Morning dew clung to the windows of Blackmoor like soft lace, as if the school itself had drawn a deep, dreamy breath. Everything had returned to normal—but only on the surface.
Inside, something had shifted.
The students walked with lighter steps. Professors smiled more. Love notes were passed in subtle glances and silent smiles rather than spells or shouting.
Hope twirled a pencil between her fingers as she sat in the common room with London. Her head rested on his shoulder. Neither spoke. They didn't need to. Their closeness was its own language now.
Jessa and Raphael were seated across from them, not arguing for once.
"Do you… wanna maybe go flying after class?" Raphael asked casually, fiddling with the charm on his bracelet.
Jessa blinked, startled—but pleased. "You mean, on your wolf?"
Raphael smirked. "No, on a broomstick. Of course on my wolf. We'll go fast, hold tight."
Jessa blushed. "Sure. But if I fall, I'm turning you into a kitten."
"Fair."
They both grinned like idiots.
Across the room, Celeste peeked over her book at Daemon. He was reading too, of course—probably something ancient and boring. She cleared her throat, but he didn't look up.
Celeste tried again, louder this time. "Daemon?"
He blinked up at her. "Yes?"
She opened her mouth, then forgot what she was going to say. "…Do you like peaches?"
"…What?"
"I—" She sighed. "Never mind."
Daemon tilted his head. "Are you asking me out with fruit metaphors?"
Celeste groaned, burying her face in her hands.
---
The Photo in the Yearbook
Later that afternoon, Hope wandered into the school library, hoping to find a quiet corner to read. She paused near a shelf, fingers brushing against old yearbooks, when something caught her eye.
One of them was glowing faintly.
She pulled it down. The cover was labeled Blackmoor Academy: Staff Edition. A photo shimmered on the first page.
Mr. Shawn.
She blinked. "No way."
The smiling man in the picture wore the same robes, the same gentle smirk. Behind him, in the staff list, his name read: Mr. Elijah Shawn – Headmaster of Empathic Development and Magical Morality.
Hope frowned. "Magical… morality?"
She flipped through the rest of the pages. Everyone else was as expected. Richard's page was… missing.
Not just missing. Erased.
There was no trace of the former headmaster.
A chill crawled up her spine, but she wasn't sure why. It was probably always like this, she told herself. Mr. Shawn had been here for years. Right?
But something inside her twitched.
---
Stephen, Again
Stephen stood outside the Headmaster's office, arms crossed, holding the now-empty envelope Mr. Shawn had left for him.
He knocked.
"Come in."
He entered—and promptly forgot why.
"Oh hey," Stephen said brightly. "I, uh… I was just making sure the window's locked. Wouldn't want any… pigeons breaking in."
He stared at the office.
It was clean.
Too clean.
No sign of the man who had changed them all. No floating hearts. No glitter confetti bombs. Not even one enchanted disco ball.
He turned to leave—then stopped.
There, on the desk, a rose. Fresh. Wild. Not placed in a vase, just laid gently as if left by someone on the run.
Stephen picked it up and sniffed. It smelled like warmth. Like memory.
Then, a voice echoed inside his head.
> "You were always the special one, Stephen…"
He froze.
The memory tugged at him. Like a fish at the end of a line, it wanted to break free. He clenched the rose tightly and whispered to himself, "Don't forget. Don't forget."
---
A Jealous Glance
Back in the main hall, Raphael helped Jessa onto his wolf. Students watched as they soared through the air above the training grounds. Laughter trailed behind them like music.
From a shadowed archway, Violet watched.
She clenched her jaw.
Her eyes narrowed—not at Jessa, but at Raphael. Her hand slowly curled into a fist. But she turned and walked away before anyone noticed.
---
The Message That Stayed
Hope lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. "London?"
He stirred beside her from his makeshift spot on the floor, where he'd insisted on sleeping ever since the prom. "Hmm?"
"Do you remember anything strange… about the prom? Or the week before?"
London was silent a moment.
Then: "I remember you. That's all that matters."
She smiled softly. "Good answer."
---
Stephen's Final Reflection
Stephen sat in the courtyard under the stars, legs pulled to his chest, rose still in hand.
He whispered, "You came here for love, huh? Well… I guess you pulled it off, you old magician."
The stars above shimmered.
Somewhere far away, something—or someone—watched.
And smiled.
---
End of Chapter 59 – "Whispers of the Forgotten"
Next up: Chapter 60 – "The Threads of the
Missing.
A strange ripple through the school reveals a hidden chamber.
A faint voice calls Hope's name from the headmaster's mirror.
Stephen finds a message scribbled in the dust: "Find me where the stars don't move."
Richard is not gone… but he is changed.