and roots from a withered source-tree, he found a door.
Not magical.
Not locked.
Just wrong.
Old, heavy oak, with veins of silver curling along its grain in the shape of a spiral—a spiral that resembled the same motif on Leslie's pendant.
When Vahn touched it, the world hummed. Not in sound, but in sensation. Like his bones remembered something his mind had never learned.
The door creaked open.
Beyond it lay The Mirror Courtyard.
A Place Out of Time
It was a garden—but not.
White stone paths curved in impossible angles. Pools of still water reflected skies that didn't exist above. The trees bore crystalline leaves that rustled without wind. And the statues—dozens of them—lined the perimeter. Each one was lifelike, immortalized in expressions of anguish, awe, or terror.
Vahn took a step forward. The air was too still.
And then… he saw himself.
Not in the pools. Not in some magical scrying mirror.
But walking toward him.
His twin.
His reflection.
Every detail—clothing, expression, even the tiny scar beneath his left eye. The doppelgänger halted only a few paces away. They stared at each other in silence, until the other Vahn spoke.
"You don't understand what she gave you," he said. "Leslie didn't die because of what she found. She died because of what she remembered."
"What are you?" Vahn asked quietly.
"I'm you—what you buried. What you'll need to become."
And then, the reflection vanished in a crackle of lightning.
The Echo of Divisions
Vahn emerged from the courtyard before dawn, the silver-veined door fading behind him like mist in sunlight. It had marked him—somehow, he could feel it. His pendant pulsed with soft warmth, and new fragments of memory tickled at the edge of awareness.
But he had no time to reflect. Classes would begin soon, and Mystara was not a place that tolerated distraction.
As he passed the Spellblade arena, the division insignia caught his eye again—red steel entwined with a sword and a glyph of fire. He had always wondered why there were only five divisions at Mystara, when elemental diversity far exceeded them. But now, he was beginning to see the truth:
The Divisions weren't just academic tracks.
They were philosophies.
Factions.
And perhaps… safeguards.
The Five Divisions of Mystara
Each student at the academy aligned with one of the five sanctioned divisions—though unofficial affiliations and secret societies undoubtedly thrived beneath the surface.
Spellblade Division – The most combat-focused. They believed in balance between martial skill and elemental command. Most elite knights and generals came from this lineage. Lira Ventaris was their rising star.
Arcanum Division – Scholars and casters who studied the fabric of Source energy itself. Deep theorists, researchers, ritualists. Their knowledge was coveted and feared in equal measure.
Animyst Division – Tamers, healers, and empaths. They bridged the line between man and beast, wielding influence over spiritual creatures. Their members had begun creating the first soul-bound contracts with awakened beasts.
Chronostella Division – Time-affine and memory-diving specialists. A rare division, and the smallest. Their initiation was shrouded in secrecy, and their members tended to vanish for long periods.
Luminar Vanguard – Guardians of tradition and order, sworn to uphold the codes passed down by the Church of Light. Not just warriors—they were judges, tacticians, and occasionally, executioners.
Each division held unique training methods, philosophies, and—most importantly—access to restricted knowledge. And Vahn now realized that Leslie's pendant might grant him passage to places outside of these sanctioned lanes.
A secret sixth path?
An unsanctioned legacy?
A Shadow Over Mystara
Later that night, Vahn sat in his quarters, scribbling notes from what he remembered in the Mirror Courtyard. Every line he wrote seemed to vibrate with energy, like the pendant itself was guiding him.
A knock echoed from the door.
He tensed.
Only a few people dared interrupt him at this hour. When he opened it, he found a sealed envelope resting on the floor, the paper bearing an unfamiliar crest—a feathered flame wrapped in shadow.
Not the Luminaries.
Not the Spellblades.
Something else.
Inside was a single line:
"You are invited to the Eleventh Seat. The Circle is watching."
Beneath it, a location and a time. Midnight. The old underground coliseum—abandoned since the Beast Tide siege.
As he stared at the message, the pendant around his neck burned hot against his skin.
The storm was no longer waiting.
It was stirring.