The air in Drakthorin City was filled with excitement as the sun set, turning the sky bright orange and purple, and casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. The Festival of Flames, a big celebration honoring the city's long history and its ancient protectors, was in full swing. The streets, usually busy with trade and work, had changed into a colorful, noisy scene, as if the city was alive with its past. Bright banners of red, gold, blue, and green hung from windows and lamp posts, waving in the evening breeze like flags of happiness. Lanterns made of glass, glowing with soft, flickering light, lit up every corner, giving off a warm golden glow that shined on people's faces.Music from tambourines, drums, and flutes mixed with laughter and chatter, creating a lively and timeless atmosphere. Vendors called out from their stalls, selling treats and small items, while children ran through the streets, their faces painted in the festival’s colors. The air felt full of energy, cele

Enzo leaned forward, suspicion etched across his face as his eyes fixed on the box. “That thing... it doesn’t look right. And the way that guy just vanished—what kind of magic is that?”Finn didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, his instincts telling him that this box was far more than a simple gift. It felt dark, wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. The coldness, the pulsing symbols, the sense that something sinister lay beneath the surface—it all felt like a warning, a secret sealed within the box.Enzo, sensing the unease in Finn’s silence, glanced around the square, his eyes darting nervously toward the dancers and the flickering bonfires. The celebration felt distant now, like it belonged to another world. “You think it’s some sort of warning? I mean, the festival’s supposed to be a celebration, but that thing… it feels like a dark omen.”Finn stared at the box, contemplating Enzo’s words. Was it a warning? Or maybe an invitation? He wasn’t sure. But the heavy cold in hi

Finn stared at the flower, his face going pale and his breathing quick in the sudden silence.“I’ve seen this before,” he said quietly, his voice shaking.“Where?” Enzo asked, his voice tense, eyes locked on Finn.“In Eldergrove,” Finn replied, almost whispering. “It was carved into the cellar doors under the village temple. I thought it was just old graffiti—maybe a seal left from the war. But this…”The small study was completely still, except for the slow creak of the floor as Finn stepped away from the paper. Shadows danced on the stone walls, cast by a flickering lantern hanging low from the ceiling. The fire in the hearth was almost out, glowing faintly and giving off little warmth.Books were scattered in messy piles on the table, their covers worn and pages yellow with age. A cold breeze slipped through the cracked windows, rustling the papers like something invisible had passed by.Finn picked up one of the older books. Its leather cover was smooth from years of use. He pause

Finn stood still, feeling the heavy weight of worry slowly fade away. It lifted little by little, like a shadow moving away from light, replaced by a strange warmth that spread through his body. It wasn’t just a physical feeling, but something deeper, like a forgotten memory of a lullaby from childhood. The warmth calmed his racing heart and stopped his hands from shaking. He let out a long, shaky breath as a cool breeze gently moved through the room, stirring the still air and brushing against his damp hair like a soft touch.Then, suddenly, he was moving.Finn ran through the Academy's halls, his footsteps echoing loudly in the old stone corridors. The air felt thin and cold, making each breath feel like it was cutting through ice. It was wrong — like trying to breathe in freezing air, as if the very air was pushing back against him.And the mirror haunted him.Even as he ran, the strange image from the mirror stayed in his mind: the reflection that wasn’t his, the violet eyes that

“I think it’s a lock,” Enzo said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might awaken something. “Or part of one. A ward. The diagram called it the ‘Ward of Last Breath,’ didn’t it?”Finn nodded, his gaze still locked on the symbol. “But a ward against what?”They didn’t have to wait long for an answer.As Enzo’s fingers brushed the carved lines, the stone beneath his touch vibrated — faint, but undeniable. It wasn’t warmth that spread beneath his skin, but something else. Intention. A pressure, a pulse that seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. The moss around the symbol began to twitch, peeling back like paper curling at the edges. Finn stepped back, his instincts screaming at him. His hand went to his blade, the cold steel a steadying presence.But Enzo didn’t move. His eyes were wide, fixed on the symbol as though it had drawn him into a trance. His hand remained pressed to the ancient carvings, unmoving, as if he had unlocked something beyond