Smoke and Mirrors

Clayton sat at the long, polished oak table in Asher's mansion, the scent of fresh parchment and arcane ink lingering faintly in the room. The hearth was lit but low, flickering shadows across towering bookshelves and stained-glass runes. Outside, the wind pressed softly against the windows, muffled by layered wards.

Eric stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, his gaze pinned to the long scroll unraveled before them—Haltright's list.

"This is the complete list of electives approved under his tenure?" Eric asked, disbelief edging into his voice.

Asher nodded once, tapping the scroll with a gloved finger. "Verified against central academy records. All electives were greenlit during his term."

Clayton leaned forward, brows furrowed. "That's… over eighty elective courses. We only have room for thirty on the formal schedule."

"Exactly," Asher said. "Most of them never even went into session."

Eric scoffed, tugging at his collar. "So Haltright wasn't overseeing anything. Just rubber-stamping whatever crossed his desk."

"No," Clayton said. "He was being misled. These electives were planted. Fake ones mixed with real ones to dilute oversight. Like hiding a knife in a bouquet."

They sat in silence for a moment, the implications settling in. Marvin's Illusory Mechanics class had passed through unnoticed precisely because it was buried beneath dozens of red herrings.

Clayton rubbed his temples. "Even if we flag them all, we can't know which were real threats and which were meant to waste our time."

Asher sat back, hands folded. "That's the point. Whoever's behind this… didn't want full control. They wanted confusion. Obfuscation. A smokescreen."

Eric scrolled to the bottom of the list. "Still. This doesn't explain everything. Someone had the authority to place Haltright on that council seat—someone who wanted him compromised."

Clayton nodded grimly. "That's what we need to figure out. Who has that kind of power?"

Asher stood, moving toward a large shelf of academy policy tomes. "The Council of Governance in Vyrith isn't like a ruling body. It's more like a… balancing mechanism. Designed to prevent full consolidation of power by the professors."

He selected a blue-bound book and opened it with a thud.

"There are three ways someone gets placed on the council: nomination by the Dean of Academia, recommendation by the Internal Affairs Division, or—" he paused, pointing to the page, "—direct appointment by the Faculty Board under exceptional circumstances."

Eric raised a brow. "Exceptional circumstances. Sounds convenient."

"Exactly," Asher muttered. "It's vague for a reason. In theory, it allows the board to quickly respond to crises. In practice, it lets the inner circle push through changes without scrutiny."

Clayton leaned over the table. "So the question is: who on that board has the motive?"

Eric glanced at him. "Or the authority."

They all fell silent again.

Clayton eventually said, "We know Marvin got approval. We know Haltright was compromised. But what if the electives, the council, even the illusion cards… what if none of that was the real goal?"

Asher tilted his head. "Go on."

"What if the whole project—the seeding, the false classes, the confusion—wasn't meant to influence the academy, but to corrupt someone specific?"

Eric blinked. "You mean a student?"

"Yes," Clayton said. "Think about it. Every illusion card was tailored. They weren't just tools. They were loaded. Whoever sent them knew how to bypass cleansing, how to mimic legal registration—someone with access to powerful resources."

Asher frowned. "If you're right, that changes everything. The scope narrows. This wasn't about control. It was about selection. Testing the waters until the right person took the bait."

Eric added, "And the rest of us? Just collateral. Noise. Red herrings."

Clayton's mouth was dry. "Exactly."

They didn't speak for several seconds. Then Asher said softly, "That's why Marvin wasn't afraid. That's why he kept teaching openly. He never cared if we found out. His job wasn't secrecy—it was completion."

Eric nodded. "And if he's almost done…"

Clayton finished it for him. "Then someone's already bound a corrupted card."

That realization hit like a weight across the table. One of the students. Someone in the academy. Perhaps someone they knew.

Asher looked at the scroll again. "It was never about quantity. It was about one result."

The room seemed colder now.

"I've been thinking," Asher added, voice low. "Veyra told me the cards were cleaned. But she never saw the original design—just the refined output. What if… what if the corruption was embedded in the forging process, not the arcane residue?"

Clayton's eyes widened. "Like embedding a worm into clean code. Looks stable, behaves normally… until triggered."

Eric stepped away from the scroll, beginning to pace. "That would explain why the checks didn't flag them. The cards were refined by a cardsmith—someone trusted. But the original blueprint might've come from Marvin. Or someone higher."

They were looking at something deeper. More subtle.

Clayton clenched a fist. "It means we've been wrong this entire time."

He turned to the others.

"We've been chasing clues, trying to identify a network. But this wasn't about factions. It wasn't about power."

"It was about corruption," Asher said quietly. "And identity."

Eric looked back toward the window, where the arcane towers of Vyrith shimmered under protective wards.

"So… who are they trying to corrupt? Who's the real target?"

Clayton didn't respond right away.

Because in his heart, a single, terrible thought had taken root.

What if it was him?

He had received the Mirage Cascade. He had nearly resonated with it. He had disrupted timelines, bent expectations, and drawn attention from enemies he didn't know existed.

And if the mastermind had read even a fraction of that potential…

Asher broke the silence. "We'll trace the council vote. I'll pull favors."

Eric added, "I'll run checks on every student who changed electives in the last three weeks. If someone's bound a card, we'll know."

Clayton nodded slowly. "And I'll dig through the cardsmithing records. If we find who refined Marvin's cards, we'll find our first real name."

They parted that evening with heavy thoughts and heavier burdens. The illusion card mystery was no longer a mystery. It was a design.

And the person behind it wasn't just playing a game.

They were shaping the board.

And in the corner of Clayton's mind, one thought echoed louder than the rest:

Whoever they are… they knew exactly what they were doing.

And someone in Vyrith Academy had already fallen into their hands.