The path to the Vale was closed.
After Kael's appearance in the East Wing, the Academy went into lockdown. Curfews were enforced with brutal efficiency, and Wardens prowled the corridors like shadows, alert for any sign of movement. The students whispered behind closed doors, but now even the walls seemed to listen. There were no outright words, but everyone felt it:
Something had been uncovered.
And someone was desperate to bury it.
---
Morning came like a funeral bell.
Zyren sat at his desk, staring blankly at the parchment before him, his quill motionless in his hand. The rain from the night before had turned into a heavy fog that blanketed the Academy in a muted, oppressive silence. A dull ache lingered behind his eyes, remnants of a restless night spent haunted by dreams of the East Wing and the girl with the silver eyes.
The door creaked open, and Alaric's head appeared, his usually carefree expression tight with unease.
"We're being watched," Alaric muttered, glancing over his shoulder before stepping into the room. "There's a Warden posted outside the hall. Another at the dormitory exit."
Zyren looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
"Of course it is," Alaric replied, pacing the room with agitation. "We've kicked over a beehive, and now we've got the whole hive buzzing. The Order isn't just playing around anymore—they're moving."
Fira's voice came from the corner, low and steady, as she sharpened a knife. "This place reeks of fear. The kind that isn't supposed to belong here."
"We need answers," Zyren said, straightening. "And not just in the woods. The Academy's hiding something."
Corwin pulled a folded map from his sleeve, spreading it out on the desk. "We could start with the records. Old rosters. Library archives. Especially anything dated before the Hall of Fire was built."
Zyren nodded, eyes drifting to the fog-blanketed window. "There's someone else."
The room stilled.
"A girl," he said quietly. "First-year. I saw her crying during Caldus's announcement. But it wasn't grief. It was fear."
"Leona," Fira said, her eyes narrowing with recognition. "Apprentice illusionist. She keeps to herself. I asked around—she's been acting strange since the Feast."
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"
"I notice things," Fira replied flatly. "Unlike you."
Zyren's voice cut through. "Let's go talk to her."
---
They found Leona in the South Courtyard beneath a copper-leafed tree, its branches beaded with rain that glittered like droplets of starlight. She sat alone, a book in her lap, though her eyes weren't reading. When she saw them approach, she flinched. Her gaze darted to the nearest exit. Then back.
"You don't need to run," Zyren said, his voice calm but urgent. "We just want to talk."
"I didn't see anything," Leona blurted out, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I told the professors already."
Alaric crouched beside her, tone light but precise. "Strange. We didn't mention seeing anything."
Leona's lips parted to speak, then closed again, her throat tight.
Zyren softened his tone. "You were there when Tolren collapsed. You saw something. Didn't you?"
She hesitated. Silence stretched around them like drawn wire. Then—slowly—she nodded.
"When he fell," she whispered, "there was a shimmer. Above him. Like heat haze... but cold. It bent the air. Like it didn't belong here."
Corwin's sharp eyes locked on hers, his focus intense. "What happened next?"
Leona's gaze darted around the courtyard, her body rigid with fear, as if she expected something to emerge from the shadows.
"A man pulled me aside. Tall. Dark coat. Worn like a faculty member, but... wrong. He didn't shout or accuse me. He just leaned down, and said, 'You imagined it. If you're smart, you'll keep it that way.' Then he walked away like nothing had happened."
Zyren's breath hitched in his chest. He leaned closer, his voice urgent. "What did he look like?"
Leona furrowed her brow, trying to remember. "Dark coat. Pale eyes. Hair like ash. A scar curling down his cheek. I didn't recognize him. I don't think he's listed as staff."
Alaric's voice was like ice. "That was Kael."
Leona blinked, confusion written across her face. "Who?"
Zyren's voice was grim. "A student. The one who opened the gate in the East Wing. If he spoke to you... he's watching more than just us."
Leona lowered her gaze, her shoulders hunched. "I didn't tell anyone else. But I wrote everything down. Everything I saw. I left the letter on my desk that night."
"What happened to it?" Fira asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Leona's voice trembled. "It was gone by morning. No signs of entry. No damage. Just... gone. Like I'd never written it."
Zyren's mind raced, the pieces falling into place with a sickening clarity. "Erasure," he breathed. "Order magic."
Corwin's jaw tightened. "Not just memory-wiping. It rewrites the impression of the moment. Makes you doubt it even mattered."
Leona's face paled. "No wonder I felt crazy."
"But, why would someone like him care what I saw?" she asked while looking up at them, her eyes wide and filled with fear.
Alaric's eyes darkened. "Because what you saw wasn't just an isolated moment. It was a crack. And the wrong people are trying to seal it shut."
Fira's voice was cold as steel. "You wanted to study illusion, didn't you? Well, here's your first real lesson: not everything that's invisible is harmless."
Leona's hesitation lasted only a moment before she closed her book with a snap, her decision made. "Tell me what to do."
---
That night, they met in the old observatory tower—long abandoned and half-collapsed.
The wind howled through the shattered dome, lightning glinting in the broken lens of the telescope like fractured stars. Dust danced in the air, stirred by unseen drafts.
Leona spread a weathered scroll across the stone table. Her fingers traced the spiral flame marked at the top.
"I found this in the lower archives. Same symbol as the pendant. It's linked to something called The Ninefold Concord."
Zyren leaned in, eyes narrowing. "That's precursor magic. Theory before the Academy codified willcasting."
"Exactly," Leona confirmed. "This was an attempt to bind magic through thought. Belief. Mental anchors."
"Discredited after the Sundering," Fira said, arms crossed.
"Or buried," Corwin added, eyes on the text.
Zyren leaned closer, his fingers hovering over the faded text. "Anything about orbs or pendants?"
"One note," Leona said, pointing to the faded margin.
Anchors draw memories. Witnesses feed them.
Alaric winced. "Feed them how? Spoonful of trauma before bed?"
Fira elbowed him lightly. "That would explain your nightmares."
As they chuckled, a soft knock startled them.
They froze.
The door opened.
And in walked two mud-splattered figures wrapped in mismatched cloaks, dripping from the rain and grinning like thieves.
"The Wanderers," Zyren said in disbelief.
"Oh good," Alaric said, groaning. "Just what we needed. Chaos in triplicate."
"We heard you were stirring trouble without us," Mira said, mock-offended. "We're hurt."
"What are you doing here?" Alaric asked, glancing at the door behind them.
"The fog smells like lies," Mira replied. "We followed the scent."
Lysia held up a bundle. "Also brought snacks. Traded a Warden a poem."
"You bribed a Warden with poetry?" Zyren asked, incredulous.
"Not bribed," Lysia corrected. "Inspired."
Leona, despite herself, smiled.
---
As the storm raged outside, they huddled over the scroll. Ideas passed like sparks. Secrets unraveled. Plans took shape.
And for a moment—beneath the broken stars and shattered glass—fear gave way to something else:
Hope.
Then Zyren's pendant pulsed, warm against his chest.
He looked down. The spiral symbol shimmered faintly.
"By seeing what was never meant to be seen," he whispered.
The room fell silent.
Outside, the fog thickened—watching. Waiting.
---
**End of Chapter Eleven**