Morning broke in soft gray light over Blackthorn Academy. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the thirteen house banners lining the Grand Hall. Students and professors filled the space, whispering beneath the vaulted ceiling as the Convocation began.
Rowan Vale stood at the Thirteenth House lectern—calm on the outside, but alert beneath the surface. To his right stood Rhoan. To his left, Lyra. This was supposed to be a moment of peace. A week since the Convocation of Thirteen. A week since the school dared to remember what had once been erased.
Rowan took a breath and spoke, his voice clear and steady. "We have faced our past and chosen to build from it. The Forgotten have returned. The Memory Plague is contained. We move forward—together, in truth."
Scattered applause. Muted. Watching. Waiting. The Thirteenth sigil on Rowan's hand pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He lifted his palm.
"But peace is fragile. And not everyone has accepted the return of thirteen."
A trumpet blast cut the air like a blade.
Gasps echoed as the side doors slammed open. Aelan of the Golden Sigil entered, flanked by four armored enforcers. His gilded robes shimmered like molten gold, and the sigil on his chest flared with light.
The hall fell silent.
Aelan's name alone made shoulders tense. Archon of House Aureate Light. Unshakable loyalist to the Twelve. A master of containment magic. And he was furious.
He climbed the stairs to the lectern opposite Rowan, each step echoing with purpose.
"Rowan Vale," he said, voice loud and cold. "You speak of memory and truth. But you stand on a broken pact. The Accord of Twelve endures. The Pact of Erasure still binds. You have no right to undo it."
Murmurs spread like fire. Some students nodded. Others glanced at Rowan, unsure.
Aelan raised a gloved hand. "I give you two choices: Bind the Thirteenth Flame under the same Oath of Containment as the Twelve—or leave Blackthorn within twenty-four hours. You, and your House."
Gasps.
Lyra's hand flew to her chest, where the Thirteenth sigil glowed faintly. Rhoan's expression turned hard.
Aelan's gaze was sharp. "Choose. Binding or exile."
No one moved. The room seemed to freeze.
Rowan stepped forward slowly, voice calm—but each word carried weight. "You fear what you don't understand, Archon. The Thirteenth doesn't destroy order—it anchors it. We don't bind magic—we bind memory. If you bind me, you bind every student who carries this flame. And if you exile me… you kill what we've built."
Aelan's mouth tightened. "Spare me the speeches. The Oath is simple. Chain the flame to the lectern. Confine it to these walls. Or leave."
Lyra's eyes flashed. "You're not protecting the Academy. You're imprisoning truth."
Whispers spread again. Some agreeing. Some scared. All listening.
Rowan turned back to the hall. "Binding memory is binding the mind. Exiling truth is choosing silence. And silence is what led us here in the first place."
Without warning, Aelan pulled a gleaming golden rod from his robes—the Rod of Golden Oaths.
Rowan's breath caught.
Aelan held it high. "Then let us test your 'truth.' Bring forth the vessel."
Lyra and Rhoan exchanged a look. Rowan summoned a courier-flame with a flick of his hand. It darted off, trailing violet fire through the hidden passageways.
Tension grew by the second. Students leaned forward. Professors shifted, wary.
Then the courier-flame returned, carrying the glass-leaf vessel inscribed with thirteen runes.
Aelan snatched it. "This is the source of the Plague. And I will unmake it."
Rowan stepped in front of him. "You destroy that, and the echoes will scream louder than ever."
"Let's see who they scream for," Aelan said—and struck the vessel with the rod.
A pulse of magic slammed through the hall. The vessel rattled. The sigils on Rowan's skin flared. Someone screamed. Rhoan shouted for the wards. Lyra reached for her wand.
"Enough!"
Professor Kael's voice rang out like thunder. He stepped forward, Aurea at his side.
"You can't bind the vessel," Kael said, eyes blazing. "That rod will force the echoes into the living world."
Aelan turned slowly. "Stand aside, Lorekeeper. This is no longer an academic matter."
Kael didn't budge. "And I say it is exactly that. The Oath of Containment was forged in fear. Fear of lost magic. Fear of change. But it cost us memory—and nearly cost us everything. Do we really want to return to silence?"
Silence fell again.
Then—hands rose. One after another.
Voices followed.
"House of Glass votes no," said Caelan, voice clear.
"Stone stands against binding," said another.
"Ember refuses exile."
"Night protects memory."
"Breathless Oaths knows the price of broken bonds—we say no."
All eyes turned to the last speaker.
Only House Tide remained.
The Archon of Tide rose, ancient and solemn. "For the safety of all… I vote yes."
Aelan's eyes gleamed. "Then binding stands."
But Kael stepped forward. "The Convocation of Thirteen requires a majority. Two 'yes' votes do not bind thirteen. Binding fails."
A beat of silence. Then another.
And then—cheering. Quiet at first, then louder.
Aelan's glare could've set fires. "This is not over. I'll take this to the Accord. You won't rewrite the world alone."
He turned and left, cloak sweeping behind him like a closing curtain.
Rowan stood still as the hall burst into motion—students running forward, professors gathering around him. Lyra reached his side, her voice tight. "He'll be back."
"He will," Rowan said. "And we'll be ready."
Rhoan approached the vessel. "The runes are holding, but barely. I'll need to reinforce them. Tonight."
Aurea placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "I'll train our wardens. We're not letting memory fall."
Rowan nodded. "Good. Because the Accord arrives tomorrow."
*
That night, in the Tower of Thirteen, the vessel hummed with quiet light. Thirteen candles flickered violet in the windows.
Rowan stood at the center, watching the flame in his palm. "We held the line today. But next time, they won't come alone."
Lyra placed a hand over his. "Then we'll burn brighter."
Rhoan added another rune to the vessel. "Stronger."
Aurea turned to the stars. "Wiser."
Rowan looked out across the terrace. The thirteen constellations shimmered faintly above.
Let them watch.
Let them remember.