Argolaith stood before the portal gate. Its surface shimmered faintly now, a soft pulse like a heartbeat—constant and unreadable. His fingers traced the edge of the old stone frame, feeling the faint hum of magic laced through it like veins beneath skin.
He opened his notebook and made several notes. The runes around the arch didn't match any in the academy's standard catalogs. Some were even older than the oldest texts he had found buried in the restricted archives. That only made him more curious.
Sitting down cross-legged, he summoned the cube and let it hover beside him. It didn't react to the gate like it did in other magical places. That, too, was strange. Not rejection. Not resonance. Just… neutrality. The gate existed, timeless, patient.
As he stared at the gate, a strange thought crept into his mind—nearly a full year had passed since he first arrived at the academy. So much had changed. His cabin. Elyrion. The cube. The sword. The frogs.
And Kaelred.
