The air inside the observation chamber was heavy — too heavy for a room so small.
Mana-sealing runes etched across the walls hummed faintly, their pale blue light casting long shadows across the stone. The silence pressed down like a weight, every heartbeat echoing too loud in Rivan's ears.
He sat on the narrow cot, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his trembling hands. The faint golden hue that had flared before was gone… but not entirely. If he focused — if he really listened — he could still feel it. That pulse.
Slow. Deliberate.
Not his own.
He exhaled shakily.
His thoughts were a tangle of fear and anger, threads knotted tight. The Headmistress's words still rang in his head.
If you lose control again… no one will notice if you disappear by morning.
He tried to push them away, but then—
Council.
The word crawled through his mind again, bitter and sharp. Every time it did, something inside him reacted. His veins burned faintly, golden light flickering beneath his skin like hidden lightning. It wasn't pain — not exactly — more like his body was rejecting something invisible.
He pressed a hand to his chest, gritting his teeth.
"Why… does that word feel so wrong?"
A whisper stirred at the edge of his thoughts — not a voice, but a memory half-formed.
The scent of smoke.
The clash of steel.
A name spoken in hatred — Council.
And blood. So much blood.
Rivan's eyes snapped open, breath uneven. The vision vanished before he could reach it, leaving only emptiness — and that same coiling hostility he didn't understand.
The runes on the walls flickered once, reacting faintly to his unstable mana. He forced himself to breathe slower, dragging the warmth back into stillness.
He didn't know how much time passed before the door opened with a quiet click.
Professor Alden entered, the soft glow of his wand illuminating his tired face. His robes were slightly disheveled — he hadn't slept, that much was clear.
"Still conscious. Good," Alden said, though his tone lacked any trace of humor. He looked at Rivan, then the runes, as if checking that the room hadn't been burned down yet. "You're lucky the Headmistress intervened. If that flare had lasted longer, the Spire could've fractured."
Rivan didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the floor.
Alden sighed, leaning against the wall. "You have any idea what that means? The Eastern Spire hasn't reacted in a century. And it responded to you."
Rivan swallowed hard. "I… didn't do it on purpose."
"I know." Alden rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's the problem."
"Everyone keeps saying that's the problem. I don't even know what's happening, and this—this…"
His words broke apart. He couldn't finish.
A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Rivan asked the question that had been clawing at his thoughts since the moment the Headmistress spoke.
"What is the Council?"
Alden's eyes flickered. For a second, something like unease crossed his face.
"They're… above the Academy. Above even the Tower itself," he said slowly. "Scholars, enforcers, judges — depending on who you ask. When the Council moves, it's never without reason."
"Then why—" Rivan hesitated. "Why are they coming here?"
Alden's gaze sharpened. "Who knows? We can't predict their movements."
Rivan nodded weakly. "Is this… going to cause trouble for me? I mean, a Council member coming here personally?"
The professor studied him carefully but didn't speak for a while.
Finally, he said,
"Then you'd better learn to control it — whatever it is. The Council doesn't forgive chaos. Especially not from someone they don't understand… or can't control."
He turned toward the door but paused. "They've already arrived. The Headmistress is preparing the main chamber. When they call for you… don't say more than you have to."
Rivan's pulse quickened. "They're here?"
Alden didn't answer — just gave a grim nod and left, the door closing behind him with a muted thud.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes.
It was hard to tell inside that room, where even time seemed to hold its breath.
He tried to rest, but his mind refused to still. Every time he closed his eyes, flashes returned — the battlefield, the twin moons, the golden light tearing through darkness. And always… that same voice echoing through it.
Council.
Purge them all.
The hostility that rose in his chest wasn't just emotion — it was instinct. Ancient. Primal. It didn't belong to the boy sitting in that room. It belonged to something older.
Something watching from behind his heartbeat.
He jolted upright as the runes outside the chamber shifted colors — from blue to deep violet.
Someone powerful had entered the building.
The guards outside murmured, their footsteps sharp and synchronized. Through the small slit in the door, he caught a glimpse of shadows moving — long, graceful, cloaked in symbols that shimmered like constellations.
A voice cut through the corridor, low and commanding.
"Where is the Headmistress?"
"She's waiting in the grand hall," one warden replied. "The student is inside, under suppression."
Rivan's heart skipped. That voice — calm, cold, drenched in authority. Just hearing it made the mana in his veins recoil, his instincts screaming at him to run.
Or fight.
The door opened at last.
The Headmistress stepped in, her expression composed but her mana sharp as a blade. Behind her, the air itself bent faintly — light shimmering around a tall figure dressed in black and silver, the insignia of the Council emblazoned across their chest.
"So," the stranger said softly, stepping into the light, "this is the boy who made the Spire tremble."
Rivan looked up — and instantly felt it.
That same pulse inside him — the golden heartbeat — surged in defiance. Hostile.
He couldn't explain why, but his body rejected this person's presence. His blood burned, vision warping at the edges.
The stranger's eyes met his — cold silver, ancient, unreadable. For a fraction of a second, Rivan saw fire reflected in them — not from the room, but from somewhere far older. The battlefield. The memory.
He flinched, pressing a hand to his temple as pain lanced through his skull.
The Headmistress's voice snapped through the tension. "Control it, Rivan."
The air vibrated, the mana seals flaring for an instant before her words sliced through the haze of rage threatening to spill free. She stepped closer, her mana pressing down like the weight of a mountain, smothering the golden light flaring at his fingertips.
He exhaled through gritted teeth, forcing it back down. The glow receded, leaving behind only trembling exhaustion.
The Headmistress studied him for a long moment before speaking again — her words quiet, but each one cutting like a knife.
"Whatever you feel, bury it. The Council won't care for your excuses. Lose control again…"
Her eyes hardened.
"…and it'll be for your own sake."
The words sank like stones in his chest.
The Council envoy smiled faintly — polite, but empty. "How intriguing," he murmured. "He has hostility toward us, even if he doesn't know why."
Headmistress looked at Rivan. "Hostility…?"
But before she could speak further, the envoy turned away, voice echoing through the hall.
"We'll begin the assessment at dusk. Make sure he's… stable."
The door closed behind them, leaving Rivan and the Headmistress alone in the flickering glow of containment runes.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then she whispered, almost to herself, "Pray, boy. Whatever you were before — don't let it wake again."
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance — not from the sky, but from deep beneath the Academy's ancient foundations.
And for the first time, Rivan wasn't sure if the sound was warning him — or welcoming him back.
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