When Hope Prevails
The battle ended, and emergency protocols were enacted.
At sunrise, after the Headmistress and the professors was given an antidote for the poison, she announced a temporary lockdown until the investigation was complete.
The immediate crisis—the attack and the battle—only lasted just a single night, but the aftermath stretched over several days, to weeks.
Students were confined to dorms only leaving for meals or questioning, and the injured were treated.
The Headmistress and staff assessed the full damage.
On that day, the academy grounds were eerily quiet. The once-bustling hallways, filled with chatter and excitement were left empty.
The Academy was in shambles.
Three students and a professor—dead. Dozens more wounded. Some still unconscious.
The stench of burnt flesh and dried blood lingered in the air even after the bodies were removed from the grand hall, where the evening ball had turned into chaos. The grand hall remained sealed off as investigators combed through the wreckage.
Though the undead had been vanquished, their presence lingered in the minds of every survivor.
Fear cloaked the academy.
Though the administration had ordered everyone to remain in their dormitories for their safety, no one truly felt safe.
Doors locked, windows sealed—students huddled in groups, whispering about what had happened.
Some refused to sleep, jumping at the slightest sound in the halls. Others wept for their fallen classmates, their minds replaying the moment their friends were torn apart.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
"The undead weren't the real threat—the academy is hiding something."
"A student summoned them. What if someone else tries?"
"If a professor could die… what chance do we have?"
Some students demanded to leave, begging the administration to let them go home until the situation was under control.
Others prepared themselves, forming study groups to discuss defensive spells or sparring in secret, unwilling to be helpless if another attack came.
The professors were exhausted but had no time to rest.
They took shifts patrolling the halls, ensuring no student was left alone. Some worked tirelessly to fortify the Academy's defenses, reinforcing wards, inspecting security flaws, and reviewing every student for signs of dark arts.
Professor Schafer had the grim task of preparing the deceased bodies for their families.
The professor who had died was a beloved mentor, and their loss hit the faculty hard.
Some professors were furious, demanding to know how the administration had allowed this to happen. Some even considered resigning.
The moment word reached the outside world, hell broke loose.
Parents arrived at the academy in droves on the second day, demanding answers.
Some demanded to take their children home, refusing to trust the academy's assurances.
Others threatened to withdraw funding, furious that their children had been put in danger.
The Headmistress held an emergency assembly on the third day, assuring everyone that the academy would strengthen its security measures and is conducting a full investigation about the root of the misfortune.
The weight of the tragedy hung heavily over the Academy, but Headmistress Edelweiss Stehlmacht refused to let it fall into ruin.
She stood tall—unshaken, resolute—as she addressed the crisis with firm authority and grace in front of the parents.
The first thing she did was acknowledge the dead.
A memorial service was held in the Academy's Grand Courtyard, open to all students, faculty, and grieving families. Their names were not whispered in hushed tones of fear, but spoken aloud with honor. She ensured that each student and the fallen professor were remembered—not as mere victims, but as individuals who had fought, who had lived.
For the remaining days of the week, the Headmistress personally visited the addresses of the grieving family, offering them compensation for their loss—not as hush money, but as a means of ensuring they had everything they needed in their time of mourning.
She gave them access to the Academy's archives so they could see for themselves the full, unfiltered truth of what had happened. No lies. No cover-ups.
The investigation revealed that the mad student had secretly dabbled in forbidden Mystical Arts through a book he found from his family's estate, leading to his transformation and the undead outbreak. Evidence showed he had been gathering unknown mana for months, fueled by resentment of his bullies and desperation to prove himself.
The victimss were overcome with grief, but some found solace in her honesty. The transparency and respect she showed prevented complete outrage from breaking loose. One family still blamed the Academy, but they could not say it had turned its back on their loss.
Perhaps the hardest meeting of all for the Headmistress was with the family of the student responsible for the tragedy
The student who had summoned the undead had perished, his body obliterated. His family arrived not with anger, but with shame, horror, and sorrow.
Instead of casting them out or condemning them, the Headmistress spoke to them with understanding. She acknowledged that their son had fallen to darkness, but also that he had once been one of their own—a student filled with promise.
She did not excuse his actions, but she refused to let the world forget that he had once been more than just a monster.
She allowed his family to take his remains and leave quietly, but she also took precautionary measures:
Their bloodline would be monitored to prevent any hidden dangers or connections to forbidden arts.
If they had another child who wished to enroll at the Academy, they would be thoroughly screened before admission.
His parents wept but accepted the consequences.
They left the Academy without protest, burdened by the weight of their son's actions.
Over the next week, the Academy established the Academy's Sentinel Order (ASG)—an elite force composed of professors, senior students, and the Academy's Enforcement Division (AED). Their duty was to patrol the grounds day and night, ensuring that such an incident would never happen again.
Barriers were fortified, layered with detection spells to sense malicious intent before it could manifest.
Restricted areas were expanded, limiting access to dangerous materials.
Finally, on the last day of the mourning fortnight, the Headmistress addressed the Academy.
She stood before the gathered students, faculty and remaining parents who wished to take their children home.
With a firm yet reassuring tone, she acknowledged the tragedy that had shaken them all, honored the fallen, and reaffirmed the Academy's commitment to their safety.
She announced the strengthened security measures, the formation of the Academy's Sentinel Order, and the ongoing efforts to ensure such a tragedy would never happen again.
"This Academy has stood for centuries, not because it is free of danger, but because we have always stood against it. We have lost dear souls—friends, mentors, students full of promise. But we will not let their deaths be in vain."
Everyone listened.
"If you wish to leave, you may. No student will be forced to stay. But know this: running will not make the world safer. Staying means you will be trained, protected, and armed with the knowledge to fight what lurks in the dark. The choice is yours."
Her defiance and conviction resonated.
Some parents still withdrew their children, but many hesitated—realizing that nowhere in the world was truly safe.
Many students, despite their fear, chose to stay, determined to become stronger rather than live in helplessness.
In the end, the Academy did not fall. It evolved.
Headmistress Edelweiss Stehlmacht solidified her reputation as a leader who did not cower in the face of disaster.
The students who remained were changed, no longer naïve to the dangers of the world, but more determined than ever to overcome them.
And so, the Academy stood once more—scarred, but stronger than before.
On the next day, the illusion of normalcy had been restored.