Sylas had always suspected that "mandatory lecture on forbidden magic" translated to "please come listen to an old woman threaten you for two hours."
He was not wrong.
The Headmaster's lecture hall looked like a cross between a cathedral and a war courtroom. Grand columns, flickering braziers, and ominous red drapes set the mood for what could only be described as *aesthetic dread*. Students filled the pews with hushed murmurs, and above them, the stained-glass ceiling shimmered with depictions of fallen angels, ancient monsters, and one guy who looked suspiciously like he had a hangover mid-ritual.
Sylas slumped into a seat near the back, sandwiched between two freshmen whispering about his "demonic awakening" during the duel with Helena.
He made a mental note to start charging royalties.
The Headmistress entered like a storm—robe billowing, boots thudding, eyes like someone who had memorized the Geneva Convention just to break it creatively.
Headmistress Caldrina Merovault.
Also known as: *The Reason Students Don't Fake Sick*.
She didn't speak right away. Just stared.
Several students shrank visibly under her gaze.
Sylas tried to match the stare. It felt like getting mentally swatted with a rolled-up newspaper
Finally, Merovault began.
"Magic," she said, voice like crushed stone, "is power borrowed. And forbidden magic is power stolen."
A hush settled. Someone actually gulped.
She continued pacing slowly. "There are things older than spells. Older than gods. And some of you—" her gaze paused briefly on Sylas "—think it's clever to flirt with the boundaries."
Sylas straightened. Was that a callout? He hadn't even *technically* done anything. Yet.
Merovault raised a hand, and the lights dimmed.
A large mirror behind her flickered to life, revealing a swirling vision—black forests, runes bleeding red light, a man screaming as his body unraveled into birds.
Actual birds.
"Forbidden magic is not dark because it is evil," Merovault intoned. "It is dark because it does not ask."
The mirror shifted again—to a young girl summoning something vast and unblinking from a crack in the sky. Then static.
Sylas blinked. "Okay. That one was actually cool."
\[System Notification:
Side Quest Available: *Ask zero questions during this lecture and leave with your soul intact.*
Reward: 20 credits and 1 night of uninterrupted sleep.]
Sylas clicked \[ACCEPT] instantly
Merovault's voice dropped lower.
"There is a reason we lock away certain books. Why some spells require permission from the Triumvirate of Oversight and three signatures in blood."
"Whose blood?" someone whispered.
Merovault turned. "Yes."
Silence.
She let it sit before adding, "Any of you considering forbidden paths… remember: the price is never paid all at once. It is *collected*—over time."
Then she smiled.
Which somehow felt worse than when she'd been angry.
Sylas thought, *Note to self: Never take out a magical loan.*
---
After the lecture ended, the students scattered like spooked cats. Sylas stayed seated for a few minutes longer, mostly because he couldn't feel his legs.
Then someone cleared their throat behind him.
Vivienne.
Of course.
"Enjoy the show?" she asked, arms folded.
"You mean the trauma slideshow? Five stars. Would scream again."
Her eyes narrowed. "He mentioned *you*."
"Briefly," Sylas said innocently. "Unless you count the *mental hexing* she did with her eyes. That felt personal."
"You keep drawing attention to yourself."
"Hey, I was just trying to *not die* yesterday."
Vivienne stepped closer. "Whatever game you're playing, stop. You're not ready."
Sylas raised a brow. "Funny. That's what people say right before a main character proves them wrong."
She did not look amused.
Before she could respond, a messenger crow dropped from above and landed neatly on Sylas's shoulder. Its beak opened.
"*Sylas Vermund,*" it croaked. "You are summoned by the Headmistress. Immediately."
Sylas stared.
The crow coughed. "Also—she knows you faked being possessed. Says it was creative. But *deeply irresponsible.*
Vivienne arched a brow.
Sylas stood slowly. "Well. This feels like a trap."
"Are you going to run?"
"Of course not," he said, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "I'm going to walk into that office with the confidence of someone too dumb to be scared."
Vivienne sighed. "Just try not to burn down the academy."
"No promises."---
As Sylas approached the Headmistress's tower, a new system window blinked open.
\[WARNING: Entering a high-threat narrative zone.]
\[Story Divergence Possible.]
\[Optional Objective: Survive with dignity intact.]
Sylas sighed. "There goes *that* reward."
He pushed open the door.