The sun dipped low behind the spires, staining the Academy's towers in molten orange and deep crimson. By dusk, the entire eastern wing had been sealed.
No students, no attendants — just silence, held taut beneath the hum of magic.
Every torch along the marble corridor flickered with bluish fire, reacting to the density of mana in the air. Even the portraits seemed to watch, eyes faintly glowing as though they, too, understood what was about to unfold.
Rivan stood alone in the center of the grand assessment hall.
The floor beneath him was engraved with old runes — deep, ancient markings that predated even the Academy's founding. Each one pulsed with faint light, alive with restrained power. The faint vibration beneath his boots told him they weren't meant for show.
The mana stabilizer crystal floated beside him, faintly humming in rhythm with his heartbeat. A fragile chain of light tethered it to his chest, flickering whenever he exhaled too sharply. Every pulse reminded him — it wasn't freedom holding him upright. It was control.
At the edge of the chamber, the Headmistress stood tall, her silhouette framed by a cascade of twilight light spilling through the high glass windows.
Her gaze was distant, unreadable, and yet there was something taut in her posture — tension she couldn't quite conceal.
Professor Alden stood beside her, his expression grim. He had traded his usual robe for a reinforced one lined with suppressive sigils, the kind used by instructors during dangerous examinations. His wand was already drawn, though loosely held — a habit he'd picked up from experience, not ceremony.
And then came the sound.
Boots.
Even, deliberate, echoing through the corridor beyond the sealed archway.
The air shifted, dense mana pressing downward until even the flames of the torches bowed.
When the doors opened, the temperature dropped several degrees.
The Council envoy entered.
Draped in robes of silver and black, the figure moved with an eerie calm. Their presence didn't just command attention — it bent the air around them, rippling the mana currents like wind through water.
Their staff gleamed with soft, lunar light, etched with seven concentric circles — the insignia of the High Council.
Behind them came two others — masked, silent, their robes layered with enchantments so old even the Headmistress's gaze flickered momentarily toward them.
The envoy's silver eyes found Rivan immediately. Cold. Measuring.
When they spoke, their tone was smooth and clear, yet each word carried the weight of judgment.
"Rivan Veyr," the envoy said, voice echoing across the chamber. "By decree of the High Council, you are hereby subjected to an assessment of resonance and intent. Do you understand the conditions?"
Rivan swallowed, forcing his voice steady. "...Yes."
The envoy tilted their head slightly, the faintest glint of amusement in their eyes. "Good. Then you will not resist."
A flick of the envoy's wrist — and the circle beneath Rivan flared to life.
The runes blazed bright blue, then deep violet, tightening like invisible chains. The air thickened, every breath heavy with mana pressure.
The stabilizer sphere pulsed in panic, straining against the force.
Rivan's knees nearly buckled. "This— this is—"
"Mana sync phase one," murmured one of the masked attendants, voice hollow through the rune mask. "Subject resonance: unstable."
"Unstable?" Rivan rasped, his jaw trembling. "You're drowning me—"
"Silence," the envoy said softly — and the air grew heavier still.
Rivan gasped, each breath sharp as glass. His veins tingled, golden light flickering beneath his skin, like something ancient fighting to wake. The stabilizer's glow grew frantic, the chain pulsing wildly against his chest.
And then—
"They bind you again,"
"Just like before."
The whisper came from within him — quiet, ancient, full of restrained wrath. It wasn't thought. It was memory.
Images bled across his vision:
Cities burning.
Skies ripped open.
Figures in silver robes standing amid the destruction, their insignias glowing — those same seven circles.
He staggered backward, clutching his head. "Stop—!"
But the envoy stepped forward, calm and unshaken. "Your resonance rejects ours," they murmured, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Curious. What exactly are you, boy?"
The runes brightened — then cracked.
The stabilizer shattered in a burst of golden sparks.
The containment field screamed as the surge hit.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then the floor ruptured in a flash of light.
Golden energy erupted around Rivan — not wild, but controlled in its fury, like a creature remembering its own name. The runes warped from blue to molten gold, threads of ancient language rewriting themselves midair.
The Headmistress moved instantly, barriers flickering around her. "Rivan! Control it!"
He grit his teeth, trying to drag it back, to cage the storm clawing beneath his ribs — but the moment his gaze met the envoy's again, the rage broke free.
Raw. Primal.
His instincts screamed one word — destroy.
The envoy raised their staff to counter, runes spiraling like starlight — but too late. The pressure cracked the marble beneath their feet. Air exploded outward in a golden pulse that swept across the chamber like a wave.
Torches burst. Wardens at the doorway were thrown back. Even the masked attendants faltered.
Then — silence.
The envoy stood amid the fading glow, robes torn at the hem, eyes wide. For the first time, their calm fractured. "Impossible…"
Rivan trembled, chest heaving, golden threads crawling up his arms before fading again into nothingness. His eyes, still faintly aglow, met the envoy's.
And in that moment — neither of them spoke, but both understood.
That power had recognized something in them. Something old. Something hated.
The Headmistress's voice cut sharply through the silence. "Enough!"
Her mana slammed downward like an invisible hammer, smothering the lingering glow around Rivan. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. The golden veins dimmed, leaving him pale and shaking.
Alden took a half step forward, wand raised, unsure whether to shield or to reach out.
The envoy's composure returned, though their tone was colder now.
"End the assessment. Record the anomaly. He is to be contained — under direct supervision."
Alden clenched his jaw. "He's just a boy—"
"Silence," the envoy snapped, eyes flashing. "That thing inside him is not."
The words echoed harshly across the chamber. Even the mana seemed to flinch.
The Headmistress said nothing — her eyes fixed on Rivan, unreadable. Her hand, however, was trembling slightly. Not in fear — in restraint.
The envoy turned away, addressing the masked attendants. "Seal the records. The Council will decide his fate once the Tower reviews the resonance data."
As they began to leave, the Headmistress spoke — quiet, but edged with steel.
"Do not make the mistake of underestimating what lies dormant within him."
The envoy paused, glanced over their shoulder. "Dormant? Headmistress, that would imply it sleeps."
And then they were gone — the silver of their robes vanishing into the corridor's shadow.
Rivan remained on the floor, breathing raggedly, the faint hum of mana still echoing from his veins.
Alden knelt beside him, whispering, "Don't move. Just breathe."
But Rivan wasn't listening. His mind was miles away, replaying fragments that weren't his — burning skies, falling towers, the Council's insignia wreathed in flame.
"They bind you again." "They took everything."
The whisper lingered — fading like smoke but leaving its weight behind.
The Headmistress approached at last. Her expression was calm again, but her eyes carried the heaviness of knowing far too much.
"Whatever you feel," she said softly, "you must bury it deeper. Because if that thing inside you ever wakes fully…"
Her voice dropped, almost to a whisper.
"Even the Council won't be enough to contain it."
Thunder rolled in the distance — not from the skies above, but from deep beneath the Academy's ancient foundations.
A pulse of golden light flickered under the marble, faint but unmistakable — like something vast stirring in its sleep.
Rivan felt it echo through his heartbeat and whispered hoarsely,
"…it's not over, is it?"
The Headmistress didn't answer.
Her silence said everything.
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