Nine o'clock found Niko and Ayesha positioned in an auxiliary corridor three turns from Professor Morse's office, watching the faculty meeting attendees file into Conference Room B with the focused attention of predators studying prey. Niko had counted a dozen instructors entering over the past ten minutes, including Headmaster Calloway himself, his silver ceremonial robes marking him even at this distance. Professor Morse had been the last to arrive, and she'd paused fractionally at the conference room threshold, not quite looking in their direction but somehow acknowledging their presence nonetheless.
The door sealed shut with a pulse of spirit energy that Niko felt even from their concealed position, a ward settling into place that would muffle sound and prevent casual interruption. Two hours minimum, Professor Morse had said. They had a window.
"Third drawer, behind the barrier construction textbooks," Ayesha murmured, reviewing their objective with the precision of a pre-mission checklist. She'd changed into dark practical clothing again, her curly brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasized the sharp intelligence in her grey eyes. "Three-layer faculty ward that we absolutely are not going to bypass because that would be against academy regulations."
"Naturally," Niko agreed, fighting the smile that wanted to surface despite his nervousness. "We're model students who would never take advantage of a professor's unfortunate security oversight."
They moved through the corridors with calculated casualness, two students returning late from library study—a plausible cover given the extended hours permitted for upperclassmen despite the lockdown. The faculty offices occupied the academy's western wing, a section of original construction where Gothic architecture met modern necessity in sometimes awkward conjunction. Professor Morse's office sat at the corridor's end, isolated enough for privacy but exposed enough that approaching it felt like crossing an open field under sniper observation.
The door's ward hummed at the edge of Niko's perception, a three-layered configuration just as promised. He pulled out a small spirit crystal, one of the tools from his forbidden collection, and held it near the lock mechanism without making contact. The crystal's resonance would let him map the ward's structure without triggering its defenses—theoretically.
"First layer is a standard identity verification," he whispered, watching ethereal patterns flow across the crystal's surface. "Second layer checks for authorized spirit signatures in the academy database. Third layer... that's interesting. It's a temporal lock keyed to Professor Morse's personal energy pattern, but there's a gap in its refresh cycle."
"How long?" Ayesha asked, already positioning herself for the delicate work ahead.
"Four seconds. Every ninety seconds, the temporal component resets and leaves the identity verification exposed." Niko pocketed the crystal and stepped back, giving her room. "If you can spoof a faculty signature and thread it through in that window, the ward will read it as Professor Morse returning for forgotten materials."
"Four seconds to forge a spiritual signature from memory and bypass two security layers." Ayesha's grin flashed bright, her emerald braces catching the corridor's dim light. "You certainly know how to show a girl a good time."
She closed her eyes, and Niko watched her spirit energy condense with the precision that made her Grimoire Academy's most celebrated prodigy. Her control was something beyond normal talent—she could manipulate spirit energy the way master calligraphers controlled brush strokes, every movement deliberate and efficient. The energy pooled at her fingertips, then began shifting, modulating, reshaping itself into a pattern that mimicked Professor Morse's distinct spiritual frequency.
Niko tracked the temporal ward's cycle through his own energy sense, counting down. "Three... two... one... now."
Ayesha's hand moved in a fluid gesture, her forged signature flowing into the ward's verification layer like water finding cracks in stone. The lock mechanism pulsed once, twice, then disengaged with a soft click that sounded thunderous in the quiet corridor. She twisted the handle, and they slipped inside, closing the door behind them with exaggerated care.
Professor Morse's office reflected her personality with almost aggressive precision. Books lined floor-to-ceiling shelves organized by subject and chronology, every spine aligned perfectly. Her desk held a single lamp, a closed laptop, and a pen holder containing exactly three pens arranged by color. The filing cabinet stood against the eastern wall, exactly where she'd indicated, its own ward humming with the same three-layer configuration as the door.
"She really did make this as accessible as possible without completely abandoning security," Ayesha observed, already moving toward the cabinet. "If anyone questions her later, she can honestly say the protections were standard faculty specification."
Niko kept watch at the door while Ayesha repeated her bypass technique on the cabinet lock. The third drawer opened to reveal precisely what Professor Morse had promised—a collection of folders, diagrams, and aged photographs documenting two centuries of horror. Ayesha pulled out the entire stack, and they moved to the desk, spreading materials under the lamp's focused light.
The first document was a comparative analysis of all seventeen incidents, annotated in Professor Morse's precise handwriting. Dates, victim counts, manifestation patterns, sealing methodologies—she'd created a comprehensive timeline that revealed the cyclical nature with damning clarity. Niko's analytical mind devoured the information, connecting patterns even as dread pooled in his stomach.
"Look at the victim selection," he said quietly, pointing to highlighted sections. "Every incident targets students between fourteen and eighteen, always awakened, always during their developmental peak for spirit energy manifestation."
"It's farming us," Ayesha said, her usual brightness completely extinguished. "Two centuries of farming adolescent awakened like crops to be harvested when we're most potent."
An architectural schematic showed the academy's sub-basement in detailed cross-section, with a specific chamber marked in red. Handwritten notes identified it as the primary seal location from 1847, positioned at what appeared to be a convergence of ley lines beneath the foundation. But another notation caught Niko's attention—a secondary annotation pointing to the academy's old wing, the original structure predating even the 1847 incident.
*Check original construction records. Old wing foundations don't match official blueprints. Possible concealed chamber or deliberate architectural deception.* Professor Morse's handwriting, dated three days ago.
"The old wing," Niko said, feeling pieces align in his mind. "That section's been closed for renovations since last semester, but—"
The office door opened.
Niko's spirit energy flared instinctively into defensive configuration even as he spun toward the entrance. Professor Thaddeus Crane stood in the doorway, his considerable bulk filling the frame, his heavy-featured face arranged in an expression of calculated surprise that didn't reach his cold eyes. Crane taught Advanced Metaphysical Theory and served as senior council liaison—positions of significant authority that suddenly felt deeply threatening.
"Mister Chambers. Miss Okafor." His voice carried the resonant quality of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "How remarkable to find students in a faculty office after hours. During a lockdown. Bypassing security wards."
"Professor Crane," Niko said, keeping his voice level despite his racing pulse. "We were just—"
"Stealing classified materials, apparently." Crane stepped into the office, and Niko felt the temperature drop. The professor's spirit energy radiated outward in waves that tasted wrong, like fruit left too long in darkness. "I'm afraid I'll need to escort you both to the Headmaster immediately. This is a serious breach of academy law."
Ayesha's hand found Niko's, a brief squeeze that communicated volumes. She'd noticed it too—the wrongness that clung to Crane like a second skin, the way shadows seemed to pool at his feet despite the lamp's illumination. This wasn't a concerned instructor discovering wayward students. This was something else.
"We were retrieving materials for Professor Morse," Ayesha tried, her tone perfectly calibrated between apologetic and innocent. "She asked us to—"
"Professor Morse is currently in a mandatory faculty meeting," Crane interrupted, moving closer. "One she cannot leave. One specifically scheduled to ensure certain security protocols could be... properly enforced. You see, when Professor Morse began asking uncomfortable questions about historical records, certain parties became concerned about what she might share with impressionable students. Students like yourselves."
The admission hung in the air like poison. Niko felt his spirit shard pulse in recognition of immediate danger, the same resonance he'd felt during his scrying attempt. Crane's energy signature carried traces of the same eldritch wrongness that had touched the cold spots, the same ancient hunger.
"You're compromised," Niko said, abandoning pretense. "You're part of whatever's been feeding students to that thing."
"Compromised." Crane smiled, and it was like watching a corpse attempt expression. "Such a limited perspective. I'm enlightened. Elevated. You children think you understand power because you can manipulate spirit energy? I've touched something far beyond your provincial understanding of reality. Something that's offered me gifts you cannot imagine in exchange for such small services."
His spirit energy surged outward in a configuration Niko recognized with sick clarity—a containment barrier, designed to trap them in the office until whatever backup Crane had summoned could arrive. But the barrier formation was slow, telegraphed, built for power rather than precision.
"Ayesha, window, now!" Niko shouted, even as he released a concentrated burst of his vast spirit energy directly into Crane's forming barrier. The technique was wasteful, inefficient, exactly the kind of brute-force application his instructors warned against—and completely effective. Crane's barrier shattered like glass, the backlash staggering him backward.
Ayesha was already moving, her hand weaving precise gestures that transformed the office window's glass into temporarily malleable spirit-matter. They dove through the opening three stories above the academy grounds, Niko's energy cushioning their fall in a technique he'd practiced a thousand times but never under genuine life-threatening conditions.
They hit the ground rolling, Niko's barrier absorbing most of the impact but leaving him breathless and disoriented. Behind them, Crane's bellowing voice raised an alarm that would bring every corrupted faculty member down on their position within minutes.
"Old wing," Ayesha gasped, pulling Niko to his feet. "If Professor Morse suspected something there, it's our best shot at finding answers."
They ran through the night-dark campus, abandoning stealth for desperate speed. The old wing loomed ahead, a Gothic structure wrapped in scaffolding and warning signs, officially closed but now representing their only refuge. Niko could feel pursuit gathering behind them, spirit energy signatures converging like wolves smelling blood.
The old wing's door had been sealed with barrier tape and a basic ward, but Ayesha tore through both with brutal efficiency born of adrenaline. They plunged into darkness that felt somehow thicker than normal shadow, more substantial, and Niko's spirit shard began resonating with increasing intensity.
"You feel that?" he whispered, even as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The old wing's interior had been gutted for renovation, leaving skeletal frameworks and exposed stone, but there was something else—a presence, a thinness in reality itself.
Ayesha nodded, her own energy sense clearly detecting the same anomaly. They moved deeper into the structure, following the resonance toward what had once been the original chapel before centuries of construction buried it within expanding architecture. And there, in the chapel's eastern wall, they found it.
A rift.
Not a subtle tear or minor spatial anomaly like the cold spots Niko had detected. This was a gash in reality itself, roughly oval-shaped and perhaps six feet tall, its edges writhing with dark energy that hurt to perceive. Through the opening, Niko could see another space—a shadow realm of twisted architecture and impossible geometry where the normal laws of physics became polite suggestions.
And scattered throughout that nightmare landscape, distant but unmistakable, were human shapes. Students. Some moving, some terrifyingly still.
"Marcus," Ayesha breathed. "They're alive. Some of them are still alive in there."
Shouts echoed from the old wing's entrance—their pursuit had arrived. Niko looked at the rift, then at Ayesha, and saw his own desperate calculation reflected in her eyes. They could flee, try to escape through the wing's other exits, potentially get captured by corrupted faculty. Or they could cross the threshold into a realm of literal nightmares, seeking the missing students and whatever answers lay beyond.
"Together?" Ayesha asked, her hand finding his.
"Together," Niko confirmed.
They stepped through the rift into shadow, and reality folded around them like a closing fist.