Adam leaned over his desk, his broad back hiding the parchment from Diane's sight. His fingers wrapped around the ash-gray quill, and it twitched as soon as the rough surface met his palm. Slowly at first, then harder. It turned smooth as the feathers regained their flamboyant red. It tugged at his hand, guiding it across the parchment until red ink swirled into words—a sentence Adam read with growing interest.
[I don't have much time, so let's skip questions about hows and whys. There is something I must tell you first, heir of Revery.]
[To do so, my master thought of the perfect solution: the five other great Houses. Like Reverie, they're gone. And like this guiding quill, their leaders must have arranged their legacies for future heirs.] The quill paused, the ink's shimmer turning cold. [The mana gathering techniques of five magi, five elements mastered to the pinnacle. Find them. Claim everything they have worked for as your own.]
The quill stilled. No more scratching against parchment, no more words, only the sound of Adam's breath finally finding its way out. But his heart still drummed against his ribs. He did not doubt that the college libraries would offer him enough knowledge to compile his own mana gathering technique. But the grimoires of the five great Houses? That was something else. Not just millennia-old lost knowledge, but magic that had been refined into art—the key that had allowed these families to stand over thousands of others. The spells alone caused his fingers to curl into impatient fists.
Imagining how much they could empower his own technique, he began to write in capital letters. [WHERE ARE THEY?]
The quill moved again, slower this time. Patches of gray smeared flamboyant red, feathers drifted on the desk, and the ink took a rancid scent. Even the arabesques that had formed the letters began to twist, forming fragmented words.
[Ancient classrooms. Labs. Library. Anywhere. All in the college. Pass their tests.]
[My dream... ends.]
The quill fractured in Adam's hand, going from smooth to rough to fragments that collapsed into dust. The ink turned thick like a gel, dark and digging through the paper, turning words into putrid stains that dripped on the desk beneath. And amidst the dark, white spots were spared—not randomly, but into four words.
Still eager and shaken by the revelation, Adam noticed them.
Don't trust the council.
It felt like a bucket of cold water poured over his steaming eagerness, a warning from beyond the grave.
Then, the ink devoured the last spots.
A deep furrow creased Adam's brow as the dust of the quill split through his fist. The council—why had he still not heard of it? With the great houses gone, who sat in it besides the rector? He didn't know. But one thing was certain: the center of power in Brineheart wasn't a king's castle or a grand, noble hall. It was this very college.
Shadows seemed to deepen in the classroom, creeping along the walls with clawed fingers, pointed tails, and smirks. Threats lay in even deeper shadows, pulling strings like invisible puppeteers. They were the ones who banished the ancient great houses. They would be the ones to visit him in the dead of the night, hexes, spells, and blades drawn at his throat if they ever learned that he was trying to revive their legacy.
For a moment, he felt as if the very walls whispered. Then, he shook his head, smirking. The council, as elusive and powerful as it was, didn't know. No one did yet. A quill, a cup, perhaps even a random dust-laden stone. These legacies were hidden and could be anything. Tests. He drummed rhythmically on his desk.
The quill had mistaken him because it felt Alistair's grimoire in his soul sea. The others, however, would remain random items if he couldn't trigger their tests. He would already be searching for needles in a haystack, but said needles had the same appearance as the hay.
"Complex," he muttered, massaging his temples. Of course, he wanted them, but actively searching for these legacies would be wasted time. He would find them if he was meant to. Otherwise, he'd avoid the council's threat. And Alistair's grimoire—he would seal it.
"You know what I find complex?" Diane shattered his thoughts like a chisel through stone. She stood over him on the platform, eyes locked onto his dark parchment, lips pursed and frowning. He watched her crouch, the starry fabric ruffling as students sneered at him. "The ten points you've just lost for not listening to my lesson. And the other ten points for ruining a fine piece of parchment and stinking my classroom with this rotten ink."
The students laughed, Adam twisted his lips, and Diane snapped her fingers.
Light engulfed the parchment, blue flames dancing on the desk. They devoured paper, ink, and smell in a heartbeat before fading without touching the timber.
"Since theories bore you so much, why don't you come up for the next part of our lesson?" she said, shrugging when he raised a confused brow. "How do you want to counter dark arts without practical experience? I'll demonstrate, then you'll all form pairs to train." The corners of her lips curled slightly, the missing left side revealing her white teeth. "Since your comrades clearly adore you, I'll be your partner for the first round."
Adam exhaled through his clenched jaw as he leapt onto the platform. "Thank you for your... consideration, Teacher."
"Don't thank me yet." Hand on her hip, Diane grinned. "I wonder if you'll earn points by impressing me, or if you'll sink deeper in the negative by disappointing me."