That afternoon, the Academy paused for a moment of peace. Classes resumed, gardens bloomed under arcane suns, and laughter drifted on warm breezes. Yet every corner bore reminders: wards still glowed, repairs continued, and the Altar of Echoes demanded deeper study.
Seraphina found me in the library's highest tower. "Your next lesson awaits at dusk," she said, placing a frost‑chilled tome on the table. "We explore the Archive of Whispers."
"Archive of Whispers?" I echoed, opening the book to find its pages blank.
She smirked. "It reveals secrets only to those who listen." She tapped her temple. "Your ears, Architect."
In the evening, I followed Cerafina through the hidden ladder in the inscription - a dome roller that was rolled with a whisper. When I walked inside, I felt that a flying had settled on me while the hall itself breathes.
Soft voices arose, not in my ears, but in my mind: rumors of distant rebellion, hidden colleagues enthusiastically, the unconscious heartbeat of the sealed demon king.
Seraphina's hand closed over mine. "These whispers guide rise and ruin alike. Choose which you heed."
I squeezed her hand. "Then let's listen—and decide."
Outside, storm clouds gathered. Lightning flickered on the horizon. Ahead lay questions yet unanswered—and a calm before the storm that would define us all.