Chapter 15: The Headmaster’s Gift
Chapter 15: The Headmaster's Gift
The Hollow Maw had ended.
Five survivors stood in the aftermath, their bodies still humming with the adrenaline of near-death. The proctors led them away from the pit of teeth, their silver masks reflecting the pale dawn light. Jack walked at the front, his knuckles split but healing, his breaths steady.
Elara lingered at the edge of the arena, her gloved hands clasped behind her back. As a fourth-year, she was here to observe, not participate. The proctors ignored her—her rank granted her that privilege. But her gaze never left Jack.
He didn't glance back.
---
They were taken to a vast hall, its ceiling lost in shadow. The air was thick with the scent of old incense and something metallic—blood, perhaps, long since dried but never truly gone.
Statues lined the walls, their faces worn smooth by time. Previous headmasters, Jack guessed. Their stone eyes seemed to follow him as he walked.
At the far end of the hall stood a throne. Not just gold—*living* gold, veins of precious metal pulsing like slow-moving rivers through its structure. Gemstones gleamed like embedded stars, their light too steady to be natural.
The other survivors shuffled nervously. One—a wiry boy with a gash across his cheek—kept glancing at the statues as if expecting them to move.
Jack didn't flinch.
Then—
The whispers started.
Not from the statues. Not from the walls.
From the *air itself.*
Fragments of voices, half-formed words, slipping in and out of comprehension.
"—so hungry—"
"—the Abyss remembers—"
"—he sees us—"
Jack exhaled slowly, letting the words wash over him.
Then—
A footstep.
A *heavy* one.
The hall fell silent.
---
He stood three meters tall, his frame draped in robes the color of dried blood. A hood obscured his face, but the darkness beneath it was *deeper* than mere shadow. It moved.
The headmaster strode to the throne and sat, the gold groaning under his weight.
"Ehh. Ehm."
A cough. Not for clearing his throat—for *emphasis.*
Every student stiffened, their attention snapping forward.
The headmaster leaned back, his hidden gaze sweeping over them. "You are now officially students of Lorian Academy." His voice was a rumble, like stone grinding against stone. "Those who failed either died or were left with few limbs. The lucky ones are given work here. You…" A pause. "You are now part of the Veil."
The wiry boy swallowed audibly.
The headmaster continued. "Only those aged fifteen to twenty-two receive Veil invitations. Why? Because your souls are pure." The word dripped with irony. **"Demons crave purity. It nourishes them. That is why they allow the worship of gods—because even the devout can be consumed."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Your rewards."
The headmaster's hood tilted toward Jack. "Number One. What kind of demon would you like?"
Jack didn't hesitate. "One attuned to darkness."
A chuckle, low and knowing. "Very well."
The headmaster flicked his wrist. Five small wooden boxes—identical to the one Elara had used earlier—materialized in the air, floating toward each survivor. Jack's settled into his palm, its surface cold.
"Peak minor demon for the first rank. Mid-tier for the rest." The headmaster waved a dismissive hand. "Your guides will assist with the rituals. Now. Get out."
The dismissal was absolute.
---
Outside the hall, the survivors were met by their assigned guides—older students tasked with shepherding the new blood.
Jack's guide was a gaunt third-year with hollow cheeks and a permanent sneer. "This way," he muttered, leading Jack down a narrow corridor.
They stopped at a small chamber, its walls lined with chalked sigils. A ritual circle dominated the floor, its edges stained with old blood.
"Open the box", the guide instructed. "Let the demon out. Then swallow its heart."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"That's enough.", the guide snapped.
Jack smirked. He placed the box in the center of the circle, unlatching it with deliberate slowness.
The moment the lid cracked open, shadows *poured* out, coiling like smoke. A shape formed—a hunched thing with too many eyes, its form flickering between solid and mist.
The guide took a step back. "Now. Kill it."
Jack reached into the writhing mass. His fingers closed around something pulsing—the demon's core. He *pretended* to wrench it free, then brought his hand to his mouth.
A swallow. A grimace.
The guide nodded, satisfied. "Done. Now—"
"I need air," Jack interrupted, clutching his stomach. "Give me a minute."
The guide rolled his eyes but stepped outside.
The moment the door closed, Jack spat the demon's essence back into his palm, it was coveredin a swirl of darkness that made it undetectable as if he had truly went through the ritual. It writhed, weakened but alive. Jack mused to himself about what what really going on with the academy because he could feel that the demon essence he was given was part of another entity, that was much stronger than that severed part of itself. The demon they gave him was just a discarded part of it.
He must for a bit longer then pocketed it.
---
Elara was waiting in the courtyard, her back against a dead oak. She straightened as Jack approached. She watched him intently as he approached her with his usual cold attitude and his always vigilant gaze showing that trust was not his best forte.
"Well?"
Jack tossed her the demon box. "Yours."
She caught it, her gloves absorbing the faint tremors of the trapped entity inside. "You didn't perform the ritual?"
"No."
"They'll know."
"They won't." Jack's smile was razor-thin. "I'm very good at pretending and h8d8ng what others shouldn't know."
Elara studied him for a long moment. Then—
"What are you planning, Jack?"
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of distant storms.
Jack turned toward the academy's spires, his shadow stretching long behind him.
He could sense that this place was no sunshine and rainbow. His instincts were telling that therewas something deep that was going on here and his presence osnot welcomed one bit.
"Nothing yet."
But the Abyss was listening.
And it was *patient.*
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