The halls of the Academy hummed with a familiar rhythm—a deceptive calm stitched together by routine after weeks of upheaval. Scrolls rustled in the crooks of students' arms, soft laughter spilled from enchanted classrooms, and the comforting scent of roasted herbs wafted from the alchemy wing. From the outside, life appeared to have settled.
But Zyren Elraven felt none of the stillness others seemed to take comfort in.
He sat alone beneath a frost-edged window in the central study hall, moonlight pooling silver across his scattered parchment. Scrolls lay untouched at his elbow, ink drying on half-finished notes. The world moved around him, but he remained still—adrift.
His thoughts churned: Selene's haunted confession about the Order. Kael's grin, sharp and merciless, just before the Wardens disappeared. The surge of raw energy when his moonstone pendant cracked open reality, flooding the chamber with impossible light.
It had all happened so quickly. And yet… it felt like years had passed.
His fingers brushed the moonstone pendant at his chest—cold, quiet now. The magic within it had gone dormant since the last incident, but he could feel something shifting beneath the surface, like the tide before a storm.
"Still brooding?"
Corwin's voice broke the silence like a burst of sunlight through clouded glass. He dropped into the seat beside Zyren with a theatrical sigh, placing a steaming mug between them.
"I brought tea," Corwin said, his grin cocky. "Don't say I never do anything noble."
Zyren managed a faint smile. "It's been a long week."
Corwin gave a slow nod. "Yeah. For all of us. The world's been knocked off its hinge… but we're still here. Still breathing. Still sarcastic."
Zyren chuckled quietly. It wasn't much, but it was something. That was when Alaric and Mira appeared in the archway.
Mira walked with her arms crossed, but there was a glow behind her eyes—a tension that spoke not of danger, but something personal. Alaric lingered beside her, his usual stern demeanor softened into something almost nervous.
Alaric cleared his throat. "We've got an announcement."
Mira stepped forward, cheeks pink. "We're engaged."
Corwin sputtered, choked on his tea, and wheezed. "You're WHAT?!"
Zyren blinked in disbelief. "Engaged? As in rings and vows and shared—gods forbid—bathrooms?"
Alaric scowled. "Don't make it weird."
"It's already weird," Corwin gasped, coughing. "You two were literally threatening to duel over footwork form two days ago!"
"We still do," Mira said with a shrug. "We just kiss after now."
"Terrifying," Zyren said. "And also… kind of sweet."
"Oh, it is," Alaric said, laughing—a rare and genuine sound.
"That night in the tunnels," he added, glancing at Mira, "it reminded us of who we used to be. We've known each other since childhood. We just… forgot how to trust."
Mira nodded slowly. "He stood by me, even when I doubted him. Even when I didn't deserve it. There's history there. Complicated. But real."
Zyren looked between them and felt the weight of it—the quiet, honest courage it took to choose love amidst chaos. He nodded. "Congratulations. Truly."
Alaric's eyes softened. "Thanks. We know things aren't normal. But we're holding on to what matters."
"Then hold it tightly," Zyren said, his voice quieter now. "Before the world changes again."
Corwin stood and raised a hand. "As best man—by virtue of being older—I claim the right to plan the wedding. Theme: 'Duels and Devotion.' I'm thinking matching enchanted tuxedos and a floating cake."
"Floating cake?" Mira laughed.
"Trust me," Corwin declared. "Nothing says romance like a gravity-defying pastry."
Laughter bubbled up from the group, light and genuine. For a moment, it felt like the world hadn't cracked open.
---
Later that evening, after the corridors had emptied and the laughter faded, Zyren wandered the frost-dusted Academy gardens. Illusion lights glowed faintly above flowerbeds, making the petals shimmer in false moonlight.
He found Lysia seated alone on a stone bench, her back straight, arms crossed, posture rigid.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said without turning.
He approached, careful, quiet.
"You've been avoiding me," Lysia said, glancing over her shoulder.
"I've been avoiding everyone," Zyren murmured.
She faced him, eyes unreadable. "That's not an excuse."
Zyren exhaled and dropped onto the bench beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. "I saw her again. In the dream. The silver-haired girl. She's older now. Seventeen maybe. Same eyes. She warned me again."
Lysia looked away, jaw tight.
"Do you… like her?" she asked after a long silence.
"What? No—I mean—I don't even know her." He ran a hand through his hair. "But she's part of this. Of what's coming."
The silence that followed felt colder than the frost on the petals. When Lysia finally spoke, her voice was smaller, more fragile.
"You talk about her like she's destiny. And I'm just the girl who knows your favorite tea."
Zyren turned toward her, eyes wide. "Lysia… you're important to me. You always have been."
"But not the way I want," she whispered.
He reached for her hand, but she stood, stepping back.
"Find her," she said. "But don't forget who's stood beside you all this time."
She walked away, the soft crunch of her boots on frost echoing louder than any goodbye.
---
The next morning arrived with absurd chaos.
Alchemy exploded. Again.
Professor Thallan, in a bout of early-morning enthusiasm, mismeasured etherroot and triggered a chain reaction that created a luminous green cloud. Half the class emerged coughing and unable to remember their middle names. Zyren and Alaric staggered out with singed robes.
Corwin held up a flask. "I captured some! Might bottle it as perfume. 'Essence of Ego.'"
In Spellcraft, Corwin accidentally enchanted Professor Iveline's cloak to declaim poetry every time she waved her hand. "Welcome to iCloak: Now with lyrical flair!"
Alaric muttered, "Is this an education or experimental theater?"
Even Combat Training was a mess.
Mira and Alaric were paired for sparring, which everyone silently agreed was a dangerous idea.
"Engaged couples shouldn't fight in front of children," Zyren whispered.
"I'm older than you," Alaric snapped.
"In wisdom? Hardly."
Mira smirked, feinting left and elbowing Alaric in the ribs. "That's for snoring."
"And this is for not complaining about it!" he replied, sweeping her leg. She fell, only to pull him down with her.
Professor Brynn walked away muttering about "romantic liabilities".
In Enchantment Theory, Lysia sat beside Zyren but said little. Her posture was perfect, her notes immaculate. But the distance between them felt like a chasm.
"I miss how we used to laugh in class," he said quietly.
Lysia didn't look up. "Then maybe stop chasing ghosts," she replied. "And look at who's right here."
---
That afternoon, Zyren, Alaric, and Corwin lounged in the courtyard between classes, the sun dipping low and shadows lengthening.
"What's next?" Alaric asked, reclining against a statue of a frowning wizard.
"Magical Ethics," Zyren said. "Where we debate whether time travel counts as cheating on your homework."
Corwin unfurled a scroll. "Or whether charm spells used during a date invalidate consent laws."
"Don't let Professor Lynvale hear that," Alaric groaned. "Last time someone asked something like that, she assigned a month-long essay on 'magical moral decay.'"
The conversation wandered and wound, as it always did, full of wit and weariness. But underneath it all, Zyren felt it again—that undercurrent. A pulse. As if something waited just beneath the surface.
---
Later that week, Zyren and Alaric met with Professor Raleen under the pretense of rune analysis. Their true goal, though unspoken, was to uncover any thread of the Ninefold Concord.
Professor Raleen, ever unreadable, offered no clear answers.
"The weave of reality is fraying," she said as she flipped through a brittle tome. "Not everywhere. Just where too many truths compete to be the only one."
Alaric tilted his head. "Cryptic much?"
Raleen smiled faintly. "If it were simple, it would already be over."
---
That night, Zyren could not sleep. The moonstone pendant pulsed faintly at his chest, like a second heartbeat.
He rose, dressed, and followed its silent summons through the quiet Academy corridors. His path was instinctive, the pull undeniable. Past lecture halls and shuttered windows. Past portraits that seemed to watch.
The Sanctum library doors creaked open at his touch. Inside, shadows shifted unnaturally.
The restricted wing greeted him like an old secret. Shelves towered. Dust hung in still air. In the far corner, a single candle floated ahead, bobbing like a lure. He followed.
Past shelves marked Conjurations, Memory Wards, Temporal Fractures.
One book jutted from the shelf, as though calling to him.
He pulled it.
A parchment fluttered to the ground, like a whisper too light for the air.
An eye within a mirror.
Zyren's breath caught.
He unfolded the note, his fingers trembling.
"They know. The eye watches. The mirror remembers. Run."
Chill crawled up his spine.
He turned.
The hallway was empty.
But in the mirror above the stairwell, his reflection smiled.
Zyren wasn't.
The reflection raised its hand.
And behind the glass, something stirred. Something dark. Something hungry.
Then, the reflection's eyes flashed silver.
And the moonstone burned.
---
**End of Chapter Fourteen**