Chapter Seven: Shadows Beneath the Flame

Morning came slowly to the Academy.

Mist clung to the towers, curling in pale fingers around frost-covered stone. The sun fought to pierce the haze, but the light that reached the halls was dim and uncertain—like the mood that had settled over the school.

Whispers rippled through the corridors.

Fragments of conversation: half-joked fear, uncertain laughter. But beneath every word lay the same unspoken truth—no one could forget the voice from the night before.

"You've already lost."

A simple phrase had turned a festive evening into a waking nightmare.

Zyren stood at the edge of the training grounds, his cloak dusted with frost. The moonstone pendant was warm again, pulsing faintly as if it too sensed the unrest.

Beside him, Corwin leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the clusters of students gathering nearby.

"They're saying it was a prank," Corwin muttered. "Someone from Illusion Arts. A new enchantment trick gone wrong."

"No prank leaves orbs shattered and voices that cut into your mind," Zyren said. "But let them believe that if it helps them sleep."

A student brushed past them—Fira Vellin, a third-year pyromancer known for her ambition and bluntness. She paused.

"You two were there last night, right?" she asked, her dark braid swinging over her shoulder. "What did you see? Did anyone cast a spell before the lights blew?"

Zyren kept his expression unreadable. "Nothing clear. Just chaos."

Fira frowned. "That didn't sound like chaos. It sounded like a warning. My mentor thinks it was a foreign threat—Ravari mages trying to destabilize the Academy."

"I thought Ravari mages were all but gone," Corwin said, keeping his tone casual.

"That's what they want us to think," Fira replied, eyes narrowed. "But if there's one thing I've learned here, it's that no danger ever really disappears. It just waits."

She walked off without waiting for a reply.

Corwin watched her go, then glanced at Zyren. "She's not entirely wrong."

"No," Zyren said. "But it's not Ravari."

Neither said more. The pendant beneath his cloak warmed again, a soft throb of warning.

---

As the morning wore on, Zyren found his feet carrying him away from the training grounds—past the whispering students, down a side hall dusted with frost and shadow. He wasn't sure what pulled him here—only that the pendant had pulsed harder when they passed the corridor earlier.

He paused outside Professor Merien's alchemy wing. The air was thick with strange, bitter smells—burnt thyme, melted silver, and something sulfuric. The hallway was dark, despite the daylight.

Merien's door stood slightly ajar.

Zyren hesitated, then stepped closer. Inside, the professor crouched over a long table, muttering to herself. Runes shimmered faintly in red chalk on the floor—hurried, uneven, unlike her usual work. A large beaker smoked beside a stack of scorched scrolls.

She looked up, startled. For the briefest second, there was something unguarded in her expression—fear.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, quickly sweeping her sleeve across part of the rune-circle, disrupting the sigils.

"I was just heading to the assembly," Zyren lied.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't challenge him. "Then go. This place... isn't safe for wandering today."

Zyren hesitated. "Professor. Was Tolren working on anything... unusual?"

She paused. Then: "Yes. But I can't tell you what. Not yet."

Her eyes dropped to the pendant at his neck. "That's not reacting to nothing, Zyren. Be careful."

He nodded once and turned away, her words echoing in his mind.

---

The courtyard was slowly filling as students made their way toward the main hall. Zyren met up with Corwin near the central fountain just as Alaric strolled up, cloak slung lazily over one shoulder and an apple in hand.

"Ah, good. The brooding duo is brooding again. Must be morning."

Corwin gave him a look. "You missed Fira's latest theory. Ravari are back."

Alaric laughed. "She'll be claiming there's a secret death cult in the Library next."

Zyren didn't smile.

Alaric tilted his head. "Wait. That is what you think, isn't it?"

"She didn't go that far," Zyren said. "But I don't think we're safe here."

"Give it time," Alaric said, tossing the apple core into a nearby hedge. "The whole place is wound tight. Professors are on edge too. I passed Master Relwyn in the hall—he jumped when I said good morning."

They turned toward the outer classrooms, where today's schedule listed a mandatory assembly followed by resumed lessons.

But as they neared the hall, a bell rang—not the usual chime of class, but the sharp, high clang of alarm.

Zyren froze.

"Again?" Corwin muttered.

Students surged toward the great hall, pulled by curiosity and unease.

Inside, the hall buzzed with tension. Headmaster Caldus stood at the dais, his face pale beneath his trimmed beard. Professors lined the walls, whispering. Even Merien looked shaken, silver ash still clinging to her gloves.

Zyren, Corwin, and Alaric found a space in the crowd. Fira stood nearby, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Caldus raised his voice. "Students, we regret to inform you that Professor Tolren—our honored historian and Elder Arts scholar—was found dead in his study early this morning."

Gasps rippled like wind through the hall.

"He passed in the night," Caldus continued, "from what appears to be natural causes. There are no signs of violence, and the warding seals around his chambers were untouched."

"No signs doesn't mean no secrets," Corwin whispered.

Zyren said nothing.

He remembered Professor Tolren—an old, gentle man with a sharp memory and a love for ancient riddles. A few weeks ago, he had offered Zyren a rare book from the restricted section.

"History," he had said, "always leaves clues."

Zyren's chest tightened. He remembered the way Tolren's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of ancient lineages—how his fingers trembled with excitement whenever he turned a brittle page.

"If knowledge survives, so does resistance," he had told Zyren once, during an evening study session. "You protect what you understand."

Tolren had known something. Maybe even tried to warn him.

And now he was gone.

Caldus continued, "Classes today will proceed as normal, though grief counselors will be made available. Please respect the privacy of Professor Tolren's family."

In the silence that followed, a younger student—a first-year illusionist—burst into tears. Her friends surrounded her, murmuring comforts.

From across the hall, Zyren caught a look of confusion on the girl's face—

She hadn't just heard the news.

She had seen something.

Her lips moved. Just a whisper, but he could read it.

"He wasn't alone."

A friend tugged at her sleeve, guiding her out, but the girl kept glancing back at the dais—at the space behind Headmaster Caldus, as if expecting someone, or something, to reappear.

As the hall emptied, Zyren made a silent note to find her later.

---

Later, in the Academy gardens—one of the few quiet places left—Zyren, Corwin, and Alaric found themselves alone beneath a leafless ash tree.

"He didn't die naturally," Zyren said. "I feel it."

"I don't think it was a coincidence," Alaric said grimly. "Tolren was one of the few professors with access to the sealed vault. You know, the one that stores the ancient sigils and scrolls from ancient times?"

"That vault is locked with seven different enchantments," Corwin said. "You think someone went after him for something in there?"

Zyren nodded slowly. "Or to stop him from saying what he knew."

Alaric looked around and lowered his voice. "Zyren... is this about the Order?"

Zyren hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "I think they're closer than we realized."

Corwin cursed under his breath.

"Then we're walking blind into a nest," Alaric said.

"Not blind," Zyren said, eyes rising to the pale sky. "Not anymore."

The pendant beneath his cloak throbbed again, then dimmed to a faint green glow. Not urgent—different. Almost… responsive.

Zyren drew it out, watching the moonstone flicker like a distant lantern. When he moved it slightly to the east—toward the sealed Archives tower—it pulsed again, stronger.

Not a warning.

A pull.

"Your pendant's doing that thing again," Corwin said, eyeing it warily.

"I think it's trying to show me something," Zyren murmured, frowning.

"Fantastic," Alaric said, rubbing his face. "So now you have a magical compass to who-knows-what and a dead professor tied to forbidden scrolls. Anything else you're forgetting to mention?"

Zyren didn't answer.

Because in that moment, he remembered something else Tolren had said, almost in passing:

"Some things can't be spoken aloud. But they still leave a path—if you know where to look."

And the pendant was pointing.

---

That night, Zyren dreamed again.

A silver forest.

A girl with fire in her hands.

And a voice like the wind, whispering through the trees:

"Start where the stars turn green."

—

**End of Chapter Seven**