Professors at Aetherhold weren't just teachers. They were magical experts, academic sharks, and—in Sylas's unfortunate case—bloodhounds with too much intuition.
Professor Elowen Caelum was one of the worst.
She sat across from him, her silver hair pinned in an elegant twist, a quill resting between her fingers like a poised dagger. Her expression? Calm. Her eyes? Ice-cold and currently dissecting his soul.
"So," she said, voice smooth but deadly, "would you care to explain the sudden shift in your spellcasting patterns, Mister Vermund?"
Sylas gave her his best smile. The one that said please don't vivisect me.
"Personal growth?"
Not even a twitch of amusement.
Tough crowd.
"Some people process trauma through art," he continued. "I process mine through... pyromancy?"
"You're allergic to fire mana," she replied dryly.
Sylas blinked. "I got better?"
She didn't laugh. Instead, she stood and circled the desk like a predator testing the cage.
"I've taught for over twenty years. I know when a student has a breakthrough… and when they're no longer themselves."
Oh. Oh no.
That was dangerously on point
"What exactly are you implying, Professor?"
"That someone has replaced the original Sylas Vermund."
He let out a low whistle. "Bit of a leap, isn't it?"
Her gaze narrowed. "Then prove me wrong."
"How?"
"There are spells—mind probes, deep-memory dives, identification rituals. Not exactly ethical, but legal under suspicion."
Sylas raised his hands. "Okay, okay. No need to magically waterboard me. I'll talk."
He leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice just enough.
"The truth is... I realized the old me was pathetic. Arrogant, lazy, alone. So I decided to be different. Better. And yeah, I learned a few things along the way—people change."
Elowen stared for a long moment.
"Pitiful," she finally said. "But not the dumbest excuse I've heard."
Progress?
"But I'll be watching you, Mister Vermund. Closer than before. And the moment you slip, I'll have you on the interrogation bench myself."
Progress revoked.
Sylas stumbled out of her office, heart pounding.
"She definitely suspects something," he muttered.
And that was a problem.
Because Elowen Caelum wasn't just any professor. She was sharp, unrelenting, and annoyingly perceptive.
He'd dodged a spell bolt—but for how long?
"Note to self," Sylas whispered, dragging a hand down his face. "Avoid Caelum's classes. Forever."