The great bell of Argent Academy tolled twelve times. By the last echo, the sky had dimmed to a brooding shade of violet. Magic hummed like a low storm beneath the surface of the grounds, stronger, thicker, like the air was waiting to explode.Mason sat alone at the edge of the reflecting pool near the south tower, his back against a moss-covered stone lion. The dagger sat on his lap, wrapped in a scrap of cloth, though its presence still pulsed through the fabric. The suit beneath his robes itched, alive, alert. It had been ever since the Eyes Within vanished into mist and whispers.“Things are moving,” he whispered to himself. “Faster than I thought.”He didn’t hear the footsteps until they stopped beside him. “You’re lucky I didn’t blast you,” Norra said, sitting beside him.“Was that an option?”She shrugged. “Probably still is.”He glanced sideways at her. Her hood was down, red streaks in her hair catching the last bit of sunset light. Her face was tight. Alert. Scared, thoug

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the towers of Argent Academy already shimmered with wardlight. Protective glyphs glowed along the spires like veins of fire, pulsing with alarm. Over the past hour, every bell in the fortress had rung in a chaotic cadence. Because Mason Reed had returned from the Vault of Silence… alive. And not alone.The Pendant of Aethra pulsed steadily at his throat, casting rings of light and shadow onto the cracked marble of the eastern courtyard. Mason stood alone in its center, the suit rippling beneath his uniform like something that breathed. The dagger at his hip remained sheathed, for now.Across the courtyard, fifteen silver-robed enforcers gathered at the edge of the east gate, staffs raised, shields flickering around their bodies. Among them stood John Virell, wand drawn, and his eyes locked on Mason. Above them, Councilor Thorne watched from a floating dais, arms crossed.“Mason Reed,” Thorne’s voice echoed like a thunderclap. “You are hereby commanded

The wind howled down the mountain pass, carrying with it the scent of iron, pine, and something older, like dust disturbed in a forgotten tomb. Mason kept his hood low as he trudged along the winding path. Each footstep crunched over half-frozen gravel. The trees had thinned. The sky above looked bruised, as though holding back a storm too heavy to release.He had not spoken since leaving the Hollow Gate. Norra, walking beside him, had given up asking questions.The shard of the Mirror of Tiranth was wrapped in velvet and tucked into his satchel. It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of power he could feel through the fabric. A final gift from Elara, and a terrifying one. It could sever spirit-bonds, yes. But Mason wasn’t sure it wouldn’t sever more than that.They crested the ridge just as the sun dipped below the horizon. And there, nestled in the valley like a wound in the land, lay Virell’s Hollow. A city built on secrets.Grey spires stabbed at the clouds. Walls of dark stone circled

The moment Mason crossed the gates of Argent Academy, something felt… wrong.The air was too still. Not quiet, Argent was never quiet, but stiff, like the grounds themselves were holding their breath. Students bustled between classes, robes fluttering, wands at their hips, laughter echoing in the courtyards. It looked normal.But Mason could feel it. Underneath the surface. Something had shifted.Norra walked beside him, her hood low. She hadn’t said much since they left Virell’s Hollow, and Mason hadn’t pushed. Whatever she faced during her trial had left a scar he couldn’t yet see. John had returned to his family estate under a secrecy pact. He didn’t want his bloodline tied to Vazquez publicly.Mason understood. He didn’t want his name tied to the suit either.They passed the east tower, where duels were held. A small crowd was gathered around a chalk-drawn ring. Two second-years were sparring, their magic crackling in the air.Mason glanced over, and froze. Standing just beyond

Mason stared at the shard. It was no bigger than his thumb, but it pulsed faintly, rhythmic, alive. The air around it crackled with a silent hum, like a memory refusing to die.Aurora crouched beside him, brushing soot from her robe. “It shouldn’t be doing that.”“No,” Mason whispered, “it shouldn’t even exist.”They’d shattered the mirror, expelled the being within. The room reeked of burnt magic, and the stone beneath the frame still smoked. But the shard sat perfectly intact, defying reason.Aurora reached for it. “Wait.” Mason stopped her hand. “We don’t know what’s left inside.”She hesitated. “If that thing’s still in there…”“I don’t think it is,” Mason murmured. “But something else might be.”Footsteps echoed from the far end of the chamber.Both turned.An old man stepped into the room, robes of midnight blue trailing behind him, a crystal-tipped staff in hand. His face was thin, long-bearded, eyes hidden behind silver-rimmed spectacles.Headmaster Orvel. “You weren’t meant to