Rising With My Mystic Power

SHADOWS OF THE FORBIDDEN

The Council chamber doors slammed shut behind Mordaine with a boom that echoed down the empty marble corridor.

For a long moment, he just stood there breathing hard, fists clenched, feeling the last trace of golden fire fade from his veins. His reflection flickered in the polished floor tiles, fractured by the weight pressing on him.

Forbidden….

The word refused to leave his mind. It clung like iron chains, dragging with every thought.

“Hey.”

Lyra’s voice snapped him back. She was leaning against the pillar at the far end, arms crossed, her amber eyes sharp with worry. “You’re still in one piece. That’s better than I expected.”

Mordaine gave a bitter laugh, though it sounded hollow in his throat. “I don’t know if I walked out of there free or just on borrowed time.”

Lyra pushed away from the pillar, stepping close enough for him to see the faint scar at her jawline catch the light. “They’ll watch you now. Every step, every flicker of that flame.”

“I know.”

“And that means you’ll have to be smarter than them.” She lowered her voice, her tone like flint striking steel. “Because once the Council brands someone forbidden, it’s only a matter of time before they act. They won’t let you grow unchecked.”

Mordaine swallowed hard. The Ember stirred faintly, like a beast pacing in a cage. She’s right. They fear me. And what they fear, they will try to destroy.

He raked a hand through his hair. “So what now? Do I keep my head down? Pretend I can’t summon it?”

Lyra’s lips curved not quite a smile, more like a shadow. “Pretend if you like. But the stronger your fire burns, the harder it will be to hide.”

Before Mordaine could answer, a sound drifted through the corridor soft footsteps. Too soft.

Both of them stiffened.

Out of the shadowed alcove ahead, a figure emerged: lean, pale, with eyes like glassy steel. His robes bore the sigil of the Council’s enforcers those who dealt with troublemakers too dangerous for ordinary discipline.

“Mordaine Carrowell.” His voice was low, measured, with the calm menace of a knife sliding free of its sheath. “The Council has ordered surveillance. I’ll be the one to ensure your… compliance.”

Lyra’s hand twitched toward her dagger, but Mordaine subtly shook his head. No sudden moves.

The man inclined his head in mock politeness.

“Obey the Academy’s rules, and you’ll have nothing to fear. Step out of line…” He let the threat dangle, sharp as a blade left hovering above the neck.

And then he was gone, swallowed back into the shadows.

Silence lingered. Mordaine’s pulse thudded in his ears.

Lyra exhaled slowly. “You see? They’ve already leashed you.”

Mordaine closed his fists. Fire licked faintly at his palms before fading. He thought of the whispers that had erupted when the Mirror cracked, of the way the Council’s eyes had glimmered with something between fear and hunger.

No. He wasn’t leashed. Not yet.But the game had changed.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

Mordaine lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling beams of his dormitory. Every time his eyelids fell, the Council’s voices returned accusing, condemning, branding him as forbidden.

And beneath it all, the Ember whispered. Not words this time, but an urgent hum, restless, like a caged flame rattling its prison.

They will come for you. Be ready.

When morning light finally spilled through the shutters, Mordaine swung out of bed, exhaustion clinging to his bones. He hadn’t even tied his boots when a folded parchment slipped under his door.

His pulse quickened. No one left messages like this in the Academy.

He bent, picked it up, and unfolded the thick parchment.

The words were short. Sharp.

“We know what you are. The Council’s leash will not hold. Meet me in the library’s eastern wing tonight if you want the truth.”

No name. No seal. Just jagged handwriting that seemed carved in haste.

Mordaine’s throat tightened. Is this a trap? Or a chance?

Classes blurred past in fragments. Scrolls, incantations, sparring drills all drowned beneath the weight of the note burning in his pocket. He caught Lyra’s eyes once or twice, but said nothing. If the Council’s Enforcer was watching, even a whisper could cost him.

By nightfall, he found himself at the eastern wing of the library, where tall windows let the moonlight paint stripes across the floor. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the creak of shelves and the flutter of an owl outside.

Then footsteps…..A figure stepped from between the shelves. Not Lyra. Not Kael.

Professor Serath…!!!

The man was tall, gaunt, his robes ink-stained from years of research. His lectures were infamous for their sharpness, his punishments harsher still. Few students dared cross him.

Mordaine stiffened. “You left the note?”

Serath’s lips curved into a thin smile. “You’ve drawn quite the attention, Carrowell. Golden flames, a forbidden resonance… remarkable.”

Mordaine’s pulse pounded. “If this is about reporting me—”

“Reporting?” Serath cut in, his voice smooth as polished stone. “Why would I waste such a treasure by handing it to the Council? No. I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

The professor’s eyes gleamed with hunger, not kindness. “That power you hold do you think it’s chance? No, boy. It’s a lineage. A legacy. One the Council has tried to bury for centuries.”

Mordaine’s breath caught. Legacy. Parents. The artifact in the basement. Pieces that had never fit together suddenly glimmered, dangerous and bright.

But before he could ask, Serath leaned closer, his voice a whisper laced with steel.

“You will need guidance if you want to survive. Trust me, Carrowell. Or watch the Council grind you into ash.”

Mordaine’s mind spun. Could he believe this man? Or was Serath simply another vulture circling, waiting to claim the flame?

The Ember flickered within, uneasy, as though it too distrusted him.

And Mordaine realized the most dangerous enemy might not be the monsters beyond the walls but those standing in the very halls of the Academy.