Sylas had a bad feeling.
And not the usual "someone's going to throw a fireball at me" kind. This one settled in his chest like wet cloth—heavy, damp, and just unpleasant.
It started when Professor Veran called off his usual incantation class and dragged the whole cohort into the underground archives. Which sounded fancy, but really just meant dusty stone stairs, stale air, and the occasional cobweb sacrifice.
"Why are we here again?" Sylas whispered to Felix, the quiet genius who had somehow become his unofficial guide to not dying in Aetherhold.
"Headmaster's orders," Felix replied, eyes scanning the dim hallway like it owed him money. "There's been a discovery."
"Let me guess," Sylas muttered. "Someone found a cursed toilet seat from the Forgotten Era and now we're all gonna be haunted."
Felix didn't even crack a smile.
Okay. So it wasn't not serious.
They reached the bottom of the archives—an enormous chamber lined with vaults and locked display cases. The air smelled of parchment and magic, and the hairs on Sylas's arms prickled.
"This," Professor Veran announced, gesturing toward a sealed case at the center, "is a relic recently uncovered beneath the academy during an excavation. It predates Aetherhold itself."
A low murmur spread through the students. Even Sylas felt a flicker of curiosity. Ancient things usually meant dangerous things. And dangerous things usually meant plot devices. The kind that killed background characters for fun.
He took a step back, just in case.
"Historians are calling it The Whispering Eye," Veran said.
Sylas blinked. "I'm sorry, the what?"
Felix answered before he could spiral. "It's an old title for an object believed to hold fragments of lost knowledge. They say it can see through time."
"That's not ominous at all," Sylas deadpanned.
Veran went on, explaining its magical frequency, residual energy readings, and why no one had been able to safely open the case yet.
And yet, for some reason, Sylas could feel the damn thing watching him.
Literally.
He glanced sideways. The relic sat inside its crystalline cube like a lump of obsidian, but faint lines of silver ran across its surface, forming eye-like patterns.
One of them pulsed. Slowly.
Sylas stared. "Nope. I'm out."
He took a careful half-step behind Felix.
"You okay?" Felix asked without looking back.
"Define 'okay,'" Sylas hissed. "Because I think that thing just winked at me."
Felix finally turned, frowned at the cube, then at Sylas. "It's inert. Probably reacting to the ambient mana."
Sylas was about to argue when a wave of nausea washed over him. His vision doubled for a split second, and the faint echo of a voice brushed against his thoughts.
"You've touched the thread of fate. You will unspool it or be strangled by it."
He clutched his head, blinking fast. "Did anyone else hear that?"
No response. Everyone was staring at the cube.
Correction: staring at him.
Because the cube had started glowing the second he stepped forward.
Professor Veran's voice turned sharp. "Step back, Sylas."
"Gladly!" he snapped and stumbled behind Felix again.
But the glow didn't stop.
Instead, the eye-shaped lines started shifting, realigning like puzzle pieces.
Veran raised a warding hand. "Everyone out. Now."
"But—" someone protested.
"Now!"
Students began to file out in a murmur of excitement and fear. Sylas didn't wait for further invitation.
As he climbed the stairs, heart thumping, he risked one glance back.
The cube was still glowing.
And one of the eye-symbols turned exactly to face him—before going dark.