The lower halls were colder.
Not physically—structurally.
Mana flowed differently here, moving in slow, deliberate patterns instead of the lively currents above. Every step downward felt like sinking beneath layers of intention, secrecy pressed into stone.
I followed the rune-lit corridor in silence.
Students passed occasionally, their voices hushed, their expressions subdued. No one lingered. No one wandered. This level of the Academy discouraged curiosity.
Good thing curiosity was my specialty.
The lecture hall Caelan mentioned sat at the end of the corridor, its doors already open. Inside, a dozen students were seated in neat rows, their attention fixed on a circular platform etched with ancient runes.
Professor Halven stood at the center.
When his eyes met mine, there was no surprise.
Of course there wasn't.
"Ah, Echo," he said smoothly. "You found your way."
I took an empty seat near the back.
"Today's lesson," Halven continued, "concerns ancient runic failures—specifically, spells that collapsed during casting."
Failures.
A convenient word.
He gestured, and the runes on the platform flared to life, projecting a three-dimensional spell circle into the air. Its structure was incomplete, fractured in places.
"This spell," Halven said, "was designed to remove something from the world."
A ripple went through the students.
"Remove?" someone asked. "As in destroy?"
Halven smiled faintly. "That depends on your definition."
My chest tightened.
The spell structure was familiar.
Too familiar.
It wasn't Ember of Oblivion—but it was close. A derivative. A failed imitation.
"Notice the instability," Halven continued. "The caster attempted erasure without authority."
Authority.
I felt the pull beneath my feet again—stronger now.
[Archive resonance increasing.]
The spell projection flickered violently.
Halven frowned slightly. "Interesting."
I forced my mana down, suppressing my presence.
Too late.
The runes reacted anyway.
Cracks of pale light spread across the platform, mirroring the crack I'd seen in the canal wall.
Students gasped.
"What's happening?" one shouted.
Halven's eyes snapped to me.
"Echo," he said sharply. "What do you feel?"
Don't answer.
But the pressure was rising too fast.
"If you don't shut it down," I said, standing, "the spell will destabilize the floor beneath us."
Halven hesitated for only a second.
"Do it," he said. "Stabilize it."
A test.
A trap.
I stepped forward, placing my hand just above the projection—not touching it. Mana flowed, precise and controlled, correcting the instability without completing the spell.
The cracks sealed.
The projection dimmed.
Silence fell over the hall.
[Memory erosion: Very Low.]
I exhaled slowly.
Halven studied me like a solved puzzle that had just rewritten its own answer.
"You didn't cast," he said quietly. "You corrected."
"That spell shouldn't exist," I replied evenly. "And it definitely shouldn't be tested this close to… what's below."
A few students looked confused.
Halven didn't.
His smile vanished.
"You can feel it," he said. "The basement."
So there it was.
"You've built the Academy on top of something sealed," I continued. "Not to protect it—but to suppress it."
Halven's voice dropped. "And you know what happens when suppression weakens."
"Yes," I said. "I clean it up."
For a long moment, we stared at each other.
Then Halven raised a hand.
"That will be all for today," he announced. "Class dismissed."
Students filed out quickly, whispering.
Only Halven and I remained.
"You are dangerous," he said calmly. "Not because of your power—but because you understand what we pretend not to."
I met his gaze. "Then stop pretending."
He chuckled softly. "If it were that simple, Echo… the world wouldn't be standing."
He turned toward a sealed door at the back of the hall, layered with complex runes.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he said. "The Archive Below."
The pull in my chest intensified.
"Yes," I replied. "And it's waking up."
Halven's expression darkened.
"Then," he said quietly, "we are on borrowed time."
As I left the lower halls, one truth settled heavily in my mind:
The Academy didn't fear forgotten spells.
It feared what would happen—
When its foundation finally remembered what it was built to bury.