Chapter 3 : The Fourth

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Class, washing the worn wooden desks in golden light. Sirius sat in his usual spot near the back, chin resting on his palm as the professor droned on about magical theory. It should've been just another ordinary day—but it wasn't.

Whispers had spread like wildfire before the first bell rang. A single name on every lip, a question wrapped in fear: Where is Professor Athena?

Sirius' fingers tensed against his desk. He had heard the rumors before stepping into the classroom, but part of him hoped they were wrong—an overblown tale fueled by gossip. Yet as the headmaster himself stepped in to solemnly announce the professor's absence, dread settled in his gut.

"Professor Athena has gone missing," the headmaster said, voice grim. "She hasn't been seen since last night. If anyone has any information—"

Sirius had stopped listening. His mind had already started racing.

Yesterday… we were together. At the carnival.

He had walked beside her under strings of enchanted lanterns, laughing as performers juggled glowing orbs and music floated through the streets. Athena, with her usual calm demeanor, had seemed relaxed for once. He remembered the way she paused at a fortune teller's stall, the subtle glance over her shoulder—as if sensing something. Sirius had noticed it too. He had kept his guard up.

I was careful. No one followed us. No threats. So how—?

A sharp tug at his sleeve pulled him back to the present.

"Stop zoning out," Rurie whispered, her crimson eyes gleaming beneath her hood. The small demon girl—barely taller than a child—looked out of place in a school full of humans, but Sirius had long since gotten used to her. "You know who it is, don't you?"

He gave her a sharp look. "Not here."

Rurie scowled but didn't push further. She understood. This wasn't just a disappearance. It was a message.

Later, beneath the old clocktower behind the Academy, Sirius summoned a warding circle. No one would hear them here.

"I know who took her," he said flatly. "It's them. The Night Fingers."

Rurie tilted her head. "You still won't say his name?"

"No." His voice turned colder. "That thing doesn't deserve a name. Not after what he did."

There was silence between them, only broken by the soft ticking of the gears overhead.

"We need leads," Rurie finally said. "She was taken in the north quarter, right?"

Sirius nodded. "Somewhere near the canal district. I'll check the market square. You take the rooftops."

Rurie gave a toothy grin. "You got it."

Elsewhere—beneath the city streets, in a forgotten crypt lined with rusted chains and silent torches—Professor Athena sat bound to a chair carved from obsidian. Her eyes were sharp, not afraid, even as darkness coiled in the corners of the chamber like living mist.

Footsteps echoed.

"You will tell us," came a voice, smooth as oil. "Or we'll peel your mind layer by layer."

Athena's lips curled slightly. "Try."

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward. Robed in black, with a silver ring on each finger—save for the smallest one, which was bare.

One of the Fingers. The Fourth.

But none of them noticed the faint shimmer in the ceiling above—a spell mark, hidden even from expert eyes.

Athena had prepared for this.

Back above ground, Sirius stood where the cobbled street met the canal's edge, eyes scanning the faint scorch marks on a nearby wall.

A magical residue—weak, but present.

Rurie landed beside him, crouched like a cat. "You find anything?"

He didn't answer at first. Just stared at the burn mark, his hand clenched into a fist.

"They took her here. Last night."

The pieces were starting to form—but the puzzle was far from complete.

"Then we're close," Rurie murmured.

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Close... but not enough. Not yet."

The hunt had begun.

(At the place where Professor Athena was kidnapped)

Professor Athena had always known it might come to this.

Not this exact place—this underground tomb dressed in obsidian and shadow—but captivity. Interrogation. The attempt to pry secrets from her mind like stones from a cliff face. It had been part of the risk. Not of being a mage, or a scholar, but of being her—someone who knew too much and refused to serve the wrong hands.

Chains looped around her wrists and ankles, but her spine remained straight. The chair beneath her was carved from volcanic glass, a cruel mimicry of a throne. She'd examined every inch of it when they first brought her here, searching for anything useful. The edges were smooth. Magic-resistant. Cold.

Even now, she could still feel the faint echo of the last spell she'd managed before they restrained her—a hidden sigil etched into the ceiling. It pulsed once every few hours, dormant until the right soul aligned with it. The signature was subtle. Specific.

Sirius.

Only he could activate it. Only he would even notice.

Athena exhaled quietly, measuring her breath. Time passed differently here, without sunlight or clocks. She counted her blinks, traced the rhythms of her heartbeat. It had been... three sessions since the Fourth Finger had last come to probe her mind. He had sharp eyes and colder hands. The others didn't speak to her. He did.

"You're stalling," he had said last time, his tone smooth and calm, like a surgeon. "All your cleverness will only delay the inevitable."

"I'm not stalling," she'd replied. "I'm memorizing your mistakes."

That had earned her a slap. Not out of anger—more like punctuation. He wanted to break her, not punish her.

But he wouldn't. Not like this. Not when she had someone out there.

A sudden chill crept through the room. She straightened slightly, eyes narrowing.

Footsteps.

Not the Fourth Finger this time.

These were softer. Lighter.

The door creaked open and shut again behind a woman wrapped in veiled silk, her face hidden behind delicate runes. She walked in silence, moving like drifting fog, and stopped three feet in front of Athena.

No words. No name.

Athena studied her. Thin, precise. A spell-weaver, probably a scryer. Someone who dealt not in pain, but in memories.

"You're not here to hurt me," Athena said evenly. "You're here to map me."

The woman gave no answer—but the air shimmered faintly between them. Heat and magic coiling together, a psychic tether attempting to settle into place.

Athena didn't fight it—not directly. Fighting would only exhaust her. She redirected. She channeled.

A memory rose—not real, but familiar. A lecture hall. Sirius sitting in the back row, arms crossed, skeptical as always. She let the image fill her thoughts, made it vivid, turned it into noise.

"Professor Athena," Sirius had once asked, "what do you fear more—losing control, or losing knowledge?"

She remembered her answer clearly.

"They're the same thing."

The scrying spell flickered, hesitated.

The veiled woman pulled back, visibly disturbed. "You... protect him," she said slowly. "Even now."

Athena smiled with the corner of her mouth. "He doesn't need my protection."

"You underestimate what's coming," the woman said.

"No," Athena replied softly. "You do."

The spell broke.

The woman stepped away quickly, her breathing uneven. A moment later, the door opened again—and a familiar figure entered.

The Fourth Finger.

Tall, with a voice that smelled of rot and refinement. Silver rings gleamed on his hand—four in total. One for each major truth they had taken from someone else.

He studied Athena for a long moment. "She saw nothing."

"She saw what I wanted her to," Athena replied.

He tilted his head. "How long do you think you can keep this up?"

"Long enough."

"She's coming undone," the veiled woman said, retreating toward the door. "But she's... dangerous. If he finds her—"

"He won't," the Fourth said.

But something flickered behind his eyes.

Doubt.

Athena felt it like a spark.

She leaned forward slightly, testing the length of her chains. "You're not used to prey that watches you while you hunt."

"We are the Night Fingers," he replied. "We don't hunt. We take."

"You haven't taken anything from me."

He stepped close enough for her to smell his cologne—metallic and sickly sweet. "You'll break. Even if he finds you, you'll already be hollow."

Athena held his gaze. "You should be more afraid of what I taught him than what I'm hiding from you."

He said nothing. Just turned and walked away.

The moment the door sealed again, Athena let out a slow breath.

Her fingers shifted. Just slightly.

The rune above still shimmered in silence. A ghost of a signal.

She pictured Sirius, walking through rain-soaked alleys, brushing his hand against cracked walls, sensing the residue of spells no one else would see. She imagined him feeling it—that tug in his soul, the bond between student and master.

She'd left a path.

All he had to do was follow it.