Novels by Hubinlee

The singing of the sphere wasn’t a melody; it was a vibration that bypassed the ears and hummed directly in the marrow of Alarion’s bones. Around him, the Starfall Gala had turned into a nightmare of shattered glass and screaming silk. The Great Hall, once the pride of Arcanum, was tilting at a sickening angle into a void of violet light."Alarion! Your hand! Give me your hand!"Lysandra’s voice barely cut through the roar of the mana vortex. She was clinging to a jagged edge of the broken balcony, her silver dress torn and stained with soot."I can't reach! The floor is... it’s moving!" Alarion yelled back, his boots sliding across the polished marble that was now slick with magical discharge."Don't just stand there, you idiot!" Merovin’s voice rose in a panicked shriek from a few yards away. He was huddled behind a fallen pillar, his face pale and eyes wide. "Do something, Spellcrest! You’re the one who started this! Shut it off!""How?!" Alarion roared, bracing himself as another

"I look like a velvet-wrapped sausage, Eldric. Admit it. I’ve become the very thing I feared most: a fashion victim."Alarion stood before the cracked mirror in his dormitory, tugging at the high, stiff collar of his formal robes. The fabric was a deep, midnight blue—almost black—and shot through with silver threads that shimmered like distant nebulae. It was the finest thing he had ever worn, and it felt like a cage."You don't look like a sausage, Al. You look like... well, you look like a Spellcrest who actually remembered to bathe," Eldric said, lounging on his bed while tossing a piece of enchanted dried fruit into his mouth. "The fit is good. It hides the fact that you spend most of your time running away from explosions.""I can’t breathe," Alarion wheezed, adjusting the silver clasp at his throat. "How am I supposed to waltz if I can’t draw a full breath? And these shoes. They’re so stiff I feel like I’m walking on literal bricks.""Better than blocks of lead, which is what Ly

The blinding white light didn't fade so much as it dissolved, leaving Alarion’s vision swimming with jagged spots of violet and gold. The sweet, cloying scent of the Truth Potion still hung in the air, but the frantic, honest shouting of his classmates had died down into a heavy, suffocating silence."Is... is it over?" Alarion croaked, rubbing his eyes."If you mean the mist, yes," Lysandra’s voice was small, lacking its usual razor-sharp edge. She was standing exactly where she had been, but her hand had dropped from his sleeve. Her face was still flushed a brilliant, undeniable crimson. "If you mean the consequences of what was said... I imagine those will last quite a while."Alarion looked around the room. Master Hemlock was slumped in his chair, staring at a beaker with an expression of profound regret. Rosamund was furiously scrubbing her neck as if she could wash off the scent of 'wet dog,' while Eldric was blinking rapidly, looking like he’d just woken up from a very confusin

The blinding light of the black sphere was still burned into Alarion’s retinas, a ghost of violet energy that refused to fade even as the stone walls of the ancient basement were replaced by the sun-drenched, oak-paneled interior of the Alchemy Wing. The deep, tectonic resonance of the voice—𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴—clung to the inside of his ears like a physical weight."Alarion? Earth to the walking disaster. Are you actually here, or did your brain finally loop itself into permanent orbit?"Alarion blinked, his vision finally clearing. He wasn't in a graveyard of ambition anymore. He was sitting on a high wooden stool, the smell of sulfur and dried lavender replacing the sharp tang of ancient ozone."I’m here, Eldric. I’m just... I’m thinking.""That’s a dangerous pastime for someone with your track record," Eldric said, not looking up from a massive ham sandwich he’d smuggled into the lecture hall. "Seriously, you’ve been staring at that empty cauldron for ten minutes. You look like

The crimson glow of the cracked rod cast long, distorted shadows against the damp masonry, making the narrow stairwell look like the throat of a dying beast. Alarion pulled his hand back as if the glass were red-hot."Who would have put this here?" Alarion whispered, his voice cracking. "Evelina just gave us the bag. This looks like it’s been here for decades.""Don’t touch it," Lysandra commanded, her eyes fixed on the jagged fracture running down the center of the rod. "That’s not just a crack. The mana inside was forcibly inverted. It didn't break; it imploded."Merovin leaned over Alarion’s shoulder, his face pale in the flickering light. "You mean someone used it as a lightning rod for whatever is down there? That’s great. Really comforting. Maybe we should just, I don’t know, turn around and forget we ever saw that door?""The door is gone, Merovin," Alarion pointed out, gesturing to the solid wall behind them. "Unless you’ve got a spell that can phase through three feet of ench

"I can still smell the slime. It’s in my pores, Spellcrest. I’ve showered four times, used a literal gallon of lemon-scented purification salts, and I still smell like a swamp’s digestive tract."Alarion groaned, leaning his head against the cold, damp stone of the dungeon corridor. "Give it a rest, Merovin. I’m the one who had to peel my shoes off with a spatula. My favorite pair, by the way. The leather is permanently neon green.""Your shoes? I had a piece of that... whatever it was... stuck in my ear for three hours. It was humming, Alarion. It had a heartbeat." Merovin paced the narrow hallway, his usually pristine robes replaced by a simpler, charcoal-colored set that looked like it was designed for manual labor. "And now this. Remedial stability training. In the dungeons. On a Monday morning.""It’s not just training," Alarion reminded him, checking the crumpled slip of parchment in his hand. "Professor Enchantor called it a 'collaborative mapping project.' Which is just academ